Chapter 14
Olly
It had been decided between them that Ash should speak to the staff alone.
Agnes had retired to attempt to write her letters, although she had gone cursing under her breath.
Olly had been half-tempted to ask if she required assistance, but the look on her face had made him pause.
Whatever her feelings towards her family, they were her feelings. He would not intrude.
She had allowed him to stay, despite being an interloper to her marriage. It was an enormous kindness, and he was still reeling from it. She could have insisted he go. She had not. He would not push his luck. He did not want to subject her to his presence when he was half giddy with Ash’s return.
While Olly was free to do as he pleased in Ash’s absence, he was still known as a prisoner. The guards and staff would panic to see him roaming about before Ash had a chance to spread word, so it was agreed he would return to Ash’s chambers.
Olly had heard about Dunlyn Castle but had never actually visited, and was beginning to fear he had overestimated his sense of direction.
He was sure Ash had brought him this way the previous day – or perhaps he had come this way with the guard who had pulled him from the cart – yet as he turned another corner, he found himself in a corridor that he could not recall.
This was why he needed Pepper with him. He had always needed Pepper more than Pepper had needed him: he certainly needed someone to be his memory when his own failed.
He wandered back the way he had come and realised that he was no longer alone.
Someone was heading down the hallway towards him.
Not a guard, as Olly immediately feared, but the man who had stopped Olly from leaving.
The hostage. Again, his name had slipped Olly’s mind. The man grinned as he approached.
‘Oliver!’ he said. ‘I see you have escaped the tower.’
While Olly could not remember his name, he could remember the rest: that this man had known, somehow, the truth of his and Ash’s relationship. He had known who Olly was.
‘I have been invited to stay,’ he said.
The man’s face twitched into a smile. ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘I am pleased. Really, Oliver. Or is it Olly?’
‘Olly,’ Olly said. ‘But I am afraid I do not know your name.’
The hostage seemed friendly enough, but it was too soon to spill all his secrets. His patchy memory was one he tended to guard more fiercely.
‘Penn,’ he said. ‘Although you may hear some call me William. If you do, you have my full permission to strike them. Ash will tell you the same.’
Olly burst into laughter. ‘I shall remember that,’ he said, hoping it was not a lie. ‘I admit, Penn … I am rather lost.’
Penn nodded. ‘This place is a maze. Where are you headed?’
‘I am supposed to be staying in Ash’s chambers lest the guards drag me away again.’
Penn snorted with laughter. ‘That sounds terribly dull. Let me show you around a little. If anyone questions us, I will tell them to fuck off.’
Being shown around Dunlyn sounded significantly more interesting than waiting around for Ash all morning. Olly allowed Penn to lead on, following close behind.
‘I really must thank you,’ he said as they walked.
‘Oh?’
‘Had you not stopped me from leaving I do not know what would have become of me. I would have gone the rest of my life hating Ash. I would have never known that he—’ The words lodged somewhere in his lungs. Penn gave him a sympathetic look.
‘So you do love him then?’
Olly wished he knew the man better so he could hit him. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Good.’ Penn looked smug. ‘I understand, in a way. To love someone and be torn from them. And Ash, God …’ His expression turned far away, unfocused. ‘Believing the one you love is dead? Knowing they are? There is no pain like that. I am glad you listened to us.’
‘And I am glad that you stopped me.’
They spent the rest of the morning exploring the keep.
Penn knew all the hidden servants’ corridors and doorways, making Olly feel even more lost than he had done before.
Penn knew all the staff, too – greeting people so warmly that no one seemed fit to question why Olly was even with him.
He took him down into the kitchens, where the cook – Joan, Penn called her – eyed Olly warily but happily gave Penn half a dozen oatcakes, still warm.
They were eating their prize, perched on a bench in the yard, when Ash returned, Raff at his side. He approached them with a raised eyebrow.
‘Why is it,’ he said, as he approached, ‘that I feel I should be worried if you two are spending time together?’
Penn gave him a sharp grin. ‘I have no idea.’
‘What have you been up to?’
