Charlie had allowed the farmer to take over caring for her horse and was staring absently out over the neatly planted rows of crops. She didn’t realize Griffin was speaking to her until he called her name several times. “What?”
“I said, can your horse jump?”
“Jump? No, she won’t jump out.” She looked around at the tidy little farm and the thin woman with the demurely-covered hair and the children with eyes much too big for their faces and was amazed at how surreal everything around her looked.
“Shall I fix you both something to eat, my lord?” the woman inquired, twisting her hands in the front of her dress.
“Yes, that would be appreciated,” Griffin sighed. “Charlie?” He was watching her very carefully. “Unless you want to sleep?”
“I think I would rather lie down, if that’s all right,” Charlie said in her most polite, well-bred voice. “I’m very tired.”
“Perhaps her ladyship would like to sleep in the house?”
Charlie had a strong feeling that if she accepted, she would be given the family’s only bed. “Oh, no thank you. I’ll be perfectly comfortable in the hay loft.”
Griffin untied her bedroll and handed it to her. “I’ll be up there in a minute,” he told her quietly as she took it.
Charlie followed the farmer into the barn.
“Shall I carry that up for you, my lady?” he asked when they reached the foot of the ladder, gesturing to the bedroll.
“No, thank you, I can manage,” she said, still very politely. He bowed awkwardly, and left. After tucking the bedroll under her arm, she climbed the ladder slowly and very carefully, not feeling she could trust her balance at the moment. The barn’s loft was half-full of fresh, sweet-smelling hay, probably cut only recently as the grass was high at the height of summer. She fell into a soft pile of it right at the top of the ladder, not even bothering to spread out her blanket first.
* * *
It was nearly dark when Charlie woke, disoriented. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she began to have some idea of where she was. She was lying against the wall of the loft, wrapped in a blanket. Someone, she assumed Griffin, must have rolled her away from the edge where she had simply passed out and covered her up. She sat up now and looked for him. His bedroll was spread out a few feet away, so he must have been there at one point, but he was gone now. She got up and peered over the edge of the loft.
Through the open doorway of the barn she could see a fair expanse of the yard. It wasn’t as dark outside as she had thought, but the sun was close to setting, and the work day was coming to a close. Griffin was standing by the fence talking to several men holding horses. She was too far away to hear their conversation, but their faces were serious and concerned. After a few final words, the men mounted their horses and rode out of her field of vision. Griffin noticed her spying from the loft and walked over.
“Come on down; we’ll be having supper in a few minutes. We’re going to stay the night.”
“Who were those men?” she wanted to know.
Griffin dragged a hand through his hair, a gesture she had come to realize indicated a deep annoyance. “The farmer sent word to the nearest town about the bandits. They needed a description of the location from me so they could go investigate. They’re pretty sure they know who this band is. Or was,” he corrected humorlessly.
“Are we in trouble?” Charlie asked, not understanding why this seemed to make him unhappy.
“No, of course not.” He leaned against the ladder and sighed. “It’s just somewhat difficult to explain how we took out the whole group of bandits with just the two of us. I’d rather draw as little attention to that as possible. Your hair is full of hay, by the way—you were absolutely unconscious when I found you.”
Charlie raked her fingers through her hair to remove the hay. “What happens if they see the bodies and think something is suspicious?”
“Nothing, really. We’ll be long gone, and they couldn’t do anything anyway but speculate. I am slightly afraid I’ll end up having a ballad sung about my prowess in battle, but I’ll survive that.” He pushed away from the ladder. “Come on down—they’re probably waiting for us to eat.”
Griffin had brought their bags up, and Charlie rummaged for a comb and quickly tidied her hair into a braid before she went down the ladder. After a quick stop at the farm’s outhouse, she approached the little house with some trepidation.
To her surprise, Griffin was sitting on a wooden crate outside the door, solemnly listening to one of the small children explain something very garbled about the squirming cat he was holding. He didn’t seem the type with much patience for children (or any patience ever), and she supposed he was being careful not to offend their hosts. He wasn’t quite able to hide his relief when she arrived and he had an excuse to stand up.
The timid wife appeared at the doorway. “Please come in, Sir Griffin, Lady Charlotte. Supper is ready.”
“Lady Charlotte?” Charlie hissed as they followed her inside.
“Well, I couldn’t tell them your name was Charlie,” Griffin whispered back. “Also, we’re cousins.”
The woman ushered them to seats at a small table already laden with pots and dishes, then stood hovering anxiously. “It’s just simple fare, probably not what you’re used to, but we are pleased to share it with you.” The multitude of children were creeping around, waiting to be told to sit.
“Oh, we’ve been eating terrible traveling food for weeks now. A cooked meal will be a delight to us both,” Griffin told her, all charm.
