Cadfael headed there. He found, as he had expected, Mabon crouched upon the low stool by the fire. The young king stared into the flames, as he had since rising this morning and just as he had been since shortly after the noon meal yesterday, when he and Gwilym had finished their discussions.
It was fair that Mabon would not trust Cadfael enough to share the outcome of those discussions. The man was young, yet he was clever and quick-thinking. He would first report to Vortigern on his success or failure. Yet it was clear that something stirred his mood and thoughts. It could only have come from his talks with Gwilym.
Cadfael would not question Mabon about the talks. Trust came with time and couldn’t be forced. Instead, he picked up one of the bigger logs from the pile next to the fire-pit and turned it on its end next to Mabon’s stool. He settled on it and held his hands out to the flames. “The farmers say it will be warmer tomorrow,” he began.
“Good,” Mabon said. “You sent the men to hunt?”
“With orders not to return without meat.”
Mabon nodded. “It is only fair we refill Gwilym’s larders.”
“We could smoke some meat for the saddlebags, too,” Cadfael said, watching Mabon’s face. Something flickered there, which caused him to add, “We are leaving tomorrow, yes?”
Mabon stirred. His gaze slid away from Cadfael. “I thought another day or two would not hurt. It will give us time to rest…and fill the saddlebags for the return.”
Cadfael repressed his impatience. “As you say, we’re draining Gwilym’s larders every day we linger. It is polite to leave as soon as business is done.”
“Gwilym himself insisted we stay as long as we want.”
“He has to say that.”
“He was not being polite.”
“I beg to differ,” Cadfael said carefully. “They cannot afford to feed so many extra mouths for long. This is not a rich kingdom.”
“Tell me one kingdom that is rich, these days?” Mabon demanded. He shook his head. “I’ve decided, Cadfael. We’re staying two more days.”
Cadfael pushed his hand through his hair. “Why?” he demanded. “What possible benefit is there to lingering? The men will rest on the road. They’re all seasoned travelers and we can hunt as we go as easily as we can from here. You know that as well as I, so why stay?”
Mabon’s cheek tinged pink, reminding Cadfael of how young he still was. Mabon was a good leader, with a natural authority that made men forget his age, most of the time. He picked up the poker and prodded the fire, his lips pressed together.
Cadfael looked around for eavesdroppers, then leaned closer to Mabon’s flank. “No one listens,” he said. “Explain it to me and I will be happy to support you in this. Why must we stay?”
Mabon dropped the poker onto the tiles in front of the fire. He kept his gaze on the climbing flames. “I found Maela singing, yesterday.”
Cadfael stared at him, trying to sort out the man’s meaning. Maela? What did she have to do with anything? “I don’t understand,” he said at last.
Mabon shifted, clearing his throat. Still, he did not look at Cadfael. “I believe the queen is enjoying her time here. I would let her have more of it, for the gods and I both know she finds no pleasure in Calleva.”
Cadfael felt winded. “You anchor us here in this wretched town of Roman sympathizers, while the men fret, for the sake of a woman’s happiness?”
Mabon’s whole face flushed, this time. “You are not married, Cadfael. You do not understand these matters.”
“She is a woman. What else is there to understand?” Cadfael’s anger stirred. “My lord, if it is a matter of company, that can be arranged when we return to Calleva.”
“She has a houseful of women for company at home,” Mabon replied. “They are no kinder to her than the women of Vortigern’s court.” His jaw worked and the expression in his eyes grew harder. Wiser. “It is hard for her, given her heritage. It is difficult for her and to be so far from her mother.”
“She has you to compensate for her lack,” Cadfael said, truly baffled. “She is the daughter of a king, married to a king. Her life is complete. You catering to her childish demands teaches her only that she can indulge herself whenever she wants.”
