by Jane Feather
Ari looked down at the bodies at her feet. They were not dead, she decided, but they were certainly hors de combat, and as her eyes made sense of the chaos against the background of the dancing flames, she could see that the Daunt men were prevailing. It was their business, after all, robbing and ambushing, setting fire to barns, creating bloody mayhem in their wake. They were the best in the business, she thought with a sardonic twist of her lips. Only fool amateurs would attempt to take them on.
It was all over in the next few minutes, the would-be brigands on the ground, clutching their wounds. “Secure them, and leave them against the fence,” Ivor instructed as he assessed the damage. “Who else is hurt?”
“Just a scratch, sir,” the coachman said, tearing off a piece of his shirt with his teeth to fashion a bandage around his bleeding arm. “And Jake there got his shoulder out of joint.”
“Tilly’s inside waiting,” Ariadne said. “She’ll put your shoulder back, Jake, and she’ll have bandages and poultices and whatever.”
“Where are the horses?” Ivor looked around, frowning.
“I let them loose. We’ll have to round them up when it’s light,” Ari told him.
He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Anger glowed in his deep blue eyes. “Get inside,” he instructed sharply.
It was an odd tone to use to someone who’d just saved his life, she thought, but she was going inside anyway, so she wiped her knife blade on a piece of straw and made her way back to the cottage.
Tilly was in the taproom tearing an old sheet into strips. Her little bag of herbs was on the counter together with a jug of steaming hot water. “How bad?” she asked, glancing up as Ari came in.
“Our own men? Nothing too much. Jake’s put his shoulder out, and Abe has a cut on his arm. There may be other minor wounds, but everyone’s on their feet . . . at least, our men.” She went to the fire and piled on more logs. “It’ll be dawn soon. Where’s our genial host and his lady?”
Tilly shook her head. “Haven’t seen ’em. Once the shouting started and the fire, the lad went off running like the devil was on his heels. There’s not a soul in the kitchen.”
“Wise of them to beat a retreat,” Ari observed. “I wouldn’t give much for their chances if our lot got hold of them. At least the rain stopped the fire from taking too quickly.”
The door opened on a wet gust, and the Daunt men came in in a group, wet, muddy, and bleeding. “Jake, you first,” Ari called, seeing the man’s ashen face as he cradled his limp arm against his chest. “Tilly, can you put it back for him?”
“Sit you down there, now,” Tilly instructed, pointing to a stool. She moved behind him, her hands feeling his shoulder socket. He bit his lip hard to stifle a cry of pain at the probing. “Hold still.” There was something about Tilly’s calm manner that instilled confidence. She gave a pull and a push, and Jake yelled and then breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“Eh, lass, I reckon you’ve done it.” He put his hand tentatively up to his shoulder, moving it slightly in the joint. “Aye. Feels good.”
“Let me strap it.” Tilly fashioned a sling from some of the old sheeting she’d been tearing for bandages. “Reckon a tot of brandy’ll set you up fine now.” She looked around. “Who’s next?”
Ivor was filling cups liberally from the innkeeper’s brandy cask, handing them around to his men as they waited for Tilly’s ministrations. He said nothing to Ariadne, although he passed her a cup with the rest.
“Are you hurt?” she asked as she took it.
He shook his head. “Nothing that won’t heal in the fullness of time.” He looked at her, that same anger glowing in the blue depths of his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Ari asked directly.
“Are you hurt under all that soot and filth?” he asked instead of answering her.
“No. And what’s a little soot? It’ll wash off.” Soot didn’t seem an adequate explanation for his anger. She left him and went to the counter, dipping a cloth into the hot water to wash her face. The cloth came away black as pitch. She must look like a chimney sweep. She poured water into a bowl and carried it up to the loft. There seemed nothing further for her to do in the taproom, and Ivor was issuing orders for guarding the trunks and rounding up the horses as soon as dawn broke.
She was weary, Ari realized, now that the excitement was over. It seemed an age since she had woken and started that blissful interlude between the sheets. An interlude so brutally shattered. She shrugged out of her jacket and slowly eased off her boots and britches, shaking down her night shift.
