Evans had hot food and hot drinks, hardly needing to mention it to Father Claud.
And to her surprise, Claud took his tea black, though it sat ignored as he fussed about priestly, ducal concerns again; he'd brought no tomes, but hid notes in a book of scripture. This was not a normal trip to the Tower — only a few knew he was going — but recent rains left them a day behind. He was going to age himself beyond his years, but he could afford a few wrinkles.
"You're doing it again, Claud," she chimed. He did not give a heartfelt Am I, child? She sipped her hot-approaching-warm tea. Evans stock of sweet treats was slim; if she listened to her lord-brother, she needed to stay away from treats. "Brooding isn't going to get us there any faster."
His sigh was comforting. "I hear you. I have heard you."
"It's not too late to find a carriage. I have some gold on me."
"It is not a matter of coin." Claud closed his book, long fingers picking up his cup. After a taste, his nose crinkled. "Again: you may not worry, but I must. I fear what lies before us."