Free Fair Blows the Wind (1978) by Louis - Talon-Chantry L'amour

must go."
    "Where is it you go to?" he asked. "My daughter is concerned."
    "To London," I said, desperately, wishing to be away.
    "I do not think you will reach London tonight," he said quietly. "You had better come along with us."
    "I cannot."
    He waited, just waited, saying nothing. At last I said, "Some men at the tavern are looking for me. They will rob me."
    "Robyou?" He smiled. "Are you rich, then?"
    "No. I do not think it matters if one has much. They would take whatever I had."
    "Who were these men?" he persisted. Reluctantly, I explained what had happened, and how the man with the white hair had stopped the tavern keeper from overcharging me.
    He frowned thoughtfully. "A young man, with white hair? Was it a wig, perhaps?"
    "It was his own hair. His face was white, too. Like polished marble. Only his eyes seemed alive."
    "Andhe spoke for you?"
    "Do you know him then?"
    "I do not. I think I know who he might have been, but why he is here, in this place, I do not know. That he even was moved to speak to you, or act in your favor is amazing."
    "He did not actually speak to me."
    The man changed the subject. "Come with us, lad. At least you can have some supper before you go. And we have a good woman here who might do something for that knee."
    "But if they find me--"
    "Do you think they would come to my house? Lad, do not mistake them. Thieves they may be; cowards, also. Fools they are not ... at least not so foolish as that."
    He turned and started back, his daughter beside him, and I walked along with them. A bird suddenly flew up.
    "What was that?" the maid said.
    "A goldcrest," I replied, not thinking.
    "Do they have them in Ireland then?" Her father spoke so casually that I replied quickly:
    "Yes ..." then realizing what I had said, "and in Scotland as well."
    He was amused, and it angered me. "The goldcrest likes a place where there are evergreens. He chooses to nest among them."
    "Are you a Scot, then?"
    I did not wish to lie, and suddenly I realized I did not have to, for long ago were the Irish not called Scots?
    "It is a loose term," I said, quoting my father. "For some Scots were Pictish and some were Gaelic, and some--" I stopped suddenly, and was silent.
    We had come to the path's end in an open place covered with gravel where horses could gather for the hunt.
    The manor before us was old, but gracefully built, and I liked it much. Great old oaks and beeches stood about, and there were stables to one side. They started toward the great steps but I hung back. The man turned and beckoned me on, but I shook my head. "I cannot," I said, "my boots are muddy and I am not dressed--"
    "It is my house," the man replied quietly. "Do you come then. You are my guest."
    "I am obliged," I replied.
    He turned and glanced at me. "Now that you are here, will you dine with us?"
    "My clothes--" I continued to protest.
    "That can be arranged," he replied. "If you will permit me. I have some clothes here that would fit you, I'm sure. You are a strong-looking lad. Yes, I believe they would fit."
    To accept charity was not my way. I started to protest, and then realized this was no time for such false pride. He was not offering charity; it was courtesy, and I would do well to accept it as such. "Very well. If it is no inconvenience." He led the way himself. Up a wide, winding stair to a hall above and to a room with yellow walls, a blue bed with blue bed-hangings, and much blue-and-white porcelain about.
    He opened a chest and took from it some clothes, a shirt, breeches, hose, and a coat. There were boots also.
    "Water will be sent you," he said, "and the clothes, I think, will fit." He paused just a moment. "They were my son's."
    The question came to my lips, but I did not speak, not knowing what to say.
    "He went off to sea," he said quietly, "and was lost there ... we think."
    "You do not know?"
    "Does one ever, when sons are lost at sea? His ship may have been taken. He may be a prisoner. We know not. He may be a slave now, in