A voice beside him said, “I am not asleep.”
He rolled over and kissed her gently on the tip of the nose. “Hello.”
“Why are you not under the covers? You will get cold out there.”
He removed the other wet sock from the pillow. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“But I am not sleeping.”
He unbuckled his belt and joined her. “Virana said you had a headache.”
“I said that to stop her talking.”
“She can talk as much as she likes.” Her thigh was warm and smooth under his hand. “As long as she stays out of here for a while.”
She drew away.
“Uh?”
“Not now.”
“Surely it’s not time for—”
“I don’t want to.”
“Oh.” He withdrew the hand. It was going to be one of those you-ought-to-know-what-I’m-thinking moments.
There was a time when he had unjustly assumed these moments were peculiar to his first wife. Or even that it was his own fault—that he had missed a crucial link in the chain of reasoning that would explain how a perfectly normal conversation had suddenly arrived at a place where he knew only two things: firstly, that he had no idea why Claudia had taken offense; and secondly, that whatever it was, she was not going to tell him.
“I’ve been to see Senecio,” he said, guessing.
“I do not suppose either of you spoke of the wedding blessing.”
“No.”
She sighed.
Ah. The wedding blessing. It would be a while before he was forgiven for that one. If only she had never gotten involved with those people.
Her hair was tickling his nose. He pulled away and lay facing the faint lattice of the rafters and the dark bulge where he had hung Candidus’s kit bag, and thought of the time when those blonde curls had been gray with grime and so hopelessly matted that he had threatened to cut them off. Then, months later, when she had become much more than an unwanted slave, there had been that peculiar conversation in the middle of the night. She had wriggled about for the umpteenth time and muttered something, and he had tried to hide his irritation with “Can’t you sleep?”
Afterward he had lain pondering her reply, wondering what British concept she had intended the Latin words to convey. In the end he had said, “You just told me your hair wakes you up.”
“Yes.”
“Your hair?”
“I forget to tie it back. When I turn over, the hair is caught under my shoulder. Or yours. I must wake up to move the hair so I can move my head.”
“I knew you should have let me cut it off.”
He was glad she hadn’t.
It was raining again. He could hear it dripping off the thatch. “I’m sorry about the wedding blessing.”
“I do not think so.”
“Well, I’m sorry for you.”
No reply. He wondered whether it was worth trying again, or whether that would just make things worse. “It must be lonely for you sometimes, trailing around after me.”
She said, “Yes.”
“I’m glad you do.”
It was too much to hope that she might say she was glad too, but after a pause he felt a hand groping for his own. She said, “I’m hungry.”
He drew the hand up to his lips and kissed it. “Can you wait?”
“How long?”
“Half an hour?”
Afterward, when they were dozing in each other’s arms amidst a tangle of bedclothes, he heard, “That was not half an hour.”
“Are you complaining?”
She giggled. “No.”
They lay listening to the world outside, in no hurry to join it. Feet scurried across the room below them. Conversation rose and faded as the bar door was opened and closed. There was more dripping. Boots marched down the street. Someone whistled for a dog.
She said dreamily, “Can you stay here tonight?”
“I wish I could,” he said, guiltily remembering that he was supposed to be asking her about the body-in-the-wall rumor, and then remembering Candidus’s knife. “Night duty.”
“You are always on night duty!”
“Not the night we went to Senecio,” he pointed out. “Although I might as well have been.”
She sighed. “I know. ‘It is a small hospital. There is only one doctor.’ ”
“It’s the truth.”
“They should give you a proper clerk.”
“Not after we carelessly lost the last one.”
“He has caused a lot of trouble.” She nuzzled his ear. “Tell Albanus he must look for him himself.”
“I’d rather Albanus didn’t find out. I don’t want to upset him even more after Grata.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “What about Grata?”