Ivor’s steps sounded on the stairs as the shift fell to her ankles. She turned to greet him with a tired smile, which died as she saw his expression in the light of the candle he held.
“I told you to stay here,” he declared, setting the candle on the mantel. “Just what in hell did you think you were doing?”
Ari felt her own temper rise as the events of the night took their toll. “Setting the horses free of a burning barn, saving our possessions, saving your life, as I recall. Did I do something wrong?” Her voice was as sharp as an ice pick as she faced him, a sparrow to his falcon.
Ivor pressed finger and thumb into his eyes in a gesture of utter weariness. “I told you to stay here,” he repeated.
“Did you? I didn’t hear,” she responded. “And on the whole, I’m glad I didn’t. You might not be here if I had.”
His expression lightened slowly. He shook his head, and there was now a glint of amusement to replace the earlier anger in his eyes. “You really won’t ever be an obedient wife, will you, Ariadne?”
She gave him a look of astonishment. “No, of course not. Whatever made you think I might be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he returned, shaking his head. “A moment of lunacy, probably . . . or perhaps a little wishful thinking.”
“Not something to be indulged too often,” Ariadne stated. “Do we have time to go back to bed before dawn?”
He looked at her a little warily. “If you’ve sleep in mind, then, yes.”
“What else?” she asked with an innocent smile. “I’m exhausted.” She fell back on the straw mattress, opening the top sheet in invitation. “Sleep, Ivor.”
He pulled off his boots, blew out the candle, and climbed fully dressed into bed beside her.
“Where are the innkeeper and his wife, do you think?” Ari asked, turning into the curve of his arm.
“I have no idea and not the slightest interest,” he responded. “Any more than I care two farthings for those brigands outside in the rain.”
“But we’ll have to do something with them,” Ari murmured. “We can’t leave them tied up in the rain forever.”
“Go to sleep . . . unless you want to go and join them.” His arm tightened around her, and she could feel his smile as she slipped into an exhausted sleep.
SIXTEEN
Ariadne awoke in broad daylight. The storm had passed, leaving a clean-washed pale sky and sodden ground. Ivor was gone from the bed, and she could hear raised voices through the ill-fitting window. Pushing aside the covers, she staggered to her feet, aware of every muscle in her body. She went to the window, throwing open the shutters. Below was a scene of ordered busyness. A miserable-looking group of would-be brigands was huddled on the wet grass while Tilly moved among them tending brusquely to their wounds. Two Daunt men stood guard with an air of indifference.
She could see no sign of Ivor and none at all of the owners of the Fallow Deer. She dressed rapidly and went downstairs. The taproom was deserted, although the fire burned brightly enough. She stuck her head into the kitchen. No one there, either, but again, the fire in the range was hot and bright, and a kettle of water steamed. She realized she was ravenous, but there was a conspicuous absence of breakfast, not even a loaf of bread.
Ari went back through the taproom and outside. “Can I help, Tilly?”
Tilly, in the process of attaching a poultice of what looked like rotti
ng moss to the bleeding thigh of one of their assailants, shook her head. “No, thanks, Miss Ari. But they’re having trouble with the horses, and Jake’s shoulder’s too sore to do much. Sphinx is still spooked.”
“I’ll go and see what I can do.” Ari vaulted the low wall that separated the patch of front yard from the rear. Ivor was leading Turk into the yard. The big black reared at the lingering smell of smoke from the barn.
“What can I do?” Ari asked, laying a soothing hand on the horse’s withers. “Have you seen Sphinx?”
“He’s about a hundred yards distant, and keeping his distance,” Ivor responded. “I don’t think anyone will be able to do anything with him except you. There’s a rope halter on the water butt over there. Oh, and there are some bruised windfalls in a basket behind the barn.”
Ari fetched the halter and found the apples. She took two, dropping them into the pocket of her jacket. “Where are the rest of the horses?”
“Coming in slowly. We managed to salvage enough bran for a decent mash, and Jake’s mixing it with his one good arm. Abe’s cut is deep, but he can hammer a nail, so he’s helping to make a corral out back for them. It’ll hold ’em overnight.”
