"That will not happen to me," Alys told her. "Now, Farmer Bram, what do I owe you for the pony and saddle?"
He hesitated. "A single gold coin is a fair price for that pony, and a silver one for the saddle. I don't doubt, with good luck, ye may sell them for at least half that when you arrive at your destination."
Alys handed over the coins, bade them all farewell, mounted Braniv, and turned his head toward the road.
"Might do best to take the bridle path through my fields. If you follow the narrow stream through the woods until it meets the river, you'll find an easy ford. It's a way out of the village without having to use the parish bridge," Bram said.
Wondering how, or why, Bram knew of an unobserved way out of the village, Alys thanked Bram and his goodwife again, turned Braniv around, and took the bridle path between fields of ripening wheat. Had others who'd fled the village taken this same way?
She walked past sundown and on through the moonlit night. By the time dawn's light streaked the sky, she was well past the village and exhausted. The road curled toward the horizon and the distant mountains--her mother's land. Alys stopped awhile in the shelter of the woods. Braniv needed the rest and so did she, but by noon she was up and on her way. To ease the load for Braniv, Alys walked that day, and when they reached the monarch's road, continued walking through the night.
She was ready to drop. Even Braniv's gait slowed to an uneven roll. Surely they were far enough away to be safe from the warden and the village council. In the distance, she saw the thatched roof of an inn. She had her certificate in her cloak pocket: they could not refuse her entry. Longing for a soft bed and a cool pillow, Alys led Braniv toward the graystone inn by the curve of the distant river.
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
Ranald ven Strad called for breakfast. He'd arrived too late the previous night for more than bread and cheese. Aromas of ham, onions, and fresh coffee wafted up the stone stairs. Dear Goddesses, was he famished.
By the time he descended, his host had set him a place at the long table. There was coffee, a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a platter of ham and onions. Ranald made short work of both food and drink. Leaning back in his chair, he sipped another cup of coffee, and complimented his host on the excellence of his table.
"'Tis kind of you to say so, lord," his host replied. "'Twas all our regrets we could not serve you dinner last night."
"The hot bath was more needed than food," Ranald replied, "and bread and cheese sufficed." He set his cup down on the scrubbed table. "Good as your hospitality is, I must leave as soon as the farrier reshoes my horse. Has he arrived?"
"He was summoned, but was called first to repair a plow. 'Tis harvest time, lord."
Ranald understood. A farmer in need took precedence over any passing traveler, even a monarch's envoy. "He will come today then?" He could not continue with Saj's feet as they were.
"He will come, lord, but may well arrive after noon."
"Then, mine host, I will need room and stabling another night."
"Your present room, lord?"
Ranald nodded, but as the host bustled off to give orders in the kitchen, he cursed under his breath. By the Goddesses, he needed no more delays. The detour to avoid the plague-stricken villages to the east had already added several days to his journey. How much longer until he crossed the mountains? And how much longer after that to find the man he sought, and fulfill his oath to the monarch? Much as the delay chafed, Ranald could not continue with a lame horse.
After ascending to his chamber to check his bags and ensure his maps and guides were well concealed, Ranald tossed his cloak over his shoulders and set off for the stables. His horse was too valuable to neglect. He'd done right to wait, but if that farrier did not have Saj reshod by dawn, he, Ranald ven Strad, would haul the man over his own anvil.
The stable yard was deserted--all sensible and well-mounted travelers having departed. Saj whinnied at Ranald's approach. "Ready to be on your way?" Ranald asked, as he stroked his horse's nose. "I'm afraid we must tarry a little longer, but your accommodations are fair enough." The loose box stall had clean, fresh straw--the stables being as well kept as the rooms. Ranald hoped his host spoke truly in regard to the farrier. One day's delay could be spared. It would be close to a week before he reached the mountains, and once there, he had little idea where to go to complete his mission. It would be like hunting for a pebble on the beach, but he'd given his word to his aging monarch.
Seeing Saj was well cared for, Ranald walked toward the stable gate, thinking to walk down to the village in the valley and perhaps learn something about the road ahead.