Mabon’s gaze met Cadfael’s. He saw the iron in Mabon’s eyes and knew he’d stepped over the bounds of their tenuous working relationship. “I said you do not understand,” Mabon said evenly, “and every word you utter demonstrates that. Maela made no request of me. She has not uttered a word of complaint since we left Calleva, despite you forcing her to travel as a soldier does. Oh, I understood the practicality of your demand, so smooth your hackles,” he added quickly. “If my queen is unhappy, the blame is surely mine. She has been unhappy since we wed. Now, a glimpse of sun through dark clouds presents itself. I will use that chink, small as it is, for while the queen is unhappy, so am I. Do I make myself clear enough for you, Cadfael?”
Cadfael nodded. “Amply, sir. Two more days it is.” He glanced around the room. “Is the queen with Ninian’s women now?” For there were no women at the back of the room, bent over their sewing, as there usually were.
Mabon settled back on the stool once more, relaxing. “She has been spending her days with the princess’ ladies, who are nearer her age.”
“The princess?” Cadfael’s tone was sharper than he intended.
“You have objections to that, too?” Mabon asked, raising his brow.
Cadfael breathed out his unease. “No objections I can name.” Yet his wariness was building. Unsettled, he rose to his feet, the log rocking at his movement. He strode over to the door and opened it, letting in cool air.
The boy was still upon the barrel, his gaze moving ceaselessly around the yard. When he spotted Cadfael, he shook his head again.
Vivian was still here.
Cadfael didn’t relax, though. He shut the door and went back to the log.
Mabon smiled as he sat down once more. “For a man who cares so little for the plight of women, your concern about the lady Vivian is extraordinary.”
“I care nothing for Vivian’s comfort. It is her conspiracies that concern me,” Cadfael muttered. In his mind, it was not Vivian’s black eyes he recalled, but instead, a pair of large, rich brown ones.
“And see, your concern is for naught,” Mabon added, nodding toward the back of the room.
The inner door to the chamber opened. There was a private passage at the back of the house, used only by Gwilym and the immediate members of his family, while everyone else used the verandah to reach other rooms in the palace.
Vivian stepped through, carrying a work basket. So did five other ladies, including Maela.
Cadfael admitted grudgingly to himself that Maela did look happy. At least, she was not the quivering, cowed woman who had crept about Mabon’s house for weeks, speaking to no one and starting if anyone spoke to her. Her back was straight. Her chin was up.
“See, it is much warmer in here,” Vivian told the women, as they moved to the benches and tables pushed up against the back wall.
Mabon’s smile was small and warm as he watched them settle on the benches.
Cadfael looked away from him, uncomfortable. The intimacy of Mabon’s smile made him feel as though he was peeping upon the man’s private affairs.
He deliberately turned and studied the women. They spoke softly among themselves as they spread linens and threaded needles.
With a jolt, he realized who was missing from among them. He shot to his feet.
“Cadfael?” Mabon said, startled.
Cadfael ignored him. He strode to the table where Vivian sat, stopping by her side. “Where is the lady Lynette?” he demanded.
Vivian looked up at him, her smooth brow lifting. “My lord?”
“Lynette,” he repeated harshly. “Where is she?”
“She’s ill,” one of the other women said.
Vivian spoke over the top of her. “Lynette is at the weaving loom.”
“But…”
Maela said, startled. Then she bit her lip and turned her attention back to her sewing.
Vivian dropped her gaze, too. Every woman concentrated on her needle, silent.
Cadfael let his head drop back, closing his eyes, as fury tore through him. They sought to misdirect him.
Again.
He had been watching the wrong woman.
He was too angry to speak. If he did, he would break into violence. He could feel the urge to strike out running through him, heating his face and tightening his chest.
To be outsmarted by a woman—two women—was intolerable. He would not have it. He whirled, turning on one heel, strode to the door and threw it open.
How far ahead had she got? Could he catch her? The questions raised themselves as he crossed the yard and shoved open the stable door.
Stable boys and grooms looked up, startled, as he strode down the length of the stable to where his horse was munching on hay. He threw the saddle pad over the stallion’s back, while the grooms dithered behind him, too afraid to draw near and help.
