Memories

Chapter 3-3

Will sat on the doorstep after having taken a long and bracing walk around the land. His favourite of the many estate cats wandered by and deigned to stop for him to rub its ear.

“Morning Killer.” He had dubbed the brute Killer on account of the fact he was soft as a brush. The cat jumped into his lap, turned around a few times, and then settled down, allowing him to continue stroking him. “Feeling pally today, are we?” Will said and smiled as the cat tipped its head back and purred loudly as he stroked. “I’m going to miss you when I’m gone. Will you miss me?” he said, scratching under the cat’s chin and smiling as it made a soft chattering sound. “You will, won’t you.” He was going to miss more than the cat, he thought as he looked out over the land surrounding the lodge. Before he could get even more maudlin a crash from inside the house made him jump almost out of his skin and earned him a set of claws in his thigh. Yelping at the pain, and the surprise, he stood and let the cat jump down.

“Christ, Killer,” he muttered, rubbing his leg as he went inside and headed for the bedroom. Dearne was on the floor, skinny arse in the air as he tried to get onto all fours.

“What the hell are you doing?” Will demanded as he bent and grabbed hold of Dearne under the armpits.

“Get off me,” the man muttered and shrugged him off. “Need to get up and get moving.”

“You need to rest,” Will said getting hold of him again.

“Get your damned hands off me. If I need your help I will ask for it. Until then, keep your distance.”

The words hung between them. Will remembered this man was supposedly his master, remembered he was the son of an earl, a Captain in the King’s army. He also remembered he bloody well didn’t like the wastrel.

“As you wish, Captain Dearne.” He stood back and politely watched. Will fully expected to have to come to Dearne’s aid, and relished the notion he might have to take back those words but, unfortunately, the man was apparently made of sterner stuff.

That he was an officer in the King’s army had come through loudly in his rebuff, and whilst Will still bristled at the tone, he had to admit to a reluctant admiration at the sheer grit and determination Dearne displayed in getting to his feet. Eventually, he stood. He was holding the bedpost with a death grip, his face was the colour of chalk, and his lips an alarming shade of grey. Sweat stood out on every part of his now shaking body. Will watched as he put his shoulders back and shook sweaty hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head that almost overbalanced him.

“There,” Dearne said. His voice was thready, but firm. “That’s better.” He swayed, but righted himself before Will could move. “Where are my clothes?”

“Kitchen. I’ve cleaned your boots and jacket as best I could, but the rest is ruined,” Will said looking the man in the eye. Upright, Dearne was taller than he had thought he might be, they stood nose to nose. The air crackled between them.

“I can lend you some of my things if you like?”

“Thank you; most kind,” Dearne said. He looked to be holding onto his composure and his stance with every last vestige of willpower in his body and Will was torn between continuing to stand there and watch him struggle, or leave the man to his pride.

With a sigh, he walked to the large dresser in the corner of the room which held his clothing and looked for something Dearne could wear. Will found a shirt that was threadbare but clean, some woollen breeches, smalls, and a neckcloth. That made him smile. Flashy Dearne, the dandy, wearing his old neckcloth and smalls.

“There you go,” he said, and dropped the clothes on the bed. Dearne was breathing heavily. Although he had attempted to reassert the order of things with his snapped command, Will was determined not to bend to it. In a matter of days, the man would cease to be his employer, and it gave Will a certain satisfaction to treat the man as an equal, particularly if it annoyed him. Dearne looked up at Will with those large grey eyes, looked down at the clothes, and then back up at Will.

“What?”

Dearne just raised an eyebrow. Will stared. He would have gladly helped the man to dress, but while he stood there with a commanding air, raising an eyebrow in expectation, the man could think again.