At the open gateway, his host argued with a lone traveler. "We'll not take in the likes of you!" his host snapped at the small figure--an old woman if Ranald guessed rightly. An old woman with an even older hill pony, both looking as if they'd traveled miles.
"Good morrow," Ranald said to the innkeeper and the old--no, young--woman. It was an unlined face under the drab hood, and surprise, Ranald caught a glimpse of hair like royal auburn.
The host nodded to acknowledge Ranald and frowned back at the woman. "Be gone. Our rooms are all getting prepared for tonight. We have no place for you."
She looked ready to drop on her feet, and the pony looked little better. "Have you traveled far?" Ranald asked her.
Bright green eyes gave him a wary glance. "From the east, sir." She nodded as a courtesy. "I have traveled for two nights and my pony needs food and rest before I continue to my kinsfolk in the west."
Her pony was not the only one.
"I told her, lord. Rooms are rented by the night, not by the day, and--"
"All are unready for guests," Ranald finished for him.
"'Tis so."
"But mine is ready."
They both stared at him, with two different versions of horror. Ignoring the host's shocked gape, Ranald turned to the young woman. "I fear I importune, lady, but you look weary, and I have a room all prepared. I spent last night there but have no use for it until this evening. If you would care to avail yourself of it, it is yours. And I know mine host here has a spare stall for your mount." She looked torn between relief and anxiety. "I will be gone all day, lady. I have business in the village. The room will be all yours until this evening, and no one will disturb you."
Propriety and caution warred with fatigue. Fatigue won. "I am indebted to you, sir, and I can pay for the use of the room."
"No need, lady. Mine host does not charge twice for lodgings." The host was speechless, but unwilling to argue with one who carried the monarch's authority. "The loose box next to Saj's is empty, I believe, is it not, mine host?"
The host grunted assent.
The young woman looked uncertainly at Ranald as she led her pony to the stable. "I am truly indebted, sir."
"Lady, do not talk of debts. My room is at your service, and you have the word of Ranald ven Strad you will be undisturbed."
She smiled and bobbed a curtsy. "I thank you, sir. I am Alys, the daughter of Haran the stonemason."
Not a local mason, it seemed. "Let me help you, lady. 'Twould be unwise to leave your belongings here in the stables." As he spoke, he unlatched the straps and lifted the saddlebags off the pony.
"I must brush Braniv down. We have crossed more than one river." That was obvious by the state of the pony's shanks.
"There is a good stable lad here. He will take care of your pony." If not, she was likely to drop here on the straw.
Ranald caught the eye of the hostler and gave instructions that the hill pony was to be brushed, fed, and watered, and when the farrier appeared, he'd best check the pony's hooves too. A coin in the man's palm removed any objections.
Carrying her saddlebags, Ranald followed the girl upstairs and opened the chamber door. As he expected, the bed had been fresh made while he breakfasted. No rooms prepared! A spiteful lie indeed. What had the host expected her to do--sleep by the roadside? She looked as though she'd done that too m
uch already. "Here is the chamber, Alys Masondaughter. It is yours all day, if you so wish."
"Sir." Her dark green eyes looked up at him, still cautious, but almost trusting. "I thank you, and so does Braniv. Another day on the road and we both would have keeled over."
"I am glad to be of service." To reassure her of his intentions, he stepped back to the door. "I wish you a restful day and pleasant dreams."
"You are the soul of chivalry, sir. My thanks."
Chivalry? Yes, he'd been raised on the code. Was he foolishly trusting? Mayhap, but she looked honest. And to have walked past and ignored her plight would have lowered him to the level of the unwelcoming host. "Lady, I am glad to have been of service." He closed the door behind him and went in search of the host.
* * *
Alys looked around her. The room was well furnished: heavy curtains at the glass-paned window, a thick quilt on the feather bed, and even a hooked carpet--that she'd muddied with her boots. She took them off, washed her face and hands with water from the pitcher on the nightstand, and used the commode in the corner alcove--sheer luxury after days of squatting behind trees and hedges. The welcome bed was freshly made with spotless linen. Dirty as she was, she'd soil the freshly ironed sheets. She pulled a spare shift from one of her bags and wrapped it around the pillow, then spread her cloak on top of the bed and lay down, wrapping the thick fabric around her. She was asleep in minutes.
