“I don’t know what to do.” Lord Glove handed Grady another towel, “You’ve come to me in the middle of the night with summons from an… ‘elderish’ being and a rat skull hanging from your ear. It is most unusual.”

Lord Glove stared at the broken spear on his mantelpiece. It was an old problem. One to which he’d never found the solution. “Rebeka told me to never again enter her home uninvited. Our relationship is… strained.”

Grady finished wiping at his face and dropped the towel to the floor.

“`at’s t` hway h’of love, me lord. h’One day yer pickin’ flowers in t’ field hand makin’ t’ h’eyes hat heach hother hand sayin’ ye hwere hwishin’ ye hwas married. T’en hall hof ha sudden ye’re lonier t’an ye’ve hever been hin yer life hand ta children hare too hafraid ta heven talk hand hevery penny ye’ve hever hearned his gone hand hevery day ye come ‘ome t’ learn hit’s not henough hand ye’re ha failure hand ‘e should ‘ave never married ye hin t’ first place. T’ next t’ing ye know ‘e’s bit ha ‘orse’s ‘oof hand yer leavin’ t’ treeless ‘arridan ta rot in t’ selfsame field. hAnd heven t’en ye can’ find peace ‘cause t’ voice won’ stop hand no matter hwhat ye do ye still feel like ha failure. T’at’s love! T’at’s hwhat t’ey hwrite habout in t’eir songs! T’at’s t’ beautiful life me father promised me!”

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Grady shook his fist, spraying water everywhere. Lord Glove handed him another towel.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, me lord.”

Lord Glove waved away the apology. “It is best not to dwell on such things. Your outburst is already forgotten.”

“T’ank ye, me lord.” Grady turned away and made a show of warming himself at the hearth. Lord Glove mirrored the motion, staring at the flames. Lord Glove was careful not to meet the old guard’s eyes, and he suspected Grady was doing the same. For now, Lord Glove was content to listen to the crackling of the fire.

Grady was the first to speak. “’e could be hin danger, me lord.”

Lord Glove’s eyes flickered to the spear. “Yes.”

“Ye should be going t’en, hI reckon.”

“I promised-,” he paused. Was that honour speaking, or pride? Half a century was a long time to hold a grudge. It was high time he make amends with Rebeka, she was growing old. And if she was not in danger? If she never forgave him? “So be it. I will bear both her scorn and her hatred if it means keeping her safe.”

Lord Glove tugged on his coat and headed for the door. “Grady, you have charge of the house. Ring for the guard. I want them to be at the armoury ready for combat in ten minutes. We’ll be leaving at once.”

“Sir?”

Lord Glove paused in the entryway. The squall had lessened to a steady drumming of rain.

“hI… hIt’s habout time Sir.” Grady wrung out his lamellar armour and hung it over the fire irons. “Time fer h’one hof hus ta make hamends, t’at his.”