“I would like to . . . go to her. I think. I don’t know.”
Laurie rubbed his chin. “Look, Pug, I never thought I’d have this sort of talk with anyone besides a son someday if I ever have one. I wasn’t meaning to make sport of you. You just caught me off guard.” He looked away, gathering his thoughts, then said, “My father threw me out when I was just shy twelve years old; I was the oldest boy, and he had seven other mouths to feed. And I was never much for farming. A neighbor boy and I walked to Tyr-Sog and spent a year living on the streets. He joined a mercenary band as a cook’s monkey and later became a soldier. I hooked up with a traveling troupe of musicians. I apprenticed to a jongleur from whom I learned the songs, sagas, and ballads, and I traveled.
“I came quickly to my growth, a man at thirteen. There was a woman in the troupe, a widow of a singer, traveling with her brothers and cousins. She was just past twenty, but seemed very old to me then. She was the one who introduced me to the games of men and women.” He stopped for a moment, reliving memories long forgotten.
Laurie smiled. “It was over fifteen years ago, Pug. But I can still see her face. We were both a little lost. It was never a planned thing. It just happened one afternoon on the road.
“She was . . . kind.” He looked at Pug. “She knew I was scared, despite my bravado.” He smiled and closed his eyes. “I can still see the sun in the trees behind her face, and the smell of her mingled with the scent of wildflowers.” Opening his eyes he said, “We spent the next two years together, while I learned to sing. Then I left the troupe.”
“What happened?” Pug asked, for this was a new story to him. Laurie had never spoken of his youth before.
“She married again. He was a good man, an innkeeper on the road from Malac’s Cross to Durrony’s Vale. His wife had died the year before of fever, leaving him with two small sons. She tried to explain things to me, but I wouldn’t listen. What did I know? I was not quite sixteen, and the world was a simple place.”
Pug nodded. “I know what you mean.”
Laurie said, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I understand the problem. I can explain how things work . . .”
Pug said, “I know that. I wasn’t raised by monks.”
“But you don’t know how things work.”
Pug nodded as they both laughed. “I think you should just go to the girl and make your feelings known,” said Laurie.
“Just talk to her?”
“Of course. Love is like a lot of things, it is always best done with the head. Save mindless efforts for mindless things Now go.”
“Now?” Pug looked panic-stricken.
“You can’t start any sooner, right?”
Pug nodded and without a word left. He walked down the dark and quiet corridors, outside to the slave quarters, and found his way to her door. He raised his hand to knock on the door frame, then stopped. He stood quietly for a moment trying to make up his mind what to do, when the door slid open. Almorella stood in the doorway, clutching her robe about her, her hair disheveled. “Oh,” she whispered, “I thought it was Laurie. Wait a moment.” She disappeared into the room, then shortly reappeared with a bundle of things in her arms. She patted Pug’s arm and set off in the direction of his and Laurie’s room.
Pug stood at the door, then slowly entered. He could see Katala lying under a blanket on her pallet. He stepped over to where she lay and squatted next to her. He touched her shoulder and softly spoke her name. She came awake and sat up suddenly, gathered her blanket around her, and said, “What are you doing here?”
“I . . . I wanted to talk to you.” Once started, the words came out in a tumbling rush. “I am sorry if I’ve done anything to make you angry with me. Or haven’t done anything. I mean, Laurie said that if you don’t do something when someone expects you to, that’s as bad as paying too much attention. I’m not sure, you see.” She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, for she could see his distress in spite of the gloom. “What I mean . . . what I mean is I’m sorry. Sorry for what I’ve done. Or didn’t do . . .”
She silenced him by placing her fingertips across his mouth. Her arm snaked out and around his neck, pulling his head downward. She kissed him slowly, then said, “Silly. Go close the door.”
They lay together, Katala’s arm across Pug’s chest, while he stared at the ceiling. She made sleepy sounds, and he ran his hands through her thick hair and across her soft shoulder.
“What?” she asked sleepily.
“I was just thinking that I haven’t been happier since I was made a member of the Duke’s court.”
“ ‘Sgood.” She came a bit more awake. “What’s a duke?”
Pug thought for a moment. “It’s like a lord here, only different. My Duke was cousin to the King, and the third most powerful man in the Kingdom.”