CHAPTER FOUR
Ranald looked up at the gray sky on their third morning on the road. It was going to be a long journey. Alys was a quiet traveler, he conceded her that, but even the clip-clop of her pony's hooves on packed earth underscored her presence. Three days earlier, insisting they join forces seemed politic--almost statesmanlike in its genius. She would be his entrée into the western lands, her connections, his guide to find the missing heir. That had been three rough nights, two long days, three strained breakfasts, three stressful dinners, and two tense noonday stops ago. They came nearer to the mountains with each league they covered, but his control was slipping more with each passing hour. He could not fault Alys. She behaved with perfect decorum--almost reticence. She was a tireless traveler, never once complaining, no matter how hard the road, or how spent she was when they stopped for the night. When she realized his authority paid for their lodgings and stabling each night, she insisted the stores in her saddlebags be their noon meal each day. Ranald had to admit, her mother had been a fine cheese maker. Fine daughter maker too!
Alys was a paragon of tact and propriety, retiring after dinner to her chamber, while he sat by the fire in the main room and learned what he could from the company. She unsaddled and brushed down Braniv each evening, and saddled him up in the morning. She was unfailingly courteous, always remembering his request to omit his honorific. She was decorum and poise personified.
And it was driving him insane.
She was utterly right and he was totally foolish.
She had all the demeanor of a sensible young woman.
He was as randy and keyed up as a callow youth.
* * *
Things came to a head on their third night on the road.
The ride had been longer than usual and the going rougher. Within a mile or two of the inn, the heavens opened. In minutes they were drenched, and by the time they led their sodden mounts through the inn gates, they were soaked to the skin.
As always, the monarch's authority summoned immediate service.
"My Lord." The host bowed as he summoned grooms to lead the horses out of the rain. Alys had dismounted and was unbuckling her saddlebags. Ranald couldn't quite suppress a smile as she handed over the bags to a groom, with a quiet but firm order to convey them to her chamber, and then led Braniv toward a stall. From a grubby dusty vagrant, she'd transformed into a confident traveler.
"My lord, sir!" the host said, and Ranald turned to him. "How may I serve you and your goodwife?"
"Not my wife, good host." Best always to get things clear from the outset. "Under the monarch's authority, I am conducting Lady Alys to her family in the western lands. We will need your two best rooms, dinner, and hot baths."
"All you shall have, lord. But..." The man hesitated. Ranald raised an eyebrow. "Sir, if I had known..."
"What matter?"
"Rooms we have for you, lord, but the dining room is full. A large band of revelers arrived on their way home from the fair in Mandrimere. I fear the company may not be what you and your lady are used to--"
"Good host, if you have warm beds, hot water, and fresh food, we will be content to eat in the kitchens if it so please you!"
"No need, sir. We can offer you a dining chamber."
It was scarcely a problem. Alys was still not comfortable among the noise and clamor of a busy eatery, and a private parlor would suit him better than a company of revelers. As the host sent minions scurrying to fetch hot water and light fires, Ranald led Saj in Alys's wake. Before either of them could shed their wet clothes, they needed to see to their mounts.
Less than a half hour later, they ascended to their rooms: two clean bedchambers with fires burning in the hearths, connected by an adjoining parlor. Maids were already in each chamber, filling wooden tubs with hot water.
Alys smiled at him as she brushed the tails of wet hair off her face. "Indeed Ranald, never has the prospect of a hot bath and a warm meal appealed more."
Alys of Wenmere--wet hair, face flushed, and sodden clothes clinging to her body--appealed far, far more than a hot bath or food, but her honor, and his, were at stake here. "Indeed, Alys, let us meet later, when we are warm and dry." He inclined his head in a short bow, and stepping back, watched her enter her room. He stood in the hallway a full several minutes, thinking of the woman on the other side of the closed door, before a discreet cough from the maid, and a hesitant, "If you'd be pleased to see your room, lord," brought him back to his senses. Dear Goddesses! Lingering in the hallways and gawking at Alys's door was not the way to uphold the fiction of being an escort to her kinsfolk.
