“Thou hast done nothing.” Sweat beading on Kit’s face. “And I everything to earn thine. I don’t deserve thy forgiveness.”
“I forgive thee anyway.”
“I went to Morgan because…”
“Because thou didst wish me hurt for leaving thee, and thyself hurt for not being what I wanted most.” Will delivered the words coldly, a judgment pronounced. “And she took thee because it would influence me, and me because it should influence thee. Christofer. Christofer, look at me Christofer, long I’ve had to consider this, and if thou needst forgiveness I forgive thee, although if anything tis I should beg thy dispensation. I cry thee mercy, my love.”
He expected Kit to quit his fighting; indeed, he looked Will square in the eye now, but his wrist still twitched in Will’s grip. “I knew what would have driven me to it,” Will said, softly, and made as if to kiss. Kit stiffened in his hands, flexed like an eel, and shoved himself backward, out of Will’s embrace. Kit fell gracelessly, sprawled in leaf litter, a rustling and crunching of twigs, a startled shout.
“Will,” Kit said, clambering to his feet. “Will, tis not thee.”
“What happened down there?”
Kit checked. He lowered his hands and scrubbed them on his thighs. “I asked thee practice reticence.”
“Aye,” Will said. “And I did not vow it. Kit, thy feet are bleeding.” Spots of red showed on raveled silk stockings. Will knelt down among the twigs. “Thou hast walked thyself bloody. Come, let me help thee to the palace.”
Kit shied a step back, and Will desisted. “Tis not far, he said. Methinks I can stagger a quarter mile downhill.”
“On your head be it.” They went on. Kit climbed the spiral stair like a clockwork, hauling himself up each step by clutching the rail, never looking at the Fae that flocked around, chattering questions. There were those that might have stopped them, and those that might have helped them, too. Will waved them all aside, servants and nobles, blocking them with his body when his voice wouldn’t suffice. They crowded, touching, prodding; Kit jerked away, keeping his eyes downcast, and Will interposed himself. Fingers tugged his doublet and hands outreached to touch his face.
“You came back. He brought you back. How did you come back?”
Hope, Will realized, and wonder. He found himself stronger than he expected, and the Fae fell back from his glance and his hand upraised after he shouldered a few aside quite physically. He chivvied Kit to the top of the stairs and toward their door, closing his eyes in a moment’s relief at Robin Goodfellow barring the doorway, hands on his minuscule hips and his fool’s bauble dangling from his fingers. The Puck scattered the Fae with a gesture. When they were inside, he barred the door and jammed a chair under the handle, exchanging a look with Will. Kit turned and sat heavily on the bed. “How long have we been gone?”
“It’s All Saints Day,” Puck said, and gestured out the window to the robust evening light. “Your horse came home with an empty saddle.”
“I sent him,” Kit said, and lay back on the coverlet. Will got up to check the fire and light a candle against the dimness that soon would fill the room. “Don’t trouble yourself”, Kit said. Every wick in the room stirred to flame. “In a moment,” he said, “I am going to get extremely drunk. You are both more than welcome to join me.”
The Puck’s voice was clipped. “Sir Christofer.” He perched on the edge of the chair he’d wedged the door with, hooked his heels on the top rail, and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Was that what it took to buy William free?”
Will stood stupefied with exhaustion between them, wondering what Robin knew that he did not. Kit laid the back of his wrist across his eyes. “No. Worry, now,” and Puck’s ears dipping and bobbing like buoys on a net. “Sir Christofer.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?” Puck sucked his mobile lip. Will watched, blinking, shifting his gaze from poet to Faerie and back, struggling through the fatigue to understand.
“Sir Christofer. It signifies nothing,” Kit replied. “It grates mine ears to hear such empty sound.”
“As you wish it,” Puck said, and leaned back. “The court has been in uproar.”
“I noticed.”
Will felt pleasure at his self-possessed tone, but from the looks Kit and Robin shot him, it read not so much level as emotionless. Forcing his tingling feet to move, he crossed to the washstand and lifted the ewer and bowl in hands that shook enough to scatter droplets on the carpet. All his gardening had given him strength, at least; despite the palsy, he balanced the weight easily.
“Come, Kit.” He brought the water and knelt beside the bed. “Peel off thy stockings; let me work my will on thee.”
Kit would not meet Will’s smile. Instead, he sat stiffly as an old man, tucking his feet aside as Will reached for them. “I can pick the gravel from mine own wounds, Will.”
Will grunted and heaved himself to his feet, sharing a sidelong glance with Robin as Kit peeled his shredded stockings from the lacerations on his feet. Puck watched with unsettling intensity.
“When commenced you to study witchcraft, Sir or rather, Kit?”
Kit tossed the garters on the bed. The stockings were rags. He hunched between his knees, using those rags to scrub the blood from his feet. The water in the basin grew pink, and so did the knot of knitted silk. “Since last night, Master Goodfellow.”
“You’ve mastered a great deal.”
“I had instruction.”
Will’s imagination, or did Kit’s voice break on that word? Puck stood abruptly, sweeping the chair aside with a clatter.
“I’ve just recalled, Master Marley. I’ve a package in my room tis thine: twas delivered this afternoon. Master Shakespeare?”
Will breathed again, in relief. “Can I be of service, Robin?” Ask of me an errand, good Puck. Anything. Get me out of this room before I strike the man.
“It is too heavy for me to carry.”
“Will?” Kit looked up, voice suddenly plaintive. “Robin, what sort of a package? Wilt be gone long?”
“Cloth, methinks.” The Puck shrugged. “I opened it not.”
“I’ll return in a moment,” Will said, and tugged open the door. “Robin’s rooms are not far. Good Master Goodfellow, wilt ask for us that food be sent, and Morgan and the Queen apprised of our return?” Will felt as much as heard Kit cease breathing.
“The Mebd knows,” Robin said. “Twas she that sent me. And Morgan.”
“Morgan?” Kit, not Will, although he did not rise.
“Morgan is not currently welcomed at court,” Puck said, and stepped through the door. He turned back over his shoulder. “Her Majesty was not pleased with the machinations that led to your brief absences from our company.”
Brief, Will thought, as Kit made no protest and Puck closed the door. He laughed. “A hundred years if it were a day,” he said, and Puck nodded.
“Tis as I expected. Was it very bad?”
Puck set a good pace. Will fell in beside him. “Bad enough. Robin.”
“Aye?”
“What’s wrong with Kit?”
Silence, and one Will didn’t like at all. They were nearly to Robin’s door when the gnarled little man spoke again. “Do you know how witches get their powers, Will?”
Will chewed his nail and considered while Puck opened the door and slipped inside. A moment later, and Puck returned, lugging a linen-wrapped burden that completely filled his arms. Will took it and tucked it under his elbow, where it compressed softly. “Kit’s thanks, I’m sure.” He had to force his smile.
“Twas nothing.”
There was a click as Robin shut the door. Will stood in the corridor for long moments, considering. Another price I am not worthy of,he thought, and shifted the bundle in his grip.
But how unseemly is it for my Sex,
My discipline of arms and chivalry,
My nature and the terror of my name,
To harbor thoughts effeminate and faint!
Save only that in beauty’s just applause,