Instead of leading the horse out into the yard and mounting there, he threw himself onto Mars’ back and kicked him into a gallop.
Wisely, the grooms leapt to open the big outer door before Cadfael reached it and he burst out into the sunlight at full gallop.
Never mind how far ahead she was. He knew the direction she had taken. He would track her horse, instead. He would track her and when he found her…
* * * * *
It took over an hour to find a trace of her. The closest hills to the town were busy with tracks from locals, who swarmed over them daily to find game, gather wood and harvest wild plants. Once he found the mare’s tracks, though, it became easy to distinguish her trail. Fresh hoof marks, not old and overriding every other print, led deeper into the hills.
He climbed back onto Mars and directed the stallion with his knees, as he bent closer to the ground to watch for prints. Mars was as eager to move as any of the war beasts quartered in the stables and trotted forward. Hunting was an old game for him.
They wound deeper into the hills. Up here, the air was cool, while the sun streamed impartially over hill and dale, sending cloud-shaped shadows scudding across the close-cropped turf.
Birds chirruped and hopped from branch to branch, telling him they had not been disturbed. He saw a red nosed fox peering from behind a tree. The creature slunk back into the shadows before he could reach for the small bow he kept on the saddle by his hip.
Still, the prints continued. She had tried to mask them by riding upon flat stones when they availed themselves. Once, she doubled back to check if anyone followed too closely, although he was not lured into repeating the loop. He found the newer trail and smiled grimly to himself as he turned Mars along it.
The sounds of men hunting, farther away, had been drifting to him upon the tiny breeze. Now those small sounds ceased. He was beyond their range. He nudged Mars down into the shallow valley before them. There were trees at the bottom, a thick copse of willows wound with creepers. A thief could hide among those shadows to leap upon passers-by. Although no self-respecting thief would consider lurking in this far-flung valley.
Mars snorted and walked down the stony hill, picking his way with care. Cadfael loosened his knife and let his hand linger on the hilt as they approached the copse, listening for sounds of movement among the trunks.
What he did hear was the trickle of a stream. It masked any noises that might alert him. Cadfael sat up in the saddle, withdrew the knife and held it at the ready as they grew closer. He glanced at the raw earth the hoof prints had thrown up. She had moved around the trees, not through them. Wise girl.
He followed her.
The copse was not large. After a while, he saw the source of the trickle. The stream was narrow enough for Mars to jump across without effort. It wound down from the top of the valley. The tinkle and splashing said the stream had a small drop in it somewhere ahead, possibly pouring over one of the stony outcrops that littered the area.
Apart from the trickle of water, there was no sound. Even the breeze had stopped.
Mars snorted.
Ahead, another horse nickered.
His heart thudding, he kneed Mars into a trot, so they could round the trees faster. The beat of hooves was no longer an issue. Her pony had told her someone was here. Better to catch her before she rode off. She had likely stopped to water the horse and drink from the stream herself, thinking she had left all pursuit far behind.
Mars moved to a canter, eager for company. They turned about an out-thrusting vein of trees and there she was.
Lady Lynette sat upon a cloth spread across green grass next to a fall of water no higher than her shoulder. She held a bannock dripping with honey in one hand, while she sucked the tip of her finger. An open pouch lay on the cloth next to her, showing a pared apple, a small flask and another bannock wrapped in linen.
She did not appear startled to see him. Her eyes did not widen. Instead, she finished licking her finger, then put the bannock down, as Cadfael galloped up to the cloth and brought Mars to a halt.
“Good day to you, lord Cadfael,” she said, her tone pleasant. “I have another bannock, if you would like it.”
Salt black fury rose in him as the truth registered. Vivian had set him on this path, knowing he would follow Lynette into the hills, leaving Vivian free to do whatever she wished.
Lynette was the decoy, after all.