Alone in his chamber, Ranald dismissed the maids and stripped to his skin, suppressing the thought that two walls away, Alys was doing the same.
The past days had tortured his mind--and his body. It seemed such a simple task to escort a young woman to her family. If it had been any other young woman there would be no trial, but with Alys--dear Goddesses! Just thinking about her set his cock rising and his mind diverging to most unlordly lines of thought.
It would not be for much longer. Tomorrow would bring them to the foothills. Another day, two at the most, and they'd be over the mountains. Once he had Alys safe with her family, he'd be free to resume his quest, hopefully with some clues and assistance from her grateful kin--wherever they were. She had never mentioned the town she was headed to, or, for that matter, her family name.
No matter. He'd ask her at dinner, and perhaps the host would know the direction.
Soon Alys would be back in the bosom of her family.
He would miss her hideously. She had courage and resolve to make any man proud. He hoped her family valued the gem they had. Ranald soaked in the bath until the water went cold. Rubbing himself dry with a warm towel, he pulled on clean linen and shirt, and his spare breeches. His boots were off to be dried and cleaned, so he was barefoot as he strode across the room and opened the door to the parlor. Two maids were in the room, one setting the table, the other sitting with Alys by the crackling fire, who was drying her long copper hair.
She looked up at him. "Forgive me, Ranald, I will be ready soon. Please eat."
Now he regretted insisting she call him by his given name. The maids' ears perked up. "Lady Alys. I would not so presume." He walked over to the table and poured a tankard of cider. He was pleased to see it had been warmed. "I can wait." He pulled out a chair and sat down, sipping the mulled cider. Yes, it did help warm him inside. Not that he needed cider to warm him when he had Alys a couple of yards away.
The maid setting the table turned to him. "When shall we send up the dinner, sir?"
"Soon. 'Tis no haste." Ranald looked at Alys kneeling by the fire while the other maid toweled her hair. "Girl, what's your name?"
She looked up. "Meena, sir."
"When you have finished aiding Lady Alys, Meena, send word to the kitchen."
Meena nodded. The other girl left the room with a bob of a curtsy, and Ranald leaned back in the heavy chair, sipped the warm cider, and tried not to be too obvious about watching the two girls--no, there was only one girl he wanted to watch.
Maybe it was the hard day's ride, the aftermath of a hot bath, or just the warmth of the small parlor, but Ranald found he was close to dozing. Odd. Here he was, in an inn on the edge of the wilds, and he could as easily be back in his aunt's home, watching his cousins dry each other's hair by the fire. Not that any of his family had hair the color of an August sunset, or eyes as green as church window glass.
Did Alys have any idea what she did to him? She couldn't! No nicely reared girl--and he sensed she'd been nicely reared even in a village with her father a stonemason and her mother a champion cheese maker--could even imagine the thoughts and images that plagued his mind for most of the past three days.
Lust was the best name for it, and that realization shamed him. He had undertaken her protection, and if he gave his inclinations the least opportunity, his so-called protection would be her destruction.
&n
bsp; It was doubly fortunate--for both of them--that they were so close to their destination. Soon she would be reunited with her kin, and he would be free to resume his mission: finding the monarch's lost nephew and heir presumptive.
Ranald shook his head. He believed in his heart that the monarch had set him an impossible task, but he'd fulfill his oath to search for a year. At least he'd succeed in one mission--to conduct Alys home.
He'd miss her, though. She'd been a fine traveling companion, never complaining, not even when weary or drenched to the skin--rather lovely skin from the rare glimpses he'd had. Enough! Enough! Thinking along that path would lead them both into ruin. He gave a sigh and reached for the cider again.
