Page 61 of Swordheart
He opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of the crowded room. The only sound was Halla snoring softly on the bed.
Sarkis was glad that she was asleep. It would have been far too difficult to explain why he was so close to weeping.
CHAPTER 19
“My dear, what do you truly know of this Sarkis fellow who travels with you?”
Sarkis froze. He had been returning from an early morning trip to the privy and was padding down the hallway to the main room when Bartholomew’s voice came to his ears. He paused outside the doorway, waiting to see what Halla would say.
“He’s been wonderful,” said Halla staunchly. “He’s brave and very kind. I mean, he mutters about burning our civilization down occasionally, but I don’t think hemeansanything by it.”
Sarkis fought back a smile.
“Yes, but…” Bartholomew coughed. “He’s… well, a man traveling alone with a woman and… not that I am implying anything, my dear! But he should have considered how it looked for your reputation!”
“We were fleeing the house by night! Aunt Malva set her guardsman on us to keep us from leaving! What should we have done, knocked on doors until someone answered and agreed to be a chaperone?”
“Well…” Sarkis couldn’t see either of them, but he could picture Halla folding her arms and giving Bartholomew her you-are-being-rather-dense look. “Obviously at the time it was impractical, but once you were well away from that woman, he should have given a thought to your reputation.”
“He did,” said Halla. “He brought mehere.”
“My dear, I care for you as the niece I never had, but bringing a respectable woman to the house of an unmarried bachelor, even one as old as I am, is hardly the most proper thing.”
“I’m a middle-aged widow, Bartholomew,” said Halla. Now would be the weary one-of-us-is-stupid-and-I’m-pretty-sure-it-isn’t-me expression. “If anyone thinks that I am debauched, it would probably be an improvement.”
“Halla…”
“I mean it. I’ve been respectable for thirty-six years, and it got me locked in my own room by a grasping old woman who wanted me to marry her nasty clammy-handed son. I might as well try being less respectable for a while. If that means running off into the night with a man in a sword, so be it.”
“A man in a…?”
Uh-oh.Sarkis stepped through the doorway hurriedly. “Manwitha sword, I suspect she meant.”
“Yes, that,” said Halla, covering quickly. “Sorry, I’m still angry about Aunt Malva, and it’s making my tongue knot up. The nerve of her! Locking me in my room like she owned Silas’s house! And you know Silas couldn’t stand her!”
“I remember,” said Bartholomew wearily. “Oh gods, do I remember.” He pushed a stack of papers aside to make room for Sarkis beside him. Sarkis pretended not to see and sat down beside Halla instead.
“Did you sleep well?” asked their host warily.
“Very well indeed. Thank you, Ser Bartholomew, for your hospitality.”
“Oh, goodness.” The man looked flustered. “It was nothing.” He turned back and called for the serving girl. She came out with a mug for Sarkis and refilled those at the table from her teapot.
Sarkis nodded gravely. Halla’s thigh was touching his all along its length and he knew that he should move over and give her a little more room, but the bench was not terribly long. She didn’t seem to mind.
He found that he didn’t mind, either. His skin prickled with awareness.
Great god, it made no sense! Insomuch as Sarkis had a type, it was bold women who knew what they wanted. Halla was the furthest thing from bold, and not only did she not know whatshewanted, she had an ability to make other people in the room start to question whattheywanted.
Hell, she was doing it to Bartholomew right now. He’d said something about the dangers of a woman traveling alone and she’d just stared at him, baffled, until the poor man trailed off in confusion.
“But I’m not alone. I’ve got Sarkis with me.”
“Yes, but…” Bartholomew obviously was trying to find a way to say that Sarkis might well be one of the dangers, but couldn’t figure out a way to do it to his face. Sarkis smiled at him. The Dervish had always said that he had a very unsettling smile.
Halla wrapped her fingers around her mug. “I’m grateful for your concern, Bartholomew,” she said. “Really and truly. You’re the only person other than Sarkis who actually cares about me, not just my inheritance.” She frowned. “Well, and my nieces, I hope, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen them. I’m hoping if I can sort this whole thing out, I’ll be able to help them with dowries.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Bartholomew. “And of course I care. Silas was a tough old bast… err… bird”—he cleared his throat apologetically—“and you took excellent care of him. He lasted a lot longer than he would have if you hadn’t taken him in hand.”
