Fanuilh by Daniel Hood (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📗

They went on in the same vein for a while, as Lady Necquer mapped out the collection of poems she expected from him, and he objected to it every step of the way, laughingly complaining that he was no poet, and had had no girl waiting for him while he traveled.

The idea seemed to inspire her, and though she too giggled at her own high-flown fancies, there was a seriousness as well.

If I were a poet, Liam thought, itwould make good verse. But I'm not, he reminded himself, and reminded her as well, an objection she countered with the suggestion that he perform vigils with the priests of Uris.

"Oh, and Uris-tide is nigh! If you begin tomorrow, you can complete the course of the devotions by midnight of the feast! The goddess'll surely inspire you!"

"I doubt that; Uris is not widely worshipped in the Midlands, and would hardly look favorably on me. Besides, don't men have to shave their heads to attend the vigils?"

"They do," she agreed, and looked at him for a long moment before bursting into giggles at the image of him without any hair at all, with even eyebrows shaved, as was required of supplicants to Uris.

"It sounds a high price to pay for poetic inspiration," he said, but she did not hear, trying to stifle her own mirth. She did, however, hear the heavy tread on the stairs and the voice that came from outside the door of the parlor.

"Poppae! Poppae! I'm home!"

Toe door swung open, and Necquer entered, still in his dusty traveling cloak and mud-spattered riding boots. Her giggles subsided in a gasp, and she leapt to her feet and ran to him, kissing him quickly and often without discretion. He staggered under her affection, and put his arms around her to steady himself, smiling indulgently. Then he noticed Liam, and greeted him with an ironic nod.

"I'd shake your hand, Rhenford, but mine are full at the moment."

Suddenly, Poppae cried out, and ran her hand delicately down Necquer's cheek. Just above the line of his beard a bright purple bruise was blooming.

"You've taken a hurt!"

"It's nothing," he murmured brusquely, taking her hand in his and drawing it away. "An unruly pair of highwaymen, without the sense to be afraid of my guards." She made to fuss about it, but he stopped her with a brief kiss. "It's nothing. You won't even notice it in a few days. Now, Rhenford, I must say I'm glad to see you here. I take it you've been entertaining?"

"Actually, I've just been trying not to be boring."

"Go to, go to," Lady Necquer scolded, shifting so that she could see both men, but leaving her arms around Necquer. "He has kindly borne my maunderings and incessant weeping over your absence, and entertained me most regally. He has even promised to pen me a string of poems!"

Necquer smiled at Liam's look of surprise. "Poems, eh? You're more talented than I realized, Rhenford."

"More talented than I realized, Master Necquer. I didn't know I was a poet."

"Well then, you'll stay to dinner and maybe Poppae can instruct you in the art."

"Oh, yes, do stay, Sir Liam!"

Liam was surprised to notice that Necquer honestly meant the invitation, though his wife's agreement had been hasty and not entirely heartfelt. And the merchant had not been at all disturbed to find his wife closeted with another man, even though he had recently found out someone was wooing her. Had he ruled Liam completely out as a threat?

Lady Necquer's obvious desire to be alone with her husband would make that a fair judgement, he thought wryly.

"I'm afraid I cannot. I promised I'd dine with a friend tonight."

Frowning, Necquer accepted the refusal, to his wife's ill-concealed delight. "Another time, then," he said, disengaging himself from his wife to offer Liam his hand.

"Certainly," Liam said, and took the merchant's slim hand, which was warm and moist with sweat. "You really should wear some armor, and a helmet." He pointed with his free hand at Necquer's cheek.

"I do," the merchant laughed, letting go his grip on Liam's hand. "They tried to sneak up on us in the night."

Liam smiled and headed for the door with a slight bow. Lady Necquer, perhaps regretting her fickle change in interest, stopped him and kissed both his cheeks warmly.

"I'll expect you on the morrow, Sir Liam, though earlier. Say noon, if you've no objection. You'll not slip out of that string of poems so easily. We will discuss it then."

"Your servant," he said with a tremendous show of humility and a low bow, and backed out of the room.

At the bottom of the stairs Lares stood gazing reverently up.

"It's no small blessing t'have him back, eh, Sir Liam?" "No," Liam said with a chuckle, thinking of Lady Necquer ecstatically greeting her husband. "No small blessing indeed. Goodnight, Lares."

A small wave of anger broke over him in the street. He had spent his afternoons entertaining her, turning his own life into an amusing tale to while away her waiting hours, and she had abandoned him the instant Necquer had come back. Necquer, who left her alone for months at a time!

The anger passed into reproach. It was foolish to think that way. Necquer was her husband, and obviously loved her dearly, despite what Lons had said, while he was only a recent acquaintance. And she had not simply abandoned him; she had asked him back the next day, as though nothing had changed.

Smiling a familiar, well-worn smile at himself, he wandered through the darkening streets. It was dusk, the clouds now beginning to shred into tatters beneath the onslaught of the sea breeze. Cold and stinging, the breeze scoured the sky and the rapidly emptying streets, molding his cloak to his back and legs as he walked north. Stars glittered, impossibly distant and small between the rents in the clouds.

Lady Necquer was, after all, almost a child. In her midtwenties, he thought, and thus only five or six