A few minutes later, the dogs came racing down the stairs. They were followed by Cristen.
Nigel turned from the fire when he saw his daughter. “How are you, my dear?” he asked, smiling at her. “Has all gone well in our absence?”
“I am fine, Father. Everything at Somerford is fine.” She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “It is good to have you home.”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“Welcome home, Hugh,” Cristen said, turning to the slim silent figure who was letting the dogs sniff his hands.
Hugh nodded.
Jesu, Nigel thought. Is the boy ever going to talk again?
“You must be hungry,” Cristen said practically.
“Aye,” Nigel replied. “I think we all could do with something to eat and drink. It was a long, cold ride. It almost feels as if it might snow.”
By now Hugh was patting the dogs. He said nothing.
He ate the bread and meat that he was served, however, and drank a cup of ale. Cristen talked easily the whole while, detailing the things that had happened while they were gone.
“Emma Jensen came to see me about a bad cough her eldest son has developed,” she said. “I gave her some of my elixir of horehound. I hope it helps.”
“I’m sure it will,” Nigel said comfortably. “Your potions are always efficacious, my dear.”
“Not always.” For the first time, Nigel saw her shoot a worried look at Hugh. He remembered the boy’s words to him the previous night about his headaches. Cristen knows.
Hugh put down his ale and finally spoke. “I hope you won’t mind if I go to bed, sir. I am rather tired.”
He looked more than tired. He looked exhausted.
“Go ahead, Hugh,” Nigel said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Cristen,” Hugh said.
For the briefest of moments, the eyes of the two young people met. Then Cristen said softly, “Good night, Hugh.”
Hugh walked to the door that led to the solar and family bedrooms. He went inside, closing the door behind him gently.
“Dear God, Father,” Cristen said. Her face was pale. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Nigel said wearily. “He came to me this morning and said that we had to leave Chippenham. He’s scarcely said a word since.” Nigel hesitated, then added, “He was awake all night with a headache, Cristen. I could tell that he was in a great deal of pain. He told me he’s had them before.”
She bent her head and replied, her voice very low, “I think this whole business of trying to remember his past is tearing him apart.”
Nigel said harshly, “All the while that we were riding home I was thinking that I should never have told him who he was, that I should have simply let him go on being Hugh Corbaille. He was better off so.”
At that she lifted her head and shook it in emphatic disagreement. “If being Hugh Corbaille had been enough for him, he wouldn’t have come here, Father. You were right to tell him. No matter how painful it may be, he needs to rediscover his past. It’s the only way he can make himself whole.”
Nigel rubbed his eyes. He felt almost as exhausted as Hugh looked.
Cristen got to her feet and went behind him to massage his shoulders.
“Aahh,” he said with grateful pleasure. “That feels good.”
The rest of the knights around the fire had gone on with their activities, although all ears were intent on the conversation between Nigel and Cristen.
Thomas said abruptly, as if he could contain himself no longer, “If Hugh is truly the son of Lord Roger, then isn’t he entitled to be the Earl of Wiltshire?”
“He is entitled by right of inheritance,” Nigel returned somberly. “But the king has the final say in such matters, Thomas. And it seems that the king is supporting Guy.”
There was a grumble of discontent among the knights.
“Guy was responsible for his brother’s death,” Ranulf said. “He should not be allowed to profit from murder.”
“There is no proof that Guy had aught to do with Roger’s murder,” Nigel pointed out.
Again came the grumble of discontent.
Cristen removed her hands from her father’s shoulders and signaled to one of the pages. “Take the dogs for their last visit outside, will you, Brian?”
Brian whistled and Ralf and Cedric obediently trailed after him to the door.
Cristen said briskly, “I am going to bed, Father, and I recommend that you do the same. You look tired.”
Nigel braced his hands on the carved arms of his chair and pushed himself to his feet. “I am tired,” he admitted.
He offered her his arm and, after bidding good night to the knights, the two of them crossed the floor to the door that led into the solar.
Cristen’s maid was waiting for her in her bedroom, and she helped Cristen out of her over-and undertunics and into her velvet robe. Then she brushed out the girl’s long hair and plaited it loosely into a single braid.
“Thank you, Emily,” Cristen said with a smile. “You may go to your own rest. I will see you in the morning.”
“Good night, my lady.”
After the girl had left, Cristen went to the door to make certain that Brian had returned the dogs. They were both curled in their usual places by the solar brazier. Ralf lifted his head to look at her, then closed his eyes again to go back to sleep. Cedric never stirred.
Cristen turned back into the room and got into her bed under the covers in order to keep warm. She turned the hourglass on her bedside table and started the sand falling. In a half an hour’s time, Nigel should be fast asleep. She would give him an hour, just to be sure.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking. Outside it had begun to rain. She could hear the drops bouncing off the packed earth of the courtyard beneath her window.
When all the sand had run from the top of the glass into the bottom, Cristen got out of bed, picked up the candle she had left burning, and let herself out into the solar.
This time both dogs raised their heads when they saw her.
She ignored them and crossed the floor to the door that led to Hugh’s bedroom. She pushed it open without knocking and went inside.
The room was dark. The only sound she heard was the drumming of the rain against the closed shutters. She held her candle in steady hands and looked toward the shadowy, silent bed.
“Hugh?” she said softly.
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded harsh and strained.
She carried her candle over to the small table that was next to the bed. Hugh pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at her out of shadowed eyes. His hair was tousled, his shoulders bare.
She sat on the edge of the bed and regarded him gravely. “What happened at Chippenham?” she asked, her voice very quiet. “Why did you return so quickly?”
For a long moment she thought he was not going to answer her. Finally he said reluctantly, “I had a conversation with one of Roger’s former knights.” Exhaustion was etched in every line of his face, but she knew he had not been sleeping. “What he said was enough to cause me to doubt that Guy is guilty of his brother’s death.”
The single candle flickered in a sudden draft, then burned steadily once again. The rain still drummed steadily against the closed wooden shutters of the room.
“What did he tell you, Hugh?” Cristen asked.
He pushed himself upright, so that he was sitting with his back against his pillows. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. The bedcovers were pulled up to his waist, but his upper torso was bare. The light from the candle shone on the gold cross he wore around his neck.
He was so slender that it was always a surprise to see how well-muscled he was.
“Where’s your bedrobe?” Cristen asked practically. “It’s cold in here.”
He made an irritable gesture. “I don’t need it.”
She looked around, then stretched toward the bottom of the bed, reaching out an arm. She grabbed the worn red velvet robe that Adela had made for Hugh’s sixteenth birthday and handed it to him.