Chapter 6
Gabriel’s mother, Eilis, and her house were not as bad as she feared. The wattle and daub cottage was a wonder to Rosamund. Having grown up in a large, elegant estate in the country, she could not imagine any other dwelling, especially a more primitive one, offering much comfort. It had a common area with enough space to eat, sleep, and work. There were broad beams in the walls and ceiling that supported a thatched roof and a tall, sturdy chimney that allowed a comforting fire, even a few small windows. The best part of the house was a warm, spacious loft. That’s where Gabriel and his mother let her sleep and recover.
Rosamund had almost finished her porridge, but she felt queasy again. Her health had improved a great deal since she’d run away from Colestus. In the week she’d been gone, she’d recovered from her injuries and was conquering her emotions, but her stomach still got a little unsettled in the mornings. Pushing the bowl away from her, she stood and rushed toward the rough-hewn stairs.
“Are you well, Rose?” Gabriel wiped his whiskers and stood up solicitously.
“I’m fine,” Rosamund called over her shoulder to him as she hurried up the stairs. Skidding on her knees to the chamber pot in the back corner of the room, she picked it up and vomited, not much, but just enough to make her insides feel normal again. She spit in the pot a few times to get rid of the terrible taste and found a cup of ale she’d left on a table the night before to rinse her mouth out. She couldn’t help but think that her body was still expelling the trace amounts of poison that Colestus had fed her, or perhaps it was that she was overly anxious about her situation. She was in a bit of a spot, as Hardwin would say. Either way, she’d be glad for the respite when it came, when her mind and her body began to feel completely at ease. Although, she had a hard time imagining when that would be.
Rosamund freshened up a bit, splashing water on her face to wash, running her fingers through her hair, and adjusting the clothes they’d given her, a simple homespun blouse and skirt with an apron. They’d also provided a shawl and soft leather boots that laced up the front, all borrowed from one of Gabriel’s sisters since her clothes had gotten quite damaged in the fall. She pinched her cheeks to give the impression of good health. His mother had been very kind, yet leery of her presence, but neither of them had pressed her about where she’d come from or where she was going. Rosamund sat on the bed for a moment to gauge how her stomach felt before rejoining them.
“Lassie,” Eilis called, her voice carrying up the stairs. “You’ve done a fine job with your beauty sleep, now it’s time to get some work done. Would you be willing to help me forage for our supper tonight?”
Rosamund looked over the railing and saw them both waiting for her, antsy to get out the door and start working on their chores.
“I’ll be off then,” Gabriel said, his gaze lingering on Rosamund as she walked down the stairs. His wary expression told her he was worried about her working too hard and being alone with his mother. When she nodded and gave him apprehensive smile, he said, “I’ve got to start rounding up the sheep for sheering and culling.”
“We won’t die without you,” Eilis replied rummaging for something without looking at him, found a basket, and shoved it into Rosamund’s stomach that knocked a little wind out of her.
“You’re sure?” Gabriel loitered a bit longer, it seemed, just to annoy his mother. While Eilis was fiddling with the back of her apron, Gabriel shot Rosamund a playful wink. “I can send one of the dogs along with you if it would make you feel safer.”
“Off with you now,” Eilis said in irritation with a dismissive wave of her hand, “and I don’t want one of your mangy whelps tromping on all the good mushrooms and yacking up sheep entrails.”
“That only happens when they’re sick. Besides, it’s a treat for them, mother, and I always save enough to make sausage,” Gabriel justified circumspectly. Stifling a smile, he glanced at Rosamund before he turned and walked out the door. She couldn’t help but smile in return. They were gruff each other; Eilis didn’t spill sugar and sweetness all over Gabriel like she’d seen some mothers do with their sons, even their grown sons, but Rosamund could tell that the two of them would do whatever it took to keep the other safe. In this case, actions really did speak louder than words.