“So we’re to stay here all day?”
“Licking our wounds,” Ivor agreed. “We’ve lost our host and hostess, but there are sufficient provisions for us to have a decent meal, and after a night’s rest, we’ll start off at daybreak tomorrow.”
“You don’t expect another ambush?”
His laugh was sardonic. “Unlikely, dear girl. I think the lesson’s been learned.”
Ari nodded and left him, going in search of Sphinx. She saw him, as Ivor had said, standing warily a few hundred feet from the inn. The village felt completely empty, as if all its inhabitants had been driven off by a long ship of Viking raiders. Either that, or they were cowering behind locked doors.
Ari approached the horse slowly, talking softly to him, the halter concealed behind her back. He could lead her a merry dance through the hills if he chose to be difficult, but she knew he was hungry and scared and in need of familiarity.
“Here, boy.” She held out an apple on her flat palm. “It’s quite safe now.” He let her approach within a few feet, and then he tossed his head and retreated a few yards, still watching her warily, his eyes rolling.
Ari sighed. It could be a long morning, and she was very hungry. She took a bite out of the bruised windfall and watched her horse, who watched her back. “It’s good,” she said, holding it out on her palm again. This time, Sphinx approached with a dancing step, head high on his arched neck. He came close enough to snatch the apple from her hand and then retreated, but this time not so far.
Ari took a bite out of the second apple, watching him now out of the corner of her eye. Then she turned and walked casually back towards the yard, whistling softly to herself. She could sense Sphinx move behind her, tentative steps in her wake, and she nodded in silent satisfaction. He was following her home to safety, and soon she would be able to slip the halter over his head.
Ivor had Turk secured in the corral by the time Ari and her horse came into the yard. “What are you intending to do with those vermin from last night?” Ari inquired, releasing Sphinx into the enclosure.
“Send them on their way, once Tilly has patched them up. They’re no use to us, and I don’t think we need to involve what passes for the law in these parts, do you?” He bit into a windfall, leaning back against the rough railing of the corral.
“No,” she agreed. “Can I have a bite? Sphinx ate all mine.”
Amiably, Ivor held out the apple, and she took a bite, spitting a pip to the ground at her feet. “Are we safe here for the day?”
“Why not? We didn’t break the law . . . we didn’t attack innocent travelers in their beds. No one knows who we are.”
“I doubt that’s true,” Ari said, leaning in for another bite. “When the Daunts leave the valley, the whole countryside knows. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “maybe the news didn’t reach this far across the Levels.”
“Probably not.” Ivor tossed the apple core into the enclosure. “Otherwise, I doubt we’d have been attacked. We’re finished here for the moment, and I’m famished. Let’s see if anyone’s getting breakfast.”
“Tilly’s still busy with the wounded.”
“Well, you’re not unversed in kitchen arts, are you, ma’am?” he asked with a mockingly raised eyebrow.
“No,” Ari conceded. “But Tilly is better at feeding the five thousand.”
“We are hardly that.” He ushered her ahead of him back to the cottage. Tilly was still bandaging and applying poultices, and Ariadne accepted that cooking breakfast for their small band had fallen to her hand.
It was a strange day. It felt for the most part as if they were the only people on earth; not another soul appeared in the village, and the innkeeper and his wife had vanished into the ether. There were provisions aplenty, ample supplies of wine, beer, and brandy, and an impromptu holiday atmosphere invaded the group. Their enemies dispersed as well as they could, carrying off those who could not walk under their own steam. The village remained deserted, and the Fallow Deer became a campsite for a party of travelers taking respite from their journey.
Ivor was prepared to let them rest, the horses in particular. They would perform better if they’d been given time to recover from the shocks of the precious night. But he was still anxious to be on the road again. They had many miles to cover before the bad weather set in.
It was early evening when the sounds of a scuffle came from the backyard. Ivor was on his feet immediately, a half-eaten chicken drumstick in his hand. Abe came in, hauling the inn’s lad by his shirt collar. “Found this one lurking behind the barn.” He pushed the boy into room.
