Thomas frowned. “You told me it would.”
“I told you it might, which is what women say to men when men have already decided not to hear no.”
“That is not true.”
Amelia and Edith looked at him.
Thomas looked annoyed. “’Tis not always true.”
Hob, still apparently asleep, said, “’Tis often true.”
“Hob,” Thomas said.
“I am dreaming.”
“Dream more quietly.”
Edith muttered something about witless men and wet rushes, then fetched two more bowls and ordered Amelia to stand nearer the fire before she caught her death. Amelia obeyedbecause Edith in the middle of the night had the energy of a general facing an invasion.
For the next quarter hour, the hall came half-awake and then slowly settled again. A boy brought dry rushes. Martin stumbled over a bench, cursed softly, apologized to the bench, then cursed it again. Alyson woke, saw Amelia, and asked if the rain had come inside to visit. Wat told her no, the roof was just teasing them. Edith told them both to sleep unless they meant to climb up and mend it themselves.
At last the worst of the leak was caught, the rushes had been turned, and the fire coaxed into a little more warmth. The household sank back into uneasy sleep, grumbling and shifting beneath blankets. The storm continued, but the roof, having made its point, seemed content for the moment.
Amelia stood near the hearth, her wet sleeve steaming faintly, loose tendrils of hair curling wildly around her face.
Thomas stood beside the table, the wine jug forgotten, his expression shuttered again but not as firmly as before. Something had changed. The wall had gone back up, yes, because Thomas would rebuild a wall while bleeding from both hands if left unsupervised. But now Amelia knew there was a door in it.
He picked up his cup and stared at the wine. Then, slowly, he set it down without drinking.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
It should have felt like dismissal. It didn’t.
“You too.”
“I will.”
“Liar.”
His brows rose.
She should not have said that to a medieval lord in his own hall while barefoot and wrapped in a damp cloak. She knew this. Her survival instincts had been having a difficult month.
But Thomas only looked at her, and there it was again, that almost-smile, fainter than firelight.
“I will try,” he amended.
“Better.”
A silence settled, softer than the one before.
Amelia looked toward the ladder. “Thank you for telling me.”
His face closed a little. “I should not have.”
“Yes,” she said. “You should have.”
“Amelia.”