Chapter Six
From Lynette’s seated position on the cloth, Cadfael’s war horse seemed huge. She made herself stay where she was, even though she wanted to shrink away from the blowing beast.
Cadfael leapt from the horse, his face dark with anger, a long knife clenched in his hand.
She had expected anger. Now she must deal with it.
He lunged across the cloth and gripped her hair, drawing her head back. The knife blade slapped against her throat, forcing her to stillness. It did not stop her heart from slamming against her chest.
“Give me a reason why I should not draw this blade deep and wide,” he demanded. His voice with thick with fury. He bent low over her, so that all she could see was his blue eyes, the deep lines radiating from them and the rough whiskers of his chin.
There was a scar under his chin. An old one, faded and pale.
He had demanded a reason to spare her. It was difficult to think. She had never in her life had a knife pointed in her direction, let alone a blade held at her throat. One quick slice and she would die.
Lynette made herself speak calmly even though her teeth wanted to chatter. “I am Vivian’s favorite companion. Kill me and you would upset the entire household. Vivian would see to it. I do not think you want to ruin your king’s efforts to recruit Gwilym with a hasty action like this.”
“Vortigern is my king. Perhaps the pleasure of slitting your throat outweighs my care for Mabon’s cause.”
“His cause is Vortigern’s. You are not so disloyal you would abandon your responsibilities for a single moment of pleasure, for that is all it would be. A cut, a gush and the deed would be done. I would no longer know anything of this world while you would remain a man bested by women.”
His growl rumbled in his throat and her heart leapt. Had she pushed too far? She had judged him a man who preferred frank speech. He had abandoned coquetry in the courtyard in favor of speaking his feelings. Perhaps he only liked truth he arrived at himself. Slapping him with it appeared to have the opposite effect.
She braced herself.
He straightened with a jerk. “Christ, you are a cool one!” He flung the knife. It landed point up in the grass by the stream, swaying.
His back was to her. Lynette closed her eyes and let out her breath. Relief ran through her veins, making her tremble. Another deep breath. Then she opened her eyes.
Cadfael bent and snatched up the saddlebag. “What are you doing out here?”
“Leading you away from Maridunum.”
He
scowled. “Do not stretch my tolerance too far.” He pulled out her knife and turned it over. “The blade is too short to be useful, for one who wanders about by herself.” He dropped it to the cloth and dug again. He pulled out the rolled parchment and turned it around and around, looking at it. He held it toward her. “What is this?”
Lynette was puzzled. “A letter, of course.”
“That is all? A letter? Who would send the likes of you a letter?”
“My mother.” She frowned. “Do you not read, my lord?”
He glared at her. “You do?”
“Of course.” She shrugged.
He lowered the saddlebag, letting it hang from his hand. The one that held the letter gripped the roll. His knuckles whitened. “Who are you?”
“Lynette, my lord.”
“Who would teach a daughter to read?” he demanded.
“My mother,” she said.
The hand holding the letter dropped, too. He stood staring at her, as if his thoughts raced.
She reached for the letter. It pulled away from his fingers without resistance. She smoothed the dent he had made in the outer layer. “Everyone calls Saxons ignorant, because they cannot read or write. The real reason they don’t write things down is because there are no letters for their language.”
He let out a heavy breath as if she had walloped him in the back. “Saxons?” he breathed, his voice tight.
“They tell stories and sing songs and that is how they remember,” she added.
“How would you know such a thing?”
“I read it in a letter spies sent to my father.” She made herself smile at him even though the fury still radiated from him like heat from a brazier and her own heart thrummed with unnamed fear. She was not yet safe from his retribution. Even though his knife was over by the stream and his sword was strapped to his horse, he was still dangerous. “If I can read and write, surely that means I am not your enemy?” she added.
Cadfael dropped the saddle bag and took three steps away from the cloth, while his horse lifted his nose from the grass, to see if his master was returning to him. Cadfael’s steps were unsteady, as if he was drunk.
Once and Future Hearts Box One Page 6