He was yawning again. "I have always liked it. She wore it in France. Even the king remarked on it."
"It is heavy. Feel the skirt."
He stretched some more. "I have felt cloth of gold often, as well as cloth of silver. I have even removed a few of those gowns from court women." He scratched at his side. "I must get to bed. I find that my clothes are beginning to itch. Perhaps it is just my great desire to get them off."
She didn't know what to do to get him to look at her. The hard corset inside the dress pushed her breasts so flat that they ached, but they swelled above the gown's neck as though they were overripe melons. As far as she could tell, he hadn't yet seen them.
"Your mother's corset hurts me," she said. "I do not think your mother had as much to fill the dress as I have." She held her breath to see what he would say to that remark.
"I do not remember looking at my mother in that way," he said stiffly, as though she had offended him.
"I did not mean—"
"Yes, yes, apology accepted. Now, are you sure that there was nothing that you had to say to me, other than telling me that my mother was an ugly creature?"
"I did not say—" She cut herself off and turned away from him. "Oh, go on, go to bed. It no longer matters what I wanted. You are tired, and you must have your rest."
She expected to hear the door open and close, but when it did not she turned to look at him. "Go on, I will keep you no longer."
He sat back down in the chair. "You are upset about something. Has the message from the king come so soon? Is that why you have dressed in my mother's best gown and planned this dinner? You want to celebrate the good news?"
"I have heard nothing from anyone. I have not heard from my brothers, or from the king, or from the Peregrine ghost, for that matter. No one has talked to me all day."
He smiled at her in a knowing way. "Ah, so that is it. You desire company. Come, then, talk. I will try to stay awake long enough to listen."
She turned away from him. "I had a purpose when you came, but now I do not know what it was," she muttered.
He was so silent from behind her that she turned to look at him. His head was back against the chair, and he was asleep. She felt anger when she looked at him, then she felt a bit like crying. Why were other women so able to entice men when she was not?
She walked to him and put her hand on his cheek. He was better-looking than her brothers, better-looking than Colbrand—in fact, better-looking than any man in the world.
He awoke with a start. "I was dreaming," he said.
She smiled at him. "What were you dreaming?"
"That I was at court and Lady Catherine was coming to my room. I think it must be the gown. She had a blue cloth-of-gold gown."
Zared stiffened and moved away from him. "I would like for you to leave now."
He stood and ran his hand over his eyes. "I must go to my room and finish this dream." But before he left he walked to the mantel and lifted a fine silver goblet. It was filled with ale, and there were herbs floating on top.
"I am dying of thirst," he said before he downed the entire drink.
"Do not drink that!" Zared shouted.
Tearle finished the drink, then looked at her in surprise. "You would deny me something to drink when I am so thirsty? Come now, I would have thought more of a Peregrine, not to mention a woman who is my wife." He paused. "Or, as you shouted at my men, one who is not my wife. Why are you looking at me so strangely?"
"I am not looking at you at all," she said softly, but she was looking at him so intently that she didn't even blin
k.
He gave another little stretch. "I must go now. It's time for bed for me." He suppressed a yawn, then leaned over and chastely kissed her forehead. "My mother's gown looks good on you. I daresay that she did not look any better in it than you. Now you really must excuse me."
He turned away toward the door, Zared's eyes following him. He had drunk the potion, yet nothing had happened! Tomorrow, she thought, she would go to the witch and demand her coin back. She would not pay for a useless spell.
It was as Tearle put his hand on the door latch that he paused. For a long moment he didn't move. Then slowly, very slowly, he turned to look at her. His eyes were wide, as though he'd had some great shock. For a moment he looked at her face, his eyes dropping to her lips, then his eyes fell to the floor, and he looked from her hidden feet up to her face, his eyes lingering a long time on her exposed bosom.
Out of instinct Zared put her hand to her bosom and took a step backward. Tearle stepped toward her, his eyes hot and full of longing.