She handed them over, and he unwrapped them, and almost dropped them in his surprise. By all the Nine Goddesses, he could scarcely credit what he saw. In the center of each cedarwood cover was an intricately carved design of three entwined circles--the monarch's mark! "Where did you get these?" She started at his raised voice. Dear Goddesses, he'd not intended to alarm her.
"As I told you. I found them hidden under my parents' bed. Do they tell where my mother came from?"
He'd been on the road long enough to recognize liars and cheats. There was no guile in her voice or her face. "We'll see." He opened the first one and turned the first few pages. There weren't oaths enough to express his shock, amazement, and horror. He glanced at her, and read curiosity and anxiety in her face, but again, no guilt, no guile. "What made you think they were magic books?"
"The drawings. Books and announcements have letters. These books are full of drawing and schemes."
True. He turned yet another page. They were very specific drawings, plans, and illustrations. To think a village girl had been traveling the countryside with concealed official documents. Scanning page after page, Ranald could not contain his shock. Here were plans for defense: numbers and regiments of the standing army and their positions. Lists of munitions and...
"What is wrong? Are they of magic? Do they tell of my mother's family?"
Alys's anxiety brought him back to the present, and an incredible conundrum. "These tell nothing about your family, Alys." Unless her family be spies and traitors. And in that case, why keep them hidden under the mattress for years when they could have been sold to a neighboring power for wealth and safety? "They are some sort of official records."
Two little creases formed between Alys's eyes. "Then how came my mother to have them?"
He'd like to know the same but..."More immediate, Alys. What are we to do with them now?"
"I cannot keep them?"
"Alys, possession of these could be taken as treason!"
Tactless words! Her face set hard as she tilted her chin up to him. "My mother was not treasonous! She is not here to defend herself, but I will, and if she had these books it was because she had the right, or was given it!"
Alys had no idea. "Far be it for me to accuse your mother, but these are the monarch's records. Someone, somewhere must have stolen them. Perhaps your mother came into possession of them, and hid them as she feared discovery."
"She had nothing to hide. She..." Alys shook her head, thinking, no doubt as he was, that her mother had had secrets--but hiding literacy from a dictatorial and oppressive warden was scarcely akin to treason.
"Alys," he took her hands in his, "your mother is dead. No one can accuse or blame her, but if you were found to be carrying these, you could be accused."
Her frown deepened. "Must they be destroyed? Then I will have so little that was my parents'."
"I think..." What was the best course? "Will you trust me to take them into safe keeping and convey them to the monarch?" She nodded...reluctantly. "If they must go to him, then yes, I would best like you to carry them." She sighed. "And I thought they were magic: spells and incantations. I'd heard that magic abounded in the west and believed my mother carried it with her."
"Maybe she did, and maybe she hid those talents, but these..." He shook his head. "These are in truth a mystery. Mayhap the scribes and record keepers will know when they were lost, and that perhaps will give some clue as to how your mother came to own them."
"'Tis best if you take charge of them, then. I would not wish to endanger any family I might find."
The doubt in her voice surprised him. She'd been so sure that she was on her way to join her kin, but now, faced with the uncertainty of her position, she faltered. "What if you don't find any kin?" he asked.
It stung to see the worry in her eyes, but it was best to face the possibility. She shook her head and reached out for the leather pouch and packed it back into her knapsack, before reaching out for the rest of her scattered belongings. "If I can find no one who will claim me as kin," she said, folding a shift and a shawl and a pair of socks, "I will hire myself out as a servant. I can cook, clean, make cheese, and cure hams. I've kept chickens and pigs. I know how to make soap, bottle fruit, and dry vegetables. I can spin, weave, and sew. Surely someone will need those skills enough to pay for them."
"You'd work as a servant?" The idea of Alys toiling and laboring for a master or mistress disturbed him in ways he didn't care to examine.
"Why not?" She sat back on her heels and shrugged her shoulders. "If I'd stayed in Wenmere, I'd have done all that and far worse, and never received a copper penny for my toil until the day I died."
"What if there are parish houses in the west too?" He was being harsh, but she'd best face all possibilities.
"No! There are not!"
"How can you be so sure?"