As grateful as she was for the kindness, the meal was so uncomfortable that Charlie briefly wished they were back chewing dried venison by a campfire. Two unexpected guests were clearly a strain on the available space in the small house and would have required the woman to prepare much more food than she usually would have. Two of the children had been seated in front of the hearth to make more room around the table for them, and Charlie guessed by the tell-tale feathers not quite cleared away that a chicken had been killed to make them a good meal. The farmer and his wife were clearly apprehensive about the happiness of their noble-born guests, and their anxious gaze was putting Charlie on edge. The woman in particular seemed afraid that they might be offended by the plain food or the cramped surroundings; she seemed unable to look at either of them for more than a few seconds, and she still trembled slightly. The hoard of children she couldn’t seem to count were openly curious but seemed to have been warned to be silent. Feeling guilty and uncomfortable, Charlie kept her eyes on her bowl of stew and tried to be quiet and still, as if that would make her presence less significant.
Griffin also seemed highly conscious of the strain they were causing, which surprised her, as he had never struck her as empathetic or remotely concerned with the feelings of others, much less those of his social inferiors. He accepted exactly as much food as their host and ate it with just enough relish to seem as though he really enjoyed it but found it filling enough that he could decline the offer of a second helping. He exchanged a few comments with the farmer about some sort of wheat blight, of all things, and general succeeded at not looking as ill at ease as the rest of them. When he noticed she wasn’t eating much, he shot her a pointed look that suggested she should show more enthusiasm for the meal. She ate as best she could, but her stomach was not prepared to accept much after a full day of not eating, and she was still feeling groggy and out of sorts.
Finally the meal was over, and the dishes were cleared away. All offers of help tidying up were brushed away, and indeed the woman seemed more confident when she had something productive to do with her hands. Though Charlie would have liked to have gone immediately back to bed, they were clearly expected to stay and socialize for a bit. Chairs and stools were rearranged around the hearth so that the awkwardness could continue over mugs of home-brewed beer. The woman busied herself putting some of the smaller children to bed in the second room, and the man set to repairing a leather harness.
Charlie scooped up the cat when it wandered close enough in hope that holding it would make her appear occupied and was grateful when it was contented to sit on her lap. The child who had been chattering to Griffin was now showing him a toy, which he took and examined soberly.
“Your horse is missing a leg,” he observed, turning the little wooden animal over in his hand. “Well, we can’t have that.” He stood, went to the wood box by the fire, and dug through it until he found a chunk he deemed suitable. With the little boy watching closely, he began to shave curls of wood from the stick with his knife. The farmer’s wife brought him a bucket to keep the sawdust off her floor. In a short time Griffin had pared down the piece of wood to the basic shape of a horse’s leg then, stopping to look at the toy’s remaining leg occasionally for reference, added the finer details with a few deft strokes. He presented the finished object to the child. “There you are. Your father can tack it on for you tomorrow.”
After the boy had chattered his thanks, his mother swooped in to take him to bed. Charlie and Griffin both took this as their cue to leave as well, repeated their thanks to the couple, declined all offers to sleep in the house, and set off toward the barn. They stopped to check on their horses on their way there.
“Did none of your lady’s education touch on making conversation?” Griffin demanded when they were out of earshot of the house. “Or do you normally sit in silence through meals?”
Charlie decided that wasn’t deserving of a reply, so she ignored him, gave her horse’s nose a pat, and went to bed.
* * *
Griffin woke Charlie the next morning before he left the loft. By the time she had dressed, combed her hair, and washed up in the bucket of warm water the wife had brought out to the barn, he had their horses saddled. Clearly they would not be staying long. She brought down her saddlebags and bedroll and secured them to their places, then went to the well to draw up a bucket of water.
“Are you hungry?” Griffin asked, emerging from the house with a cloth-wrapped bundle of food.
“No,” Charlie said. She settled the bucket on the edge of the well and took the dipper off its hook.
“You should eat something. You’ve barely had anything in the last day and a half.”
“I don’t want anything. I don’t feel well.” She felt moderately less tired after having had a night’s sleep, but her rest had been interrupted by nightmares. The physical toll of the fight had caught up to her, and her injuries hurt more now that she had time to notice them. She cupped some of the cool water to her bruised eye.
“You don’t feel well because you haven’t eaten,” Griffin argued as he packed away the food. He tore off the end of a loaf of bread and tried to give it to her. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t eat.”
“I do. Not. Want it,” Charlie told him, temper rising dangerously. She had bit her tongue and been agreeable throughout their ordeal because cooperation was necessary to their survival, but her irritation was growing.
“Just eat it, Charlie. I don’t want to have to pick you up after you faint and fall off your—ouch!” He ducked and slapped his hand to the side of his head as the dipper Charlie had launched at him clipped his ear. If being lectured had brought an end to her patience, having something actually thrown at him was the end of Griffin’s. He lunged for her, and for a brief, wild moment they were chasing each other around the well like angry children. Griffin had just caught Charlie by the arm when it seemed to occur to him that they were being watched by the entire peasant family. After a quick look at their stricken, uncertain faces, he let go of Charlie’s arm, stuffed the bread into her hand, and busied himself retrieving the thrown dipper and cleaning it.
Charlie ripped a very tiny bite of bread from her piece and ate it.
After a moment of acute embarrassment, they both gravitated toward their horses. Griffin thanked their hosts very formally for the food and shelter and gave them several heavy coins, which he had to urge them to take several times before they would. Still subdued, they mounted their horses, repeated goodbyes, and left down the trail into the woods.
