“Tiens! At last you have come, Master Dickon,” Nurse Anne said, bustling in from an adjacent room. “I do not like the dogs on the bed, tu comprends?” she grumbled. “Her Grace tell me keep the monster here until you come. She say it was une surprise. Nom de Dieu, it was a surprise for me! And, too, I could not keep him from the bed.”

Dickon gave the servant half an ear but was otherwise engaged in hugging the noble head and neck of his beloved abandoned dog from Fotheringhay. With all the family upheaval, he had never dared to ask for Traveller. It did not seem important, but during those eighteen months he had often wished for his dog. He had given up hope altogether when Ned had found Alaris abandoned and had given him to George. When Dickon had asked George if he didn’t feel unfaithful to Captain, George had laughed. “It’s just a dog, Dickon. Do you truly believe they would remember us now?”

“Dogs are the most faithful of creatures,” Dickon had shot back, “and they never forget somebody’s scent. I am sure my Traveller would know me.”

“Pah!” George had been scornful and quickly transferred his allegiance to Alaris.

Traveller was now proving Dickon right, however, as the dog responded to Dickon’s touch and leaned into his master. “What a beauty you have become. Are you really mine?” Dickon asked, half expecting the dog to respond.

His mother answered instead. “Indeed he is, my son.” Her voice came from the threshold. “And the bowl is for his food. I am sorry I tricked you. Happy New Year, Dickon!”

She was rewarded by a sudden rush of love that flooded her as her youngest son’s slate-gray eyes spoke volumes of gratitude.

No bad dreams interrupted Dickon’s sleep for the next few nights, and his days were spent in the company of his new canine friend.

For once, George seemed genuinely happy for Dickon’s good fortune. “At least Dickon doesn’t follow me around all day now,” he confided to Meg as they strolled for exercise around Baynard’s impressive great hall, the early January sleet keeping them indoors. “Instead, he now knows what it feels to have someone dogging his heels. Oh,” he exclaimed, pleased with himself, “that was clever, don’t you think? I have to admit, Dickon is getting better at wrestling, though, and I think Father will be happy with his progress at the butts.”

They watched as Dickon tirelessly taught Traveller to fetch a ball, his determination evident in his jutting chin. “When he sets his mind to something, there is no backing down,” Meg observed. “I do wish he could learn to yield sometimes, or he will lose friendships when he is older.”

“Aye, and he should stop always reminding people of what is right. It tends to ruin any amusement.”