Candle in the Window by Christina Dodd

boy,” she said, hugging him tight.

“Mama would be proud of you, defending me like
that.”
    “All of us brothers have to defend
you,” the young warrior answered stoutly, and then winced at
the vigor of his speech. “Rollo said so.”
    “All of my half brothers are most
loyal,” she praised.
    He stuck his tongue in his cheek and examined the
injury. “I don’t think that man loosened any
teeth.”
    “Nay, but you’ll be bruised in the
morning.” She smoothed the cowlick waving in his short bangs.

“You can sleep here in my bed. It would be better if you
didn’t return to the hall tonight.”
    “Aye, please!” He bounced up and down.
“This is better than the palliasse I share with
Kimball.”
    Snatching the chance to question her brother, Saura
asked, “Clare, do you like it here? At Burke
Castle?”
    “We’re not leaving, are we?” he
asked quickly.
    “Nay, of course not.” Smiling, she
positioned her palm on his face. “You were too young to come
for fostering, and I wondered if you missed Lord Theobald. If you
missed your father.”
    He gave it consideration. “Well, sometimes I
do miss him. I liked it when he taught me things and talked to me.
But most of the time, he just drank wine and yelled and threw up.
Lord Peter teaches me things and talks to me, too, but he only hits
me when I deserve it. I miss Blaise,” his voice quivered
wistfully.
    “And the babies and Lady Blanche?”
    “Well, the babies.”
    Saura skimmed her fingers over his expression of
disgust and laughed. “As long as you are happy. Come in,
Kimball.”
    The boy stuck his head in the door.
“Can’t I ever sneak up on you?” he
complained.
    “Some people can sneak up on me,” she
answered reasonably. “But an eight-year-old boy with big feet
is not one of them.”
    “How did you know my feet were big?”
Kimball stuck out a sandaled foot and examined it.
    “All boys’ feet are big. Clare’s
sleeping in my bed tonight. Do you wish to join him?”
    Kimball shouted and leaped up, and Saura moved
aside.
    “Is the meal over?”
    “Aye. Oh, how’s your face?”
Kimball climbed on the bed and callously pronounced,
“That’s not as bad as when you fell off the rafter in
the barn.”
    “The barn?” Saura queried.
    “Oops.” Kimball squirmed and Clare
whacked him.
    “Does your grandfather know about
this?”
    “’Twas his idea to tell you Clare was
thrown from his horse,” Kimball replied, glad to spread the
blame on broader shoulders.
    Saura groaned, but couldn’t stop a chuckle.
The boys sighed in a harmonic whoosh and wrestled as she moved to
the door.
    A sudden attack of conscience hit Clare.
“Where will you sleep this night?”
    Pausing in the doorway, she said, “I
don’t know if I will. It seems to be developing into a long
evening.”
    Hovering by the rail in the gallery, Saura listened
to the talk from the tables below and sighed. Her faith in Lord
Peter was misplaced. War was the business of the day, and war
dominated the conversation. He could not avoid thesubject, and she doubted he had tried. Battles,
warriors, knights, foot soldiers. Maneuvers, destriers, armor,
defence. Lord Peter, Raymond, Nicholas, Arthur and Charles argued
and agreed, suggested and refuted, with the vehemence of trained
men whose life and honor depended on their ability to fight, which
it did.
    William said not a word. Only the clink of the
pitcher against his goblet indicated his presence.
    She crept down the stairs and into her corner where
Bula slept. The ominous silence from her pupil weighed her spirits.
Maud fetched Saura’s hand loom and bent to listen to
whispered instructions. Bartley came, too, listened and nodded his
understanding. When the chevaliers rose and stretched, maid
servants appeared at their elbows immediately to escort them to
their rooms. A great deal of groaning ensued, genial groans of
weariness and satiety, and Raymond, Nicholas, Charles, and Arthur
followed the women to their beds.
    Lord