* * *
It wasn't entirely a fruitless morning. Ranald found the farrier mending a plow near the forge, and received assurance that he'd reshoe both the horse and the pony once he had finished. Ranald then wandered the village, noting the houses and the state of the streets, in case the monarch ever wanted details of the distant towns he visited. After stopping at a small alehouse for cheese and cider, Ranald made his way back to the inn, just in time to meet a stable lad feeding Saj and the pony. At least that order was being followed, and the pony had been well brushed. He hoped Alys received as much consideration.
Ah! Alys! She'd been on his mind all day. What was a lone woman doing traveling the roads? Had her family no care, to let her wander alone? Mayhap the meeting was fortuitous. She'd mentioned kinsfolk in the west. She, or they, might have information to aid his mission. Traveling with her would be no hardship. And who knew where she'd inherited that auburn hair? From some earlier monarch making merry with a peasant woman?
That in itself was strange and merited question.
Musing, he made his way back to the inn. The yard was deserted. Quietly, Ranald mounted the stair, hesitating before his chamber door. There was no sound within and no answer to his knock. He opened the door a crack and peered inside.
In the dimness of the curtained chamber, he glimpsed a dark shape asleep on the bed. Her muddy boots stood by the door, and her saddlebags were piled at the foot of the bed, but what caught his eye was the mane of auburn hair spread on the pillow. He had not been mistaken: this girl was a by-blow of royal blood. He must needs report that when he returned, but meanwhile...
Ranald lingered, stepping over the threshold to better see the work-worn hands that clutched the drab cape around her. Her lashes were dark and brushed her wind-reddened cheeks. Who was she? And why was she traveling these roads alone?
Mysteries intrigued Ranald, and this girl was a beautiful one. Brave enough to travel alone, but surprisingly vulnerable as she lay on the bed, lips slightly parted, her low breathing the only sound in the quiet room. She had needed this rest so desperately. Why had the host tried to turn her away? Perhaps it was her unfamiliar looks. Or her peasant attire? Whatever, it had to be divine guidance that had led her across his path. She would be his entry to the people of the western lands, and for that he would give her his aid and protection. Thinking on that, he reached further into the room, and picked up her boots.
Leaving, he almost bumped into the host's wife as he closed the door. Her frown could have curdled buttermilk.
Ranald smiled at her. "Ah, mine hostess! I was about to search for you." He held out the boots. "My guest forgot to leave her boots out for cleaning. Perhaps you can see it is done."
"Perhaps," she admitted, folding her hands on her chest, and giving him a look that made him feel like a naughty squire caught filching sweetmeats.
"I am concerned about a young woman traveling without protection," he went on, meeting her beady eyes. "Since she is traveling west too, I will afford her the monarch's protection." He paused to let that sink in. "She will be my charge."
The hostess was not a slow woman. "Indeed, sir. As you say."
"I knew I could rely on your kindness and concern." That caused an odd flicker in her eyes. Maybe he should restrain his sarcasm. "She is exhausted from her journey and needs must rest, but perhaps in an hour or two, you could send her a light collation: some soup, bread, cheese, and some of the excellent cold ham. When she awakes, have the chambermaids bring up a tub of warm water for bathing, and if you could, ensure her linen is washed and dried, ready for us to leave in the morn."
"'Twill be done, sir."
"Excellent, mine hostess! Of course, I will require another chamber for tonight."
"Indeed sir, 'twill not be as fine as that one," she nodded toward the closed door, "but our second-best room is available."
This was more courtesy than the poor girl had received this morning! Ranald inclined his head in thanks. "Mine hostess, I knew your hospitality would rise to meet my needs. My guest will dine with me tonight. A table set apart from the company would, I believe, be more comfortable for a young woman."
"By all means, sir. We have a small dining room if you prefer..."
