Whenever George earned some small compliment from Theo, for his riding prowess or his stamina, he’d be walking on air for half a day afterwards. Which was absurd, he knew, but Theo’s praise made the pained, awkward schoolboy who still resided somewhere inside George dizzy with pleasure.
“We’ve got half an hour before our new horses will be ready,” Theo said, when he returned to the water trough where George stood with their current mounts. “Shall we have a tankard of ale while we wait?”
“Yes, please.” George said. His throat was dry, and the thought of wetting it with cool, bitter ale was very appealing. “And something to eat?” he added hopefully. “I don’t think I can wait another two hours till we get to the next inn.”
“Your stomach is a bottomless pit,” Theo said, flashing an amused grin in his direction. He clapped a hand on George’s shoulder. “I’ll see if they can rustle something up for you.”
A helpless smile tugged at the corners of George’s mouth. Perhaps it was a little pathetic, but he liked being teased by Theo. He liked being coddled by him too, and he especially liked that Theo did both of those things together. Teasing him and taking care of him.
“Go and take a seat,” Theo said, when they entered the taproom, clapping his shoulder, and George happily strolled away, selecting a table next to one of the mullioned windows.
Peering through the warped, aged glass at the courtyard, he could just discern the blurred shapes of the ostlers moving the horses around, taking some off to be washed down and rested, while harnessing others to go out on the road.
“There’s no meals for another hour at least, but they’re dishing up some pigeon pie from luncheon for you,” Theo said, settling himself down on the bench next to George.
“What about you?”
Theo waved him off. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve been riding just as hard as me,” George protested. “We can share, if you like.”
Theo just shook his head, seeming amused.
A minute later, a serving girl arrived at their table, two heavy tankards in one hand and George’s plate in the other. She set everything down, slipping the coins Theo gave her into the pocket of her apron with a bobbed curtsey of thanks.
Once she’d gone, Theo reached for his ale and took a long swallow, before leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh, and stretching out his long legs. There was a grace to his movements that was unexpected in such a big man, and that always drew George’s eye.
Realising he was staring, George tore his gaze away, reaching for the plate. It was not the most elegant pie he had ever seen, but the filling was plentiful and meaty. His mouth was already watering at the sight of it, and he groaned when the savoury flavour met his tongue.
“This is good. Try some,” he urged Theo after a minute, lifting the plate towards him. But Theo waved him off.
“Fine,” George said, setting the plate down again. “That was your last chance. I shall eat it all now. Don’t complain to me when we’re still an hour away from the next inn and your stomach starts grumbling.”
Theo chuckled. “Unlike you, I don’t need to eat my own weight in pies every two hours. I’ll be fine till dinnertime.”
George just grunted and continued eating. Apparently, this amused Theo no end since he only chuckled harder.
“What’s so funny?” George asked grumpily, though it was a put-on sort of grumpiness. A teasing pretence of grumpiness because he’d come to like having Theo’s attention on him.
“I was just looking at you,” Theo said. "Sitting there, spattered in mud, and eating pigeon pie with your fingers like a country yokel. No one seeing you now would believe for a moment that you’re the heir to a dukedom.”
George pretended outrage. “It’s your fault,” he protested. “You’ve reduced me to this, forcing me to ride day after day as though we have the devil at our heels, never mind the weather, and with barely any food?—”
“Barely any food?” Theo interjected, chuckling.
“—to keep me going,” George continued, undaunted. “It’s hardly surprising I look like hell. At the end of each day, I’m half-dead from exhaustion.”
“Now that,” Theo said, carefully setting down his tankard and leaning slowly forward, eyes glinting with amusement, "is an out-and-out bouncer.”
His face was only inches from George’s, and suddenly, George’s mouth was dry, his thoughts scattered. “What is?” he breathed. He’d lost track of what they were talking about.
Theo’s mouth twitched. “You never look like hell.”
George’s heart skipped in his chest, and he shifted his gaze to hide his reaction, pretending interest in his plate. “Oh, come on!” he grumbled, his voice a little breathless. “You just said I look like a yokel!”
“And you do,” Theo chuckled. "But who said yokels can't be as handsome as sin?”
George flushed at that, the heat whooshing into his face in a crimson rush, even as pleasure coiled in his belly at the compliment.