Eilis watched her son disappear through the front door, then picked up a basket and put a trowel in her apron pocket and said, “Follow me.” Rosamund trailed behind her, paying little attention to what was just outside the house. She knew they’d be in the cover of trees quickly and she didn’t want to lose sight of her. Though Eilis limped, she walked faster through the brush and uneven forest floor than she thought possible. Rosamund wasn’t sure why, but she had a strong desire to prove herself to these people, to let them see that she was capable of learning new things and working hard. Perhaps it was because they’d been so kind and she felt the need to contribute in some small way. While she’d not told either one of them that she was royal, she had a feeling that they’d already figured out for themselves that she had been raised in a wealthy family.
“It’s a far walk, lassie,” Eilis said watching Rosamund stop to catch her breath. “Didn’t mean to tire you. The grounds for foraging near the cottage have to regrow. I’ve already scavenged them into nothingness. And with winter coming on, they won’t yield until next spring.”
“I am more tired than I expected,” Rosamund said panting and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. “Is this a good place for foraging?”
“We’ll see,” Eilis replied, put her hands on hips and turned a full circle, scanning the area around them. “I think we’ll find some healthy bulbs in the ground here. Make sure they smell like onions. There might be some mushrooms near the base of the trees, but check with me first. Some of them are poisonous. There is a patch of fireweed over there,” she continued, pointing to a meadow beyond the clutch of trees they stood in, “the ones with the bright pink flowers on top. They’ve almost all gone to seed, but the roots are spicy and will add a nice flavor to the stew. We’ll find greens by the river.”
Eilis got on her hands and knees and began digging with her trowel. Rosamund joined her. Everything that Eilis pulled out of the ground, Rosamund brushed off the dirt and put them in the baskets. It was faster work than she expected and soon there was a mound of bulbs that needed to be cleaned off before being piled in the baskets.
“I’m sorry,” Rosamund exclaimed, sitting back on her haunches and scratching her forehead with the back of her arm. “I don’t seem to be keeping up with you at all. I didn’t learn to do this where I come from.”
“Well, what did you learn?” Eilis huffed as she moved to another area of ground to dig.
“Hmm,” Rosamund frowned as she thought about it. “I learned to sew, to sing and to play, to read and write, to run a household, and to make the people around me happy and content. I don’t think I was very good at it, truth be told.”
“You make it sound like you’re the queen.”
“Oh, heavens no,” she trilled in denial, her voice quavering. “I’m really more of a . . . I’m just a girl from the country. That’s where I feel most at home.”
“Humph, you’d think a girl from the country would at least know how to dig up bulbs for her supper.”
“We had . . .”
“I know,” Eilis said, pointing her trowel at her. “You had servants to do that for you.”
Rose gave her an uncomfortable smile, blinking nervously, and went back to her work.
“Nice life. The only problem I see with it is that you don’t learn how to do things for yourself, and that comes to just about everyone in this life.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard anything truer than that.”
She heard a soft step behind the trees, the rustling of a cloak in the breeze. When Rosamund looked up, Eilis was already standing with her knife drawn.
“Show yourself, you fool,” she called, her voice reverberating in the glade, “before I skewer you with my butche
r knife.”
“Oh, Eilis,” came a man’s voice from behind a tree. “No need to be on your guard.” He sauntered out from behind the trunk of a large tree into the middle of the clearing, a cavalier smile on his face. He spoke to Eilis, but he never took his eyes off of Rosamund.
“What do you want, Kieran?” Eilis asked impatiently, lowering her knife, but Rosamund noticed that she didn’t tuck it back into its sheath. Rosamund felt her eyes widen in surprise upon hearing the name but tried to continue her task. Here stood the very man that Hardwin and Herrick told her she was supposed to find, but something about him made her reluctant to reveal herself.
He had a certain swagger about him, a disheveled, rakish look that appeared unintentional, but obviously purposeful, and it unnerved her. Built like a wrestler, he had large, protruding muscles carved in his legs and arms. He wore crinkled breeches that stopped at the knee and stockings that were held up by a leather shoe with straps that wrapped around his lower legs. His shirt was also loose, wrinkled, and unlaced at the top, all held together by a dashing sash. He had an unusual cloak, shorter and wider, more fabric with which to hold, and no hood. Kieran Houser wore a hat with a peacock feather in it.
