‘How old are you?’ As if Ancel hadn’t spoken.
‘Sixteen.’
Berenger gave him a flat look.
‘Twenty,’ said Ancel, the truth coming out with a flash of annoyance that he had to work hard to keep out of his voice. He heard the slightly waspish tone, and purposefully smoothed the frown from his forehead.
‘Was Louans your first contract?’
‘No. I— there was one other. A regional merchant. For three weeks.’ He felt off-kilter. Was that the wrong thing to have said? Having a contract with a regional merchant didn’t sound appealing at all.
He tried to recover. ‘And you?’ said Ancel, in his most velvet voice. ‘Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?’
‘I’m riding to Ladehors.’ Berenger was walking right past him, he was—was he leaving? ‘Parsins will help you settle in at the fort. I’ll arrive there in two weeks. Good night.’
Ancel stared as Berenger walked out the door. It opened and closed, just like Ancel’s mouth as he was left standing alone with Parsins, in an empty wing of the residence.
CHAPTER TWO
At once, Ancel identified his mistake.
Berenger was serious. His clothes were serious. His servants were serious. His fort was serious. Ancel didn’t need Parsins to tell him, he could see it the moment they arrived. Here was the library full of the tales of Isagoras and other boring people. Here were the stables full of unappealing horses, part of Berenger’s equine breeding program.
Berenger’s rooms were positively austere, the furnishings expensive but not extravagant, his clothing dark and stuffy, designed not to draw attention.
Of course Berenger had not responded to sophistication and debauchery, a pet straight from the ring, dripping with jewels and paint. Ancel had seen with his own eyes that Berenger owned six identical copies of the same brown jacket.
Ancel at once immersed himself in boring. Parsins was happy to talk: Berenger enjoyed preferred plain fare, simple meats and bread; Berenger’s horses were at the centre of his attention, his favourite hunter was the dappled grey; Berenger prized loyalty above all qualities in his friends.
Setting riders to keep daily lookout, Ancel was the first to receive word that Berenger was on his way home. Ancel quickly washed the paint from his face, and changed his clothes.
Then he positioned himself in a chair in one of the antechambers near Berenger’s rooms and waited, with the fire lit, a lamp glowing beside him, and one of the big, illuminated books from Berenger’s library open on his lap.
He was dressed in a loose shirt of simple white linen and plain trousers, his red hair tied back in a casual tail with a single leather tie. He looked up when he heard footsteps, and then stood quickly, closing the book. An unaffected young man, rising startled to greet his friend.
‘My lord,’ said Ancel. ‘I’m sorry, I—you took me by surprise.’
‘No. That’s all right. I came back early.’
Berenger stopped and looked at him, taking in the new way Ancel looked, and Ancel thought, Bulls-eye.
‘You’re . . . I almost didn’t recognise you,’ said Berenger, ‘without all the—’
‘Oh this?’ A hand to his mussily tied back hair. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so early. I can change into something more—’
‘No. You look handsome.’ Berenger stopped and shook his head. ‘That is, when we’re not at functions, you should feel free to wear whatever you like.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Ancel.
It was Berenger who took a step forward. ‘You’re reading Isagoras?’ Berenger was looking at the discarded book with its scrollwork pages. He looked up at Ancel in surprise. ‘What do you think of him?’
Ancel couldn’t read, but he had planned all this from the moment Parsins had pointed the book out to him.
‘I’ve never seen the white cliffs, but I think they sound beautiful.’
Berenger’s eyes warmed a fraction further. Ancel quickly stepped forward. ‘My lord, I shouldn’t be wasting your time with poetry. Let me take that for you—’ He took Berenger’s riding jacket from his hands. ‘Have you eaten? I can call for a small supper.’
He was already calling for food to be brought, nothing rich or ornate as he would have ordered for Louans, but the plain fare he now knew Berenger enjoyed: freshly cooked breads; cheese and meats; a simple local cider.