Ariadne looked closely at the pale, shivering child. “He’s hungry and scared, Ivor.” She pulled a thigh from the roast chicken and held it out to him. “It’s all right, no one’s going to hurt you.”
The boy took it tentatively, his gaze never leaving Ivor, who stood looking down at him, frowning. “Where are your master and mistress?” Ivor demanded.
The lad shook his head, biting into the flesh of the chicken. “Don’t know, sir. I swear, sir, I didn’t know they was goin’ to tell ’em you was here. They never told me nothin’, sir. I swear it.”
Ivor set down his drumstick. “Who are them?”
“Baxter’s folk, sir. When rich folks stay at the inn, master lets ’em know.” The boy wiped his greasy mouth with the back of his hand and looked hungrily at the carcass on the table.
“I see.” Ivor picked up his drumstick and took another bite. “And who did your master say was here?”
The lad shook his head vigorously. “Don’t rightly know, sir. Don’t think master or missus knows, neither. Just as how there’s trunks and packages and good horses and whatnot . . . so bound to be some good pickin’s, like.”
“And do you know who we are?” Ariadne asked, slicing into a loaf of bread, offering the boy a piece on the point of the knife.
He shook his head, eyes wide, before hesitantly taking the bread from the knife. But there was something in his look that alerted Ari. She moved quickly, the bread knife touching the boy’s throat. “Come now,” she said persuasively. “You do know, don’t you?”
The lad looked terrified once again. He swallowed against the tip of the knife and said, “Reckon you be Daunt, ma’am.”
Ari nodded and withdrew the knife, using it to slice another piece from the loaf. “Are you sure your master and mistress didn’t know that?”
He gave a vigorous nod. “Oh, aye, ma’am. If they’d ’ave known, they’d never ’ave tried to take you.”
Ari nodded and glanced at Ivor, who merely shrugged and said to Abe, “We’ll keep him here until we leave in the morning. Feed him and keep a watch over him.” He drained his ale tankard. “I’m for my bed. We leave at daybreak. Ariadne . . .” He put an arm around her shoulders and directed
her to the stairs.
Ari offered no resistance. The bed was still a tumbled mass of covers from the morning’s emergency departure. She started to straighten them, but Ivor, pulling off his boots against the boot jack, said, “Just get into it, Ari. We’re both exhausted, and this God damned journey has only just begun. We must be up before daybreak.”
Ari looked at him with a ruefully raised eyebrow. “May we not play a little?”
“No, we may not,” he declared, half laughing despite his preoccupation with the day’s events. “Take your clothes off and get under the covers.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” Ariadne removed her clothes, garment by garment, watching him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. He was trying to ignore her but not very successfully, she noted with satisfaction as she tossed her shift onto the chest with the rest of her clothes and stood for a moment naked in the candlelight beside the bed.
His body was aroused, and he turned abruptly from the bed. “Get in, Ariadne, now.”
She twitched aside the covers and put one knee on the bed, looking at him over her shoulder, her gray eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you sure we couldn’t help each other to go to sleep? We don’t have to be too energetic.”
Ivor was aware of confusion. Ariadne, who had told him that she could only love Gabriel Fawcett, was the hungriest, most inventive of lovers a man could wish for. What was it about her that enabled her to separate that in love feeling for simple sexual satisfaction with another man?
“No, we don’t,” he agreed, feeling his erection gently dying. “But tell me, Ari, do you still love Gabriel Fawcett?”
It was a bath of icy water. Ari had been trying so hard to steer a path through the tangle, and it had seemed to her that the only way to do that was to try to put the past behind her. Now Ivor was forcing the issue. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She said slowly, “Yes, I do love Gabriel but not in the same way I love you, Ivor. You’re my dearest friend, and I love you with friendship, but I also love to make love with you.” Her voice quivered a little, and she stared fixedly at the ceiling. “It seems like I’m betraying both of you, and yet I don’t know what else to do. Gabriel is gone from my life, and you are in it. What am I supposed to do, Ivor?” The question came out as an almost desperate plea, and she turned her head slightly on the pillow, her gray eyes huge and shadowed against her pale countenance.