Belmaine spread his hands. “Think on it, at least. No haste.”
Thomas almost laughed. No haste, from a man who had arrived before breakfast.
Belmaine continued, voice smooth again. “My daughter will not lack suitors. Nor will Ashcombe lack enemies. I offer you a path between them.”
“Your path requires I throw a woman out into the cold.”
“The nuns are not wolves.”
“No,” Thomas said. “But men are.”
Something flickered in Belmaine’s face. Thomas knew then, with the cold certainty that came before battle, that the man had heard more than he had said. Belmaine had already begun picking at the edges of the tale.
This offer had never been only an offer. It was a probe. A finger pressed to a bruise.
Belmaine drew on his gloves one finger at a time. “You are making a grave mistake.”
“I have made many. This is not one.”
“We shall see.”
“Aye,” Thomas said. “We shall.”
Belmaine looked toward the hall.
Thomas moved half a step before thinking, placing himself more fully in the man’s line of sight.
Belmaine noticed and the corner of his mouth lifted. It was a small expression, but Thomas hated it more than any threat spoken aloud.
“I wish you well, Ashcombe,” Belmaine said.
“I do not believe you.”
“No,” Belmaine said softly. “I can see that.”
He turned away. His men mounted with the quick precision of those who had expected no hospitality. The grey gelding tossed its head as Belmaine swung into the saddle. He did not look back until he reached the gate.
Then he turned in the saddle, his cloak falling neatly around him, murrey lining bright against the morning.
“Give Mistress Quinn my regards,” he called.
Thomas’s hand moved toward his sword.
Hob caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough.
Belmaine smiled, then rode out.
The gates closed behind him, and Thomas stood in the yard until the sound of hooves on the track faded beneath the ordinary noises of Ashcombe. A hen complaining, a cart wheel creaking, someone in the kitchen yard dropping something heavy and being cursed for it by Edith.
“He’ll not leave it,” Hob said behind him.
“No.”
“What will he do?”
Thomas looked at the closed gate.
He thought of the smile with nothing behind it. The patience of a man who had just discovered a locked door and begun considering windows.