“So far, sadly not.” This current pair was far heavier than the rest. Hopping awkwardly on one leg, he slipped the other into the trousers. Wool lining greeted his skin, soft and luxurious. Please fit. He hauled them higher.
Fastening them was a touch on the tricky side, the set of rather chunky buttons a menace to feed through holes that were a touch too small. They slipped from his grip as his fingers fumbled, dropping faster than a priest’s morals. “I see how you would be amenable to a quick screw in these trousers. They hit the floor rather quickly, do they not?” And being bound closely against the leg all the way to the knee would have them stay in easy reach of retrieval.
“Th-that’s nae why—” Hamish stammered, his face growing increasingly ruddy in the smoky light.
Darshan turned his attention to the icy shard he had formed from the trough for use as a mirror. He’d already come to terms with the fact most of the undershirts were on the threadbare side and the overcoats had large patches in them. But the way the trousers billowed most uncomfortably between his legs was disconcerting to say the least. He’d manage. He wasn’t as precious as all that. Although, it might take a few days of checking that his trousers hadn’t actually fallen to be fully comfortable with such a style.
“What’s with the face?” his lover asked. “Are you nae warmer?”
“Hush,” Darshan mumbled, continuing to check his reflection. He was indeed quite toasty now his legs were clad, but that wasn’t what drew his eye. Standing swathed from neck to ankle in the local fashion, he could almost be seen as a Tirglasian. His glasses somewhat spoiled the illusion, but that couldn’t be helped.
He’d be happier if the clothing was actually flattering. The trousers had his backside looking rather shapeless. Just as well I won’t be in court. Fortunately, the animals cared not a whit as to what he wore. Nor did his travelling companions, providing he didn’t complain.
Melting the ice back into the trough, he turned to Hamish. “These will suffice.” His gaze traversed his lover’s form. How did the man look so delectable whilst wearing practically the same type of clothing? Shaking his head, he shoved his trousers into his pack along with the rest of his clothes.
His lover peered at him as Darshan strode up to the stall door. “You seem to have lost those thin dark rings around your eyes, too.”
“I left my kohl back at the castle.” Bad enough trying to apply it with the smoky candles and lantern oil they used there, but to attempt it whilst travelling and without a decent mirror? Madness. It didn’t help that leaving his face bare gave him the sensation of being half-dressed, even with the hefty amount of thick wool and linen weighing his shoulders.
They exited the stables together, before Hamish jogged off to climb aboard his mountain of a horse and wait with the guards whilst Darshan sought out the man’s brother.
Not that searching would take long. Old Willie’s was little more than a few sheds and houses surrounding a large barn. Built entirely from stone and roofed in thatch, they huddled together, almost cringing against the elements. Most of the buildings had the air of age around them for Darshan to suspect that, whoever old Willie had been, the man this place had been named for had certainly been in the ground for some years.
He found Gordon still chatting with the woman in charge of the main farmstead. They’d already bargained for the supplies the folk here could spare and waited only for Darshan before moving on, but it seemed the man wasn’t beyond trying to squeeze extra from the people. Although Darshan rather doubted these folk were the kind to lie about their possessions.
“If you’re able to spare just a little more,” Gordon said, even as the woman shook her head firmly.
“We can nae give up even another crumb, your highness.” Whilst she might not have the wrinkles or grey hair of an old woman, her voice certainly had her sounding like one. “The winter’s been lean enough being short on hands and with extra mouths to feed now young Aggie has birthed her twins.” She crossed her arms, an affectionate smile daring to curve the no-nonsense line of her thin lips. “Lass’ll have her hands full if she’s nae careful, third lot in five years.”
Gordon bowed his head. “I understand.”
The woman looked ready to say something further when her attention swung to Darshan. “You’re looking warmer, me lord.”
He bowed his head in silent acceptance. What a sight he must’ve looked when they had arrived, with him perched atop the pony, his legs completely scrunched up beneath the thick cloak in search of shelter from the icy wind that had picked up midmorning. It’d been the lazy type, preferring to go through a body rather than around. Although he could easily heat the air of a room or the immediate area outside as he had professed to Hamish last night, to do so whilst on the move with the wind was nigh impossible.
“Took your sweet time about it,” Gordon added, arching a brow and peering out the corner of his eye at Darshan. “Was beginning to think you were personally weaving new clothes.”
Darshan spread his arms wide. He had only the truth for the length of time he’d taken in finding suitably-fitting attire. Debating it would only waste more. “I am here now, am I not?”
“That you are.” The man jerked a thumb at the rest of their travelling companions. Both of the remaining guards held a horse each; Gordon’s beast of a mount and Darshan’s pony. “Mount up, we’ll be leaving shortly.”
Inclining his head, Darshan fastened the bundle of his clothes to the pony’s saddlebags and clambered aboard.