“Who’s your friend?”
“No one you need concern yourself about.”
“Now, now, Eilis. Why would you lie to me? I thought we were friends. You see, I’ve been expecting a lady to show up on my doorstep. I had word from one of my trading partners that there was a lady in need of a new situation in life. I agreed to hire her to work in my household. I think you’ve stolen a servant from me.”
“You think I’ve stolen from you, you gormless, debauching, wine-ridden louse,” Eilis answered caustically. “She’s got family nearby, you twit. We’re sheltering her for a few days. Why don’t you go on about your business, forcing poor lads to chop down the biggest trees in the forest so you can sell them to nobles for their big, fancy houses and keep all the money to yourself?”
Rosamund stood and turned toward Kieran, dusting the dirt from her hands. “Eilis tells it true. I’m looking for my twin sister. You see, we were separated at birth and I’d heard for several years that she might live in Coldfield. I lost my way and fell into the pit. Gabriel and Eilis have given me refuge until I could get on my way again. Just another day or two and I’ll be leaving.”
Kieran folded his arms and looked down, but his shoulders shook with laughter. “Nice story,” he said, leering at her. “That’s what my trading partner told me you would say. I know exactly who you are and what you’re running from. If you don’t come with me right now, I’ll send you back. You’re mine,” he whispered menacingly, a look of hunger on his face. “Herrick promised you’d come to me. I’ll not have Gabriel interfere.”
“She’s not a piece of meat, you demented swine,” Eilis screamed and ran toward him with her knife drawn. In a move that was too quick to anticipate, Kieran grabbed Rosamund by the arm and drew his dagger, holding it at her throat. “Stand down, you batty old crone,” Kieran growled at Eilis, pressing the point of the dagger into her skin.
Rosamund heard the twang of an arrow and saw it whizzing toward her head. She screamed, ducked, and Kieran Houser fell backwards. The arrow hit him straight between the eyes, a look of sheer surprise frozen on his face. Rosamund scurried away from him, her mouth agape, wondering who in the world could’ve known where they were and that they needed help. Gabriel came striding into the clearing looking absolutely thunderous.
“Perfect timing, son,” Eilis quipped, unperturbed by the incident. She looked at Kieran as if he were scum that had risen to the top of a beautiful lake that needed to skimmed and thrown away.
Rosamund stood shaking with a hand over her queasy stomach, staring at the body. Gabriel took her by the elbow and led her out of the glade so her field of vision would be filled with the nothing but purple flowers. “I’m sorry to frighten you,” he said grimly. “I had a feeling he’d come looking for you.”
“How did you know I would duck?” Rosamund rounded on him angrily, her hands curled into fists as she stomped the ground. “How could you have known what I would do?”
“It’s only natural to duck,” Gabriel said softly, and then he smiled, one side of his mouth curving a little higher than the other. “Besides, I wasn’t aiming for you, Rose.”
“No one can know what’s happened to him, Gabriel,” Eilis interrupted, a morose tone to her voice.
“I know, mother. I know what must be done.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Rosamund asked shakily.
“I have to take him to the frozen bowl near Coldfield and . . . leave him.”
“This happened because of me. I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Rosamund wailed. “You shouldn’t have to kill for me.”
“Rose,” he said, gripping her upper arms and looked sternly into her face. “I didn’t do it because of you. I did it because of him. He wasn’t about to leave you alone. Mother, take her back to the cottage. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
***
Rosamund hadn’t gotten out of bed in two days. She couldn’t seem to get past the trauma of Kieran’s murder, the events of it running through her head over and over again. Through fitful phases of sleep and wakefulness, she never had any rest. She’d tried to get out of bed a few times, but going up and down the stairs was exhausting and she’d completely lost her appetite. Eilis didn’t say much, just went about her chores as usual and made sure there was food left out for her. Rosamund was confused. She thought she’d overcome the effects from escaping Colestus, but this new ordeal, a man shot dead right next to her, had set her back. Was she disposed to strangling weakness or debilitating melancholy, unable to overcome the stresses in life? Was the poison in her body causing problems anew?