* * *
Alys heard his sigh across the room. She was becoming a burden to him. Without her delaying him, he'd no doubt have completed his mission and be heading home by now. But what else could she do? He'd insisted he accompany her. Much as she had been grateful for his protection, it had not been of her asking. She'd ridden as far and as hard as him. It was hardly her fault the skies had opened and drenched them both.
Soon, too soon, whispered a voice in the deep recesses of her heart, they would cross the mountains. Once in the western lands, they would part ways. The prospect rankled deep in her soul.
Foolishness! Silly dreams she should discard without a backward glance. Ranald ven Strad was a lord, an envoy to the monarch himself, and she was the dispossessed daughter of a stonemason. But dreams and hopes were what had driven her to take to the road, and what harm was there in a few private fantasies about Ranald's strong arms and wide mouth?
And she had ample opportunity to sneak glimpses of said strong arms, wide mouth, broad back, and dark hair, as the maid toweled her hair, pausing at intervals to reach for a fresh dry towel. It was so good to be out of the cold and rain, and warm beside the fire. Best enjoy the pleasure while she could. They'd be back on the road tomorrow.
She was adrift in a few fruitless fantasies by the time her hair was dry. Not wanting to delay Ranald's--or her--dinner any longer, Alys dismissed the maid with a request to send up dinner. As the door closed, Alys reached for her hairbrush. She brushed her hair until it was free of knots and tangles, then reached for a clean kerchief. As she turned, she caught Ranald's eye.
Heat flooded her cheeks. Why? She'd done nothing shameful--merely dried her hair by the fire, but, oh! The look in his eyes sent her mind into a spiral. She took a deep breath, set her hairbrush aside, and knotted the kerchief in place. It was the work of a few moments.
Ranald was still watching her, but the odd light had faded from his eyes. Now he looked tired and hungry. She could empathize!
"I hope the weather will clear before morning," she said as she took her place and reached for the jug of cider.
Ranald reached it first and filled her mug. "If we are fortunate," he replied. "In the mountains, when bad weather sets in, it often stays for days."
"Then let us pray for fine weather."
"You are anxious to reach your family?"
Was she? Yes! Anxious was the right word, but not the way Ranald meant. How would she find them once she crossed into the western lands? And if she did, would they want her?
The door opening, and the arrival of the host and a bevy of maids, ended her musing. The maids departed as the last dish of hot food was placed on the table. The host lingered to carve the spiced beef, offer dishes of roasted vegetables, and ensure they had adequate cider.
"Aught else you might have need of, lord, lady?"
Ranald shook his head. "Not yet, good host. Perhaps, after we dine, you could spare us a little time. We'll have need of your help to direct us on the road ahead."
"Sir, anything that I can do to aid you, you only need to ask."
They spoke little after the door closed behind their host. They were both famished, and did good justice to the late meal.
"Alys," Ranald said, after he'd disposed of three slices of beef and the better part of the dish of vegetables--not that she hadn't had her share. "When the host returns, I plan to ask which road to take once we cross the hills, but for the life of me, I cannot remember the town where you are headed."
Because she did not know it! "I never heard the name. My mother never mentioned it."
His dark eyes seemed to bore into her. "You don't know her home!"
"Only that it was in the western territories."
"You came all this way, prepared to travel alone, and never knew your destination?"
Alys shook her head. "She never spoke it." It always seemed like her parents' lives had started when they had met each other. Neither had ever mentioned the days before they'd met and married.
"Alys, this astounds me. You astound me! Was it hope or insanity that had you set out alone, not knowing the end?"
"'Twas the knowledge that staying meant misery and degradation."
He nodded in acknowledgment of her situation in Wenmere and raked his strong hand through his dark hair. "Alys, this will make our task harder, but perhaps 'twill not matter. Towns are few in the mountains and communities closely connected. Often a family name alone will find those one seeks."
Her next answer would not please him. "I do not know her family name."
"By all the Goddesses!" He was silent and gape-mouthed for several of her heartbeats. "How did you hope to find them?"
"My mind was more set on leaving Wenmere far behind, than on arriving at my kinsfolks'."