He shook his head. "'Twould risk unkind conjecture, I fear. My aim is to protect her, not subject her to lascivious speculation."
"Quite, sir." She unbent enough to unfold her arms and smooth them on her apron. "I'll see she has refreshment, and a nice warm bath."
She bustled off, no doubt to berate her maids, and Ranald wandered back down the stairs. Calling for a tankard of cider from the potboy, Ranald sat down in a corner and thought about Alys of the auburn hair and green eyes. Why had her family, or concerned friends, not supplied an escort? That much he could do. As one of the monarch's envoys, he had done so many times before. But never before had he escorted a woman who caught his attention the way Alys had.
It was impossible to forget the sight of her rich copper hair spread on the pillow. Her body might have been concealed by the drab cloak, but imagining the curve of her hip or the sweet softness of her breasts was no hard task. Sweet Goddesses, aid him! He had taken it upon himself to escort her safely, not to imagine her breasts, which would be pale and warm to his touch and...
He downed the last of the cider and set off down the road to meet the stable lads returning with the horses--anything to get his mind off breasts, auburn hair, and temptation.
* * *
When Alys opened her eyes, she had no idea where she was. How could it be that she was lying on a soft mattress, in a warm room?
Then it all came back: arriving exhausted this morning, being denied entry, and...Dear Goddesses! She sat up with a start, remembering, in a flash, the surly host and the man. The man was some sort of official--judging by his garb--who had insisted the host admit her, and had given her his bed. Alys looked around, doubting if the warden's house back in the village had a chamber this fine. There was a carpet on the floor, warm hangings at the windows, and food...
She was out of bed in seconds, drawn by the savory aroma of the covered pot on the small stove in the corner. Stew! Hot, spicy, and bursting with chunks of meat and savory roots. Picking up the bowl on the table, she ladled out a generous serving, tore off a chunk of bread, poured a mug of cider from the jug on the table, and settled back on the bed to eat.
Seldom had food tasted so wonderful. A second bowl soon disappeared. Satisfied, she leaned back in bed and frowned to herself.
Comfort in the shape of a warm room, a soft bed, and rich stew was a
ll very well and welcome, but what now? Ranald--she remembered his name--had given his word not to presume--but how good was his word? Would she be wise to sneak out now, take Braniv, and get as far along the road as possible before nightfall? How soon was nightfall?
Slipping out of bed, Alys walked over to the window. The sun was descending in the sky. She'd slept away the better part of the day--hardly surprising. She had not slept well on the ground when she had stopped to let Braniv rest. Truth be told, she dreaded going back on the road. How many days or weeks would it be before she reached the mountains? And how long to cross them?
The sound of the door latch lifting broke into her thoughts. The door opened and a broad-chested woman entered. "I hope you are well rested, lady?"
The courtesy surprised Alys, who half expected ejection from the room and the inn. "Indeed I am, and I thank you for the stew; 'twas most toothsome."
The woman nodded. "You're most welcome, lady. We thought you'd be glad of a bath after your journey." As she spoke, two maids came in carrying a metal hip bath, followed by several more with jugs and buckets of hot water. Alys stared as they filled the bath, then descended for more water, clean towels, and soap.
"If you'll place your soiled linen in the basket," the woman said, indicating a round lidded hamper, "we'll see them clean and ironed by morning. And if there's anything else you might be needing..."
Perhaps a pinch inside her elbow to wake her up. This had to be a dream. But in dreams, she had never felt the need to pee. "Nothing more yet," Alys replied, and waited until they all withdrew.
For good measure, she moved the small table against the door. Not purely for modesty's sake, but out of fear someone might come in as she disrobed and notice the concealed money on her person.
It was only after Alys had bathed, dried her hair using towels warmed on the stove, put on clean clothes, and watched the laundry maid take her linen to be washed and her cloak to have the mud brushed off (keeping back her petticoat with the hidden pockets), that she wondered what she must pay for these services. 'Tis too late now, she thought as she laced up her cleaned and shined boots. She had money to pay, and would haggle over the price if need be.
PARADOX III Page 2