There was silence for several miles.
Finally Griffin spoke. “If we head northeast and cover some good ground today, we should be able to reach Hawk’s Rest by the third morning. It’s my great aunt’s home, so we’ll be more than welcome to stay as long as we like.” He realized Charlie was no longer riding next to him and stopped his horse. “Oh, gods, what now?”
Charlie fixed him with her stoniest stare. She had allowed Griffin to take charge when there was a crisis, and she had swallowed her anger several times when he had made decisions for them both, but now the emergency was over, and he was still trying to commandeer her trip, a journey he was not even welcomed along. She chewed the inside of her cheek and seethed.
“You can go where you like, Griffin. We were never traveling together anyway.”
Griffin made an exasperated noise so loud his horse jumped. “Gods! Why do you have to be this way? I’m not asking you to ride off the edge of a cliff! I’m trying to take you to a safe place with beds and food! Why is that a problem?”
“Because you’re making decisions for both of us without consulting me!” Charlie snapped. “You’ve taken over my trip like you can tell me where to go! I’m still going where I was always going, and you are welcome to go where you want.” She nudged her horse forward and continued down the path past him.
He seemed to be struggling to contain his anger, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t follow her. Then he shouted after her in a strangled voice, “Charlie, wait.”
She considered ignoring him but decided he would only chase after her if she did. She stopped and turned back to look at him.
“Just wait for a moment,” he repeated. He rubbed his hand over his face for a moment and didn’t speak. When he looked at her again, she was struck by how tired and frustrated he looked. “All right. Charlie, I am asking you, asking you to consider coming with me, please. Will you at least hear me out?”
Slowly she nodded.
“We’ve both just had a trying couple of days, and we’re on edge and would benefit from some rest. We’re less than three days away from a place where we are guaranteed safety, shelter, and plenty of food. Taking a few days to sleep in a real bed won’t slow you down much getting wherever you’re going, especially as I suspect you have neither an actual destination nor a particular time to be there.”
Charlie shifted her weight, annoyed.
Griffin ignored her and pushed on. “And I do know you were traveling for weeks on your own, and you did just fine. I also know two days ago we were set upon by a hoard of bandits. I know it’s unlikely to happen again, but rational or not, I feel responsible for you now, and I can’t ride off not knowing that you’re safe.”
Charlie studied him for along moment. Griffin was inscrutable and self-possessed. It was disconcerting that he looked so weary. She had appreciated that he had borne the greater burden of their battle in the woods and their flight, but now she considered that he had been the one to make the arrangements with the farmer’s family while she slept, he had taken care of their horses while she stood listlessly by, he had been a charming guest while she sat silently. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to rest yet.
“I don’t need your help,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he said slowly. “But perhaps we could call a truce for a few more days. We could actually travel together for safety, and we can have a few days of rest indoors.” When she looked skeptical, he added, “And after that, we can part ways. I’ll go my own way, and I’ll let you go yours. Promise.”
“All right then,” she agreed at last.
The rest of the day was spent in quiet travel. They exchanged words only when making decisions to stop or move on. Charlie let Griffin chart their route without protest. She had misgivings about accompanying him, but she ultimately decided it was better to go. He would follow her if she tried to leave, but if she went with him, he
had agreed to part ways at the castle. She also decided that if she didn’t want to go inside when they arrived, she just wouldn’t. If he protested, she could point out that she had met the literal terms of their agreement.
* * *
Their first night sleeping outside after the attack was tense and uneasy. They lingered around the campfire until late and finally slept near each other with their weapons at hand. But when morning arrived with no new trouble, they both began to relax a bit. Reason began to usurp fear, and a small sense of normalcy returned. Griffin still watched their surroundings closely as they rode, but he no longer seemed unduly concerned. His focus had shifted toward getting them to his aunt’s home. Being rather pragmatic by nature, Charlie’s distress over their ordeal was fading the further away they moved from the physical site, but now she had fresh worries. The closer they got to the castle, the more impatient and excited Griffin became, and the more reluctant and uncertain Charlie felt. Griffin’s own anticipation made him short-tempered with her, and he didn’t understand her apprehension.
“Don’t worry—she’ll be thrilled to have us both visit,” he assured her. “She’ll absolutely love you. They’ll be real food and real beds and baths, which, frankly, we could both use. What are you so worried about?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t explain her apprehensiveness to him because she couldn’t explain it to herself. She hadn’t been properly inside in months, not as far as living and sleeping indoors. And now Griffin was suggesting that she stay in the home of his noble-born relatives. She was grimy and weathered and no longer felt she would be comfortable back among the manners and etiquette of a world she had left behind. She had changed too much to fit back into her old place again, grown too rough around the edges. And no matter what Griffin said, she had doubts about his family approving of her current appearance and lifestyle.
Still, Charlie followed Griffin toward Hawk’s Rest, nursing the stunning black eye and vivid bruises bestowed upon her by the bandits. Her only consolation was that Griffin looked just as bad as she did, though he didn’t seem to care at all. Soon the castle with its snapping flags and patrolling watchmen was in sight, and the dread could be put off no longer.
The Silver Key Page 17