Whatever it was, she was determined not to let it hold her back anymore. No more wallowing; she must overcome. Rosamund swung her feet out of bed and faced the back wall, looking at the basin of water on a nearby table. A cloth was set out and the water was cold, but she decided the cold would feel comforting. She’d been warm, too warm sometimes, and had sweat a great deal the last couple of days. The linens didn’t smell very good and she would take it upon herself to wash and hang them out to dry tomorrow. It was twilight, the daylight beginning to fade, so she took the candle that had burned low and used it to light a new one. Rosamund lifted the dirty shift over her head and laid it beside her on the bed. She’d throw that in the washtub with the linens and ask Eilis if she had extra fabric to make a new one.
Reaching for the cloth, Rosamund dipped it in the water and smoothed it over her face, down her throat, on the back of her neck, letting the cool water flow down her body. It felt wonderful. Next, she cleaned her breasts, stomach, and arms. While she lifted her arm to clean underneath it, she turned her head toward the stairway and thought she saw someone dart away and hide behind the wall. It startled her and she grabbed a blanket from the bed to cover herself.
“Eilis? Is that you?” Rosamund called. “I’m just washing. I’ll be down in a moment.” No one answered for some time and it made her anxious. “Hello?”
“Uh, no,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat nervously. “It’s me.”
“What are you doing?” Rosamund cried and covered herself more fully with the blanket.
“I was bringing you something to eat. I didn’t realize you’d be . . . I’m sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean to barge in on you.”
She could hear his footsteps plodding down the stairs.
“Gabriel?”
The footsteps stopped, the stair creaking under his weight.
“Please bring the food up. Going up and down the stairs makes me tired.”
“But you’re not dressed.”
“I’m covered now.”
Gabriel walked back up the stairs and peered around the corner before entering the loft. He kept his eyes low, slowing to wipe up some soup that must’ve spilled on the tray. When he lifted his face to glance at Rose, smi
ling, so many contrary expressions collided on his face at once and he stopped mid-step. Schooling his features to gain control, he cleared his throat, and put the tray of food on an old chest against the wall and opposite the bed. He turned his back on her and walked over to the railing and looked down into the common room.
“Mother said you hadn’t been eating. I was hoping you’d find your appetite now that I’m back.” He turned toward her and looked straight into her eyes, only her eyes, but Rosamund knew it took all of his self-control not to capture the vision of her wrapped only in a blanket with a candle shedding its soft light in the room. “I’m sorry I interrupted your . . .” But he couldn’t finish. He strode from the room and down the stairs.
Rosamund finished washing, put her shift back on, and hunkered back down in bed, ignoring the food. Gabriel had looked at her with passion. She recognized the desire in his eyes, but not the pain, nor the self-control. Gabriel was not a man who would force himself upon a woman.
There was a bigger worry.
He’d seen them, the scars on her back, and it would be the most humiliating thing in the world to explain where she’d gotten them.
***
Rosamund thought she’d try to make an appearance at breakfast, especially since Gabriel was back. She wanted to make him feel like everything was normal between them. Aside from the fact that he’d already killed to keep her safe, he could’ve done what he pleased with her last night, and didn’t. That was a fine measure of a man, the ability to look, to desire, but not touch. She admired him for it. There were a great many things that she’d begun to admire about him. Mostly, she felt safe with him and, amazingly, she trusted him. She never believed that could ever happen. Rosamund was just about to walk down the stairs, but Gabriel and Eilis seemed to be having a serious conversation. She shouldn’t have, but she hid behind the wall, near the top of the staircase, so she could hear every word.
The Runaway Queen, A Fire and Fury Prequel Novella Page 4