‘I have been showing Olly around,’ Penn said. ‘Now if you do not mind …’
He walked straight past Ash towards Raff, helping him down from his horse. Clearly, Ash was not going to get much more from him.
‘Did all go well in town?’ Olly asked, doing likewise.
‘It did,’ Ash said, looking relieved. ‘I spoke to the priest, who was more than happy to assist, as well as Hamond. He will be keeping watch for Pepper.’
‘Oh.’ The sudden hurt that Ash’s marriage would be so soon clashed with the relief that Ash had seen through with his promise to find Pepper. ‘Thank you, Ash.’
Ash had arrived with more than he had set off with: a box slung over his horse’s flank. He untied it swiftly, heaving it over a shoulder as he made his way inside with Olly at his heels.
‘I found you something,’ Ash said. ‘A gift.’
Olly paused. ‘Did you now?’
Ash pushed open his solar door and laid the box on the table. Olly had assumed it contained documents or goods – something important to an earl. Ash gestured to it.
‘Open it.’
Curiously, Olly did as he asked. Ash watched like a hawk as Olly opened the lid and pulled back the cloth inside.
‘What is— Oh.’
His heart stuttered as he peered down at the lute.
‘I spotted it in the tavern when I was speaking to Hamond,’ Ash said.
‘And, well, it was left on the side, coated in dust, so I asked him about it. It belonged to his son, who used to play in the evenings for the drinkers, but he died last year.’ Ash looked down at the dusty instrument, the faded wood.
‘Neither Hamond nor his wife have been able to touch it since. It’s too painful for them.
So I took it off their hands. For a fair price, of course. ’
Olly trailed his hand up and down the strings. They hummed beneath his fingertips.
‘Is it all right?’ Ash said, nervously. ‘I’ve never been sure what kind is—’ His voice caught. ‘You … do you still play?’
Olly froze. Grief, as if it were fresh, twisted around his heart. Ash noticed at once, going to shut the lid.
‘I apologise,’ he muttered. ‘That was foolish of me. I should not have—’
‘Ash.’ Olly’s hand shot out, grabbing Ash’s wrist. ‘It has been a while. But yes. I still play. I still want to play. But it has proven hard, without an instrument.’
Ash nodded. ‘Of course. Since France—’
‘Oh, no.’ Olly laughed. ‘Not quite so long as that. I played for a while; we had a little group, musicians and thieves alike. But …’ His fingers drifted over the lid of the box.
‘We attempted to take too much. It ended poorly.’ He swallowed.
‘My lute was sold. We had no choice. And I have since been unable to find another.’
‘You could not find one?’
‘I … I could not afford one.’
‘Olly …’
Olly smiled, although the expression felt hollow.
‘The scar on my arm. When the wound turned, Pepper was forced to sell my lute so he could afford treatment.’ His fingers shook.
‘I was so unwell that I had not even realised he had done it until afterwards, until I was able to think and talk and sit up again. He had no other choice. I do not blame him. He saved me. But … but I have missed it.’
He lightly ran his fingers up and down the strings, as if they could bite. Perhaps they would.
‘I found something else, too …’
Ash’s voice was uncertain. Olly was immediately intrigued.
‘Did you now?’
Ash moved closer, brushing against Olly’s arm, then reached into the pouch at his hip. He pulled out a little jar, pressed it into Olly’s hand, and opened the lid.
‘Oh,’ Olly said, the distinct smell of tallow and chamomile suddenly filling the room. ‘Oh. Where did you get this?’
Ash nudged him with a half-shrug. ‘I have my ways. It is nothing fine, I will admit …’
‘I am sure it will serve our purposes well,’ Olly said, quickly replacing the lid and stashing away the jar. ‘For now. How long do you think this will last?’
He turned to Ash with a grin. Ash went red.
‘I fear,’ Olly continued, leaning even closer, ‘that we will soon need more. I hope my Lord can see to it.’
Ash wriggled on the spot. Olly held back a laugh: they had only been reunited for a handful of days, yet it was like nothing had changed. Ash had always been easy to tease.
‘Oliver.’
‘Yes, my Lord?’
‘Later.’