Ranald poured out the last of the cider and downed it in one go. He set the tankard down with a bang, and she flinched. Holy Goddesses! He'd never seen Alys frightened or scared in all the long days on the road, but..."Were you that desperate to get away?"
"I was. To stay was to put myself in servitude for life."
"To wander the wild might mean you'd be captured by slavers, fall in with robbers, or meet a fate worse than death."
She gave a dry chuckle. "I left behind a fate worse than death!"
Sweet Alys! She did not understand. "Alys, there are ills and grave harm that can befall a woman alone."
"Rape?" She looked him in the eyes and shrugged. "If talk is to be believed, that, too, would have been my fate in the parish house."
To his utmost horror, he believed her. "That must be stopped!"
"It should, and if you have the ear of those in power to see it so, many will thank you in their hearts. I did not have power or position to be aught but a victim. I chose my chances on the road."
Along with her royal hair, she'd inherited dignity and courage from her wayward ancestor. "I'm thankful we chanced upon each other, and that I was there to protect you from harm. But Alys, what now? You know not the town or the family you seek. Do you have nothing to establish your family connections?"
"I have two books of my mother's."
"Books?"
"Aye." She smiled, as if mocking his surprise. "My mother could read." Even if she had hidden the fact from all but her husband and daughter.
"'Twas not that I meant, Alys." But he'd be hard-pressed to say what he had meant. "Would you show me the books? Perhaps they hold some clue to their origin."
She nodded, stood, and walked into her bedchamber. After several minutes, she called, "Ranald, may I borrow your knife?"
"What need, Alys?" He crossed to the doorway and paused. She was kneeling on the carpet, her skirt around her like the corolla of a flower, and her belongings scattered on the floor. She reached into her knapsack.
"To open this pocket. I sewed it tight--too tight. 'Twill take more than scissors to open it."
Even entering her bedchamber was a mistake--an error of judgment, and temptation he could scarce risk. But she met his eyes and smiled. "I need your help."
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
He crossed the threshold and knelt beside her as she held out her now-empty knapsack. "See," she said. She had indeed made a false bottom in her pack.
He drew his knife from his belt and carefully cut the
stitches holding the canvas in place. He sheathed the knife and moved back, ostensibly to let her reach for her books, but in reality to remove himself from the temptation of such closeness.
She pulled out the books wrapped in faded cloth. "I found them under my parents' bed. I knew if they'd hidden them all these years, they had to be of value--at least to them."
"Why did you hide them so?"
"I was afraid the warden or one of his agents would find them. They could not punish my mother for having them, but they could have punished me."
"Punish you for having books? Why?"
Alys paused, looking across at Ranald seated on the floor an arm's reach away. He was her friend and protector, but dare she tell him? Perhaps it had been a mistake to even mention the books, but she already had, and soon he would see them, and she wanted to trust him. "I think they might be about magic."
That earned her a searching look. "Your mother worked magic?"
Dear heavens, no! "Not that I ever knew. If she could, she'd never have dared. Just being able to read made her suspect."
"Your warden did not permit you to read?"
"Not girls and women. 'Twas said 'twould addle our brains and make us unfit for our stations in life."
Ranald snorted. It was the only sound of disgust he let out. "Seems the monarch needs to send an audit to your village. Myself, I would like to meet your warden and explain the laws of the realm to him."
"Women may read in other villages?" It seemed incredible, but she'd learned to trust Ranald's word.
"Alys, in the metropolis there is a university where all may go--men and women. The monarch has schools for all his subjects." He smiled at her. "Yes, Alys, you are allowed to read."
"Would that I could go to the metropolis to learn. My mother promised to teach me when I came of age--if I wished to assume that burden. I would have, but she died."
"Your kinsfolk no doubt read. How else would your mother have learned?"
True. "I have to find them first."
"You will, Alys. We will find them. Now let me see these books you carry. Maybe they will give us a direction."
PARADOX III Page 4