Cerdic watched the two young men with some amusement during lunch. Rick would inch towards Manny, trying to be subtle. Once Manny realized what he was doing, he’d either tense but remain where he was or move away, all the time seemingly unable to keep his eyes off of Rick. It became a comic ballet in several acts but eventually Cerdic grew tired of it.
“Boys, if you’re feeling antsy, and from what I am seeing I believe you are, might I suggest you work it off by chopping wood for the fireplaces. It may be warm outside at the moment, but by this evening the temperature will have dropped considerably.”
Manny and Godric immediately jumped up, stopping at the sink long enough to wash up their dishes before heading back outside. Cerdic waited until they had left and then refilled his coffee cup, taking it with him to the bench by the large picture window in the main room.
He looked around the room, once again marveling at how it took him back to a time long ago when life had been so different. Here, and only here, did he truly feel at home.
Leaning against the back of the bench, he studied each of the tapestries in turn, recalling when he had acquired each one and why. The three largest had been woven by his mother and sisters and depicted the history of the family. Two centuries after his death he had made the acquaintance of another Scriostóir and, through not so subtle blackmail, had convinced her to return to the period just before he had slain his family and bring those tapestries back with her. Of course, once she had, he felt it necessary to kill her, not wanting word of what he’d forced her to do to reach the ears of those who might not understand.
A shaft of early afternoon sun through the window behind him hit one of the tapestries. The women of his family, including his new sister-in-law had finished it a mere months before their deaths. It depicted the weddings of his father and brothers in sequence. As he focused in on the sunlit portion, he felt a chill. Standing quickly, he strode over for a closer look.
“Now I know,” he spat out as he stared at the portrayal of his youngest brother’s wedding. The bride stood shyly beside her new husband. “It’s in the eyes, and the lips,” Cerdic growled. “What are you, Rick Ward, or to be more precise, Godric Aylward? Scriostóir sent to spy on me or Caomhnóir here to slay me?”
Taking a deep breath to rein in his rage, Cerdic returned to the window to stare out at the two boys. “Whichever you are, you will not make it through the night alive, Godric.”
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