The Rose at Twilight Read Online Free PDF Page B

His shoulders were broader than any she had seen since King Edward had died, and he was easily as tall as Edward had been. Indeed, had Merion’s hair been golden instead of dark, one might have mistaken him for a Plantagenet. She remembered that Anne’s Dickon had been dark, but he had not been a typical Plantagenet in size either.
    “Your supper is ready,” Sir Nicholas said, breaking into her reverie. “Since the rain seems to have passed us by, will you eat here by the fire, or do you prefer privacy for dining also?”
    There was no taunt in his voice, and she smiled at him. “You must think me foolish, sir. In faith, I cannot think why your entrance discomfited me so. ’Tis certainly a foolish custom to waste hot water when there are others about who might make use of it. No doubt the ways at Middleham were extravagant.”
    “No doubt,” he agreed, smiling back. “I’ll warrant that everyone there did not sleep in the same room either.”
    “Goodness, does that old custom still prevail in Wales?”
    He chuckled. “It does in many a household, just as I make no doubt it does here. But since what you really mean to ask is if that custom still obtains in all Welsh homes, I will admit that it does not. My parents demanded a certain privacy unto themselves even before it became fashionable to do so, and since our house is a large one, it was possible for my mother to have her solar and my father to have his private chambers as well. Their sleeping compartment is kept to themselves alone.”
    “As was my Lord Richard’s,” she said, subdued again.
    “And your parents’ also, by what I have seen.”
    “I believe so,” she said, “but such is commonly the way of things now amongst the privileged in England.”
    “Aye.” He was silent for a moment, then noting that young Tom stood nearby with a pair of rough wooden trenchers in hand, he signed to the lad to serve Alys and Jonet.
    One of the other men brought a pair of joint stools for them to sit upon, and Alys sat down and removed her gloves to eat. The food was common, being no more than a thin meat stew served with chunks of stale bread, but she ate with relish, using her fingers and sopping up the juices with her bread. When she had finished, she washed her hands in the pail of water Tom brought for the purpose, dried them, and replaced her gloves.
    Sir Nicholas waited until she had smoothed them, then handed her a mug of ale. “Down that, mistress. ’Twill warm you well.”
    “Aye, it will that,” she agreed, sipping cautiously. It was a heady brew, so she took her time, enjoying the warmth of the fire, determined not to drink enough to make her sleepy. A few moments later, however, she realized that it might serve her purpose better to let it appear that she could scarcely keep her eyes open, and yawned behind one dainty hand.
    Night had fallen, and one of the men began plucking a lute. A breeze moaned dismally up from the river, adding an odd harmony to the lute’s song, and beyond the glow of the cook fires, through the mist still surrounding the camp, Alys could see the soft silver glimmer of a waning moon above the dark shape of the castle at the top of the hill. The eerie moonlight, though doing nothing much to illuminate the landscape, cast ghostly highlights upon the shadows of men moving beyond the firelight. It was a good thing, Alys decided, that she was not a fanciful person.
    Half an hour later, she stood, handing her empty mug to one of the men and gathering her skirts. “The day has been a long one,” she said to Sir Nicholas. “If you will excuse me—”
    “Go with my blessing, mistress,” he said. “In fact, I shall escort you to see you safe within your tent.”
    She gestured toward Jonet, who had got to her feet as soon as Alys had done so. “My woman will see to my needs, sir. You have no cause to disturb yourself.”
    “As you say, mistress, but I will walk with you all the same. I have a mind to see that my sentries