Eoin opened up another two buttons at the top of his shirt, allowing his torc to peak out between the cloth. Fearchar observed the bell shaped terminals of the necklace, noting the intricate fish and wave carvings in the design. The band looked to be of solid gold the thickness of his pinky finger. It had to be heavy.
“Better?” Fearchar asked gently. Eoin nodded. “Not sure ‘ow yi’ve been sleepin’ with aw them trappin’s,” Fearchar muttered at the man. “Breeches?” he pointed to the knee length pants. “Yi’ve got them stockin’s tied up un’er them. They ain’t good ta’ wear aw the time, doc. Some’in’ ’bout blood flow. Come on, ‘ow many times ‘ve ye told aw’ some’ne comin’ in here f’r doin’ ‘at? Yi’re the doc, doc. Ye ken better.”
Eoin glanced between Fearchar and Seonaid, his face flaming red. Fearchar blinked at him, completely indifferent to his embarrassment. The red head held out his hand. Eoin sucked in his breath and shucked himself out of his breeches, leaving himself in only his fine linen shirt, stockings, and ties. He handed them over to Fearchar. “Good, weard. Get yer ties aw’ n’ get yer arse in bed. Ye’re sleepin’,” commanded Fearchar as he went and hung the breeches on another peg.
Eoin sat on the end of the bed, listening to Fearchar grumble about his militia days and commanding a bunch of man children who could not even see fit to dress themselves proper. Fumbling with the ribbons holding up his knit silk stockings, he peeled the garments off and folded them carefully. With luck, he’d see to their washing in the morning. He set them on the stool next to the table. Washing his linens had been hurried through and inconsistent for the last few months as he hid behind his mask. Slipping into a clean shirt and a minor sponging in rose water had seen him through, but he dreamed of a proper rinse.
“Ye’re full a’ surprises this evenin’, weard. Them surely can’nae be good f’r yer circulation” Fearchar muttered, staring at the massive, engraved gold bangles binding Eoin’s legs, both at least three finger-widths wide. They were heavily engraved with patterning similar to the bracers.
Fearchar clambered around Eoin to reach the middle of the bed, pulling Seonaid against him. Eoin glanced at them, uncertain. “Cummeon, it’a be warmer with the co’ers,” Fearchar grumbled at him, his eyes already closed. Eoin blew out the lantern and followed suit, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. It had been so long since he had laid down like this. His feet throbbed from the foreign feel of not being in boots and stockings.
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