A Tapestry of Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

the fighting warrior bishops but a truly holy man, but to Hugh it was a mark of his foster father’s true goodness. Thurstan would not twist his ward’s nature to satisfy his own desires. Having seen that despite gentle persuasion Hugh had no inclination for a religious life, he had not forced the child in his care into the Church. Instead, Thurstan had placed the boy in Walter Espec’s household, where Hugh could become what he wished to be—a fighting man.
    His lord’s name reminded Hugh that this was no time for memories, no matter how dear, and he straightened the hauberk and laid it front down on the chest so he could lift the back and slide his head and shoulders into it. Having drawn in his arms and worked each upward, Hugh stood, feeling for the armholes. The weight of the mail pushed the garment down as soon as his arms were through the sleeves. No one paid any attention to him. With an army forming outside the keep, there was nothing surprising in a man’s arming.
    He reached into the chest again, brought out his spurs, and pushed them into the belt pouch, which he slid onto his sword belt, then belted on his sword. That, too, was a finer weapon than a man of his status would ordinarily have. Sir Walter had given it to Hugh when he had said he would like to remain in his lord’s household and serve him. Hugh’s fingers moved to the silverbound hilt and caressed it fondly, but a faint frown formed between his wide-spaced eyes. Aside from his love for his master, his reason for remaining a squire had been to quiet the envy Sir Walter’s open affection for him bred in other members of the household, and even in Sir Walter’s nephews. The gift of the sword, which had been made for Sir Walter’s dead son, had rendered virtually useless Hugh’s rejection of knighthood and an estate. In some ways, the situation had become even worse. There had been nasty insinuations that Hugh’s action was the first step in a campaign to become Sir Walter’s heir.
    Each time this thought occurred to Hugh, he felt sick with fear that Sir Walter would hear and—even if he did not believe—be hurt. The solution to the problem was extremely simple: leave Sir Walter. But to leave without a reason after saying he wanted to stay would also hurt his dear lord. So, as he had done each time before, Hugh thrust both problem and solution out of his mind. Immediately, other problems—practical difficulties concerning his escape from Wark—flooded in to take the place of the nagging worry he had dismissed.
    An armed man afoot is at a great disadvantage, but Hugh knew that even if the castellan were willing to let him go, which he doubted, to ride across the drawbridge of the lower bailey would simply deliver him into Summerville’s hands. Hugh’s mobile lips twisted briefly into a grimace. The alternative was managing to hide in the keep until dark, going over the wall at night, and stealing a saddled horse or a horse and saddle separately from some knight in the Scottish army. The chance that he would succeed in escaping and getting to Sir Walter was growing slimmer and slimmer as he thought about what he must do, but Hugh’s stubborn chin just set harder. There was a chance, and that was better than sitting in Wark for months… or dying here.
    Hugh took up the cloak he had laid aside while he donned his armor, and another problem, minor but irritating, made him draw up the hood. Hugh had the misfortune of having a remarkably distinctive face. No one failed to remember him, even after just glimpsing him briefly once. The flaming red hair, so red that occasionally some simple soul touched it to see if it were hot, was bad enough since it drew attention, but it was his eyes that really marked him. They were large, bright blue, and set so wide apart under a broad brow that they appeared unfocused. A strong Roman nose and a mouth a bit too wide for the long, stubborn chin below completed an appearance that seemed to make many