Piers stepped toward the seam in the skin wall of the house and ducked his head through. He saw the old man directly below him, his white hair and beard reflecting the dusk-blued snow glowing in the long shadows of the trees. Deeper into the village, a great fire roared, and Piers could see the black outlines of revelers already engaged in the merrymaking. Alys was there somewhere, waiting on him.
The woman who could be his wife. Wanted to.
The woman who belonged to someone else. Belonged to another life.
“Only a moment longer,” Piers called to Ira.
“What—does your gown not suit you?”
Piers smiled. “I have to get Alys’s gift.”
“I’ll not wait for such nonsense.”
Piers raised a hand in acknowledgement and ducked back through the wall. He walked to his cot and pulled his pack from underneath. He flipped open the straps and then plunged his hand down inside, digging around for the object with a nervous ripple in his stomach, and then pulling it from the bag.
He’d not had enough time to work on it, he knew. But even had he another week to perfect the carvings, he was no craftsman. He only hoped that she would recognize what he’d intended to create, and that she would like it.
Piers had never given anyone a gift in his life.
He put the thing he had made inside his tunic and walked back to the flap in the tree house wall, where the ladders hung. He climbed down slowly, testing his strength and balance. Both good. He hopped to the ground three rungs high and landed squarely.
“A mite early to be so prideful of yourself, is it not, lad?” Ira had waited on him, despite his earlier threat.
“I’d know the measure of my strength before leaving on the morrow.” The two men turned and began walking toward the center of the village. Children ran around and past them on fast feet, their footfalls and laughing shrieks muffled by the deep, packed snow. It seemed the village was cocooned now, safe from all outsiders.
“Mayhap you should wait a day or more,” Ira suggested brusquely. “You’re just from the sickbed. Would not aid your cause were you to catch croup just outside of London and die. Devil knows that noble woman of yours couldn’t care for you.”
Is she mine though?he wondered to himself. “She’d do her best,” Piers defended Alys aloud as they neared the bonfire, as big around as one of the ground huts and nearly the height of two grown men. “I won’t catch croup, any matter, Ira. I’m well now, and rested.” He paused, wondering how much to admit to the old man before he left, and then decided someone else should know. “I’ll send Alys back to her family once we gain London.”
Piers saw the old man’s face turn toward him out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t need to look at him to imagine his shocked expression.
“What of the Foxe Ring?”
“It’s no law.”
“That it’s not,” Ira agreed, rather mildly, Piers thought. “Think you she’ll heed your wishes?”
Piers shrugged. “It’s best for her that she be with her own people. And ‘tis likely she’ll want nothing more to do with me once this is all over.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps not,” Ira mused. “Any matter, ‘tis the smartest thing you’ve said since coming here.”
“She needs be with her family,” Piers repeated. “As doyou.” He stopped, and Ira did the same, turning to mirror Piers’s pose. “I want to come back for you when I’m through in London. I want you to return to Gillwick with me.” He glanced toward the bonfire and saw Alys sitting with Tiny.
“I sorely want to, that is the truth. But I can’t leave them, Piers,” he said quietly. “All us here, we’re all we’ve got.”
Piers looked back to Ira. “I know. That’s why I want you all to come back. There is a place for you. If you tell them the truth—that I am your grandson—they will follow you.”
Ira stared at him for a long moment, and then he too, looked away toward the leaping flames, his old face streaking red and orange and black in rhythm with the merry fire. “It is hard for a man to consider returning to a place that holds such sorrow. And could be, the king will deny you, since you have no proof of Bevan’s true sire, save an old rumor of a birthmark. ‘Twill be that hoary bitch’s word against yours.”
Piers nodded. He saw Alys wave to him and give him a smile. He raised his hand in reply.
“I’ve seen the mark upon Bevan’s chest myself, so it is not simply an old rumor. But it’s true that I have no proof to compare it to. Should I be denied then, I would like to think that I would be welcome here with you, in your village.”
Ira’s head swiveled back. He stared at Piers and then nodded once, sharply. “Upon your wish, lad. Triumph or defeat. Should you ever desire to make your home with me, it would gladden my heart.”
“And mine,” Piers added gruffly. “So I hope you will consider my offer. Talk to the folk. Think upon it.”
Ira nodded again. “I will.”
