"Sharon K. Penman - The Sunne In Splendour" - читать интересную книгу автора (Penman Sharon K)

too shaken to be of assistance. Eyes reddened and swollen, she hovered in the background, from time to
time reaching out to touch Richard's hair, as tentatively as if she were daring a liberty that was of a
sudden forbidden.
Richard smiled at her with his eyes, quite flattered that she should have been crying so on his behalf, but
she seemed little consoled by his sympathy and when he'd explained, rather haltingly, to his mother that
he'd become separated from Ned and Joan in pursuit of his fox cub, Joan inexplicably began to cry
again.
"I heard you're to be locked in the cellar under the great hall as your punishment ... in the dark with the
rats!"
His brother George had sidled nearer, awaiting the chance to speak as soon as their mother moved away
from the table. He was watching Richard now with intent blue-green eyes, and Richard tried to conceal
his involuntary shudder. He had no intention of letting George know he had a morbid horror of rats,
aware that if he did, he was all too likely to find one in his bed.
Edmund came to his rescue, leaning over George to offer Richard a sip from his own cup of mulled wine.
"Mind your mouth, George," he said softly. "Or you might find yourself taking a tour of the cellar some
night."
George glared at Edmund but did not venture a response, for he was not all that certain Edmund
wouldn't, if sufficiently provoked, follow through with his threat. Playing it safe, he held his tongue;
although still a month shy of his tenth birthday, George had already developed a sophisticated sense of
self-preservation.
Setting Edmund's cup down so abruptly that wine sloshed over onto the table, Richard slid hastily to the
floor. He had at last heard the one voice he'd been waiting for.
Edward was dismounting before the round Norman nave that housed the chapel named for St Mary
Magdalene. He saw Richard as the boy bolted through the doorway of the solar and in three strides he
covered the ground between them, catching Richard to him in a tight bone-bruising embrace and then
laughing and swinging the youngster up into the air, high over his head.
"Jesu, but you did give me some bad moments, lad! Be you all right?"
"He's fine." Edmund had come through the doorway behind Richard, and now stood looking down at
them as Edward knelt beside Richard in the dust. His eyes raked Edward with ironic amusement and a
message flashed between them that passed, figuratively and literally, over Richard's head.
"He's fine," Edmund repeated, "but I daresay he'll be taken severely to task for running off as he did. It
seems he became lost chasing after that damned pet fox of his. But then, I needn't tell you that, do I,
Ned? After all, you were there."
"That's right," Edward said coolly. "I was." His mouth twitched and then, as if on cue, he and Edmund
were laughing. Coming lightly to his feet, Edward kept his arm warm around Richard's shoulders as they
moved across the bailey, murmuring, "Fox hunting, were you?"
His voice was noncommittal and Richard nodded shyly, keeping his eyes upon Edward's face.
"Well . . . you might not be too good at keeping put, Dickon, but you're very good, indeed, at keeping
faith!" Edward said softly, and meeting Richard's eyes, he winked and then grinned, and Richard
discovered the joyful difference between being a sacrificial lamb and a trusted conspirator.
Much to Richard's surprise, Joan fled the solar as soon as Edward came through the doorway. But he
had no time to dwell on her peculiar behavior, for Edward was lifting him up and depositing him back
upon the table, saying, "Let me have a look at you." Shaking his head in mock disbelief. "You look like
you've been jousting with a bramblebush," he said wryly, and Richard laughed.
"I was," he confided, and then looked up as his mother laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.
She was studying her eldest son, her eyes speculative. He met her gaze levelly, with a faintly quizzical
smile, and at length she said only, "You were lucky, Edward. Very lucky, indeed."
"Somehow, he always is, Ma Mere," Edmund observed laconically.
"I am, aren't I?" Edward agreed complacently, and stepping back, brought his elbow up, as if by chance,
to jostle Edmund's arm and spill his drink. Edmund, just as quick, tilted the cup so that it splashed upon