"Some years back, our neighbor, Widow Sallan, was forced into the parish house when her cottage burned down. My mother said 'twas a disgrace. That in her country, the village would have helped rebuild the widow's house, not forced her out of it. Mother was loud in her horror--at least to my father and myself. She would not have dared voice her opinions beyond our four walls."
That a girl raised in such a repressive society had turned into a confident and courageous woman said much for her upbringing and breeding. She was a woman to be proud of: splendid company, courageous, beautiful, intelligent. And if he didn't leave soon, he'd dishonor them both.
He stood, keeping the two books in his hand. "Alys, I will keep these safe, you have my word. If I learn aught from them that might help you learn more about your parents, I will give you word--even if I have to ride back from the metropolis myself." Foolish as that would be.
She stood. "Just be sure to tell them my mother was no traitor, nor was my father," she added hurriedly.
"You have my word." He bowed and left her, longing above all else to toss the incriminating books to the floor, and pull her into his arms.
* * *
He was still thinking about Alys as he stripped off his breeches and under linen and got between the sheets in his shirt. For a sworn envoy, he was thinking far too much about a bonny girl--no, a beautiful brave woman. He'd faced many temptations. His vow of celibacy was not easy for a man of his temperament, but he'd accepted the stricture when he took his oath. For Alys's sake it was as well he had, or he'd be seducing, not protecting her.
Ranald turned his pillow, trying again to settle. Exhausted as he was, he should sleep, but his mind turned on the mystery of the two books: defense of the realm plans if ever he saw any. But surely, if any defense plans had been stolen, news would have spread--unless it had been suppressed for reasons of politics. And if they were genuine--which the monarch's sigil on the cover led one to believe--and therefore stolen, how in the name of the Nine Goddesses had they become hidden under the bed slats in a mason's cottage in a remote village in Eastland?
He turned on the soft bed. He would not find the answers to his questions here. Alys, he was convinced, knew no more than she had told him. Sweet Alys thought they were grimoires or spell books. Alys! He looked up at the dark shadows on the ceiling, and thought about copper hair drying in the firelight. She needed no spell book or grimoire. Her very being was magic. Every night he'd drifted to sleep with the image of Alys in his mind. This time he was lying awake, imagining her curled under the linen sheets just a room away. He'd taken up her protection in the hopes she'd aid him in his mission, and now, three days later, he'd all but forgotten his sworn mission. Or had he found another? The stolen records had to be transported back to the metropolis and handed over to the auditors and record keepers, but first he had to see Alys safe. If not with her unknown and anonymous family--a prospect becoming less and less likely the more he considered it--at least he'd ensure she found honorable employ.
The idea was no better than when she first mooted it, but what alternative was there? He could not protect her beyond the next few days. Ju
st returning with the stolen books would delay his mission.
Perhaps, Ranald pondered, as drowsiness finally came, their meeting was fated. Fated to drive him to breaking his vows! Seldom had he wanted a woman as he longed for Alys. Last night, he'd dreamed about holding her in his arms and kissing her full lips, of resting his head between her soft breasts and sating his body on hers while bringing her to pleasure, and hearing her whimper with joy in his arms. And for what? To wake hard and aching, and in need--a need he could not satisfy. He let out a long heartfelt sigh. At least she had no suspicion of his desires: she was a pure and honorable village girl.
* * *
In her own room, Alys lay awake. Afraid. She was so weary of being scared, but what was she to do? Fleeing Wenmere had been her first goal--in that she'd succeeded. Meeting Ranald had been a gift from the Goddesses. Without his protection, the way would have been much harder--refusal to inns being the least of it. Glimpses of the company in the public rooms told her rough men traveled the roads. None dared accost or obstruct a monarch's envoy, but without Ranald, who knew what misadventures and dangers she'd have encountered?
Yes, Ranald ven Strad had eased her travel but now the end of her journey neared, and new worry overtook her. How could she find any kin if she did not know her mother's family name? What chance of finding employment? She had to take, on faith, all her mother had told her of the west.
But, even as a girl she'd wondered if life truly was freer and easier in the west. If so, why had her parents left? Why had her father toiled for years in the quarries? He'd been paid handsomely, her almost intact money proved that. Even without a family, she would not starve. Mayhap she could find a small cottage to rent, buy some goats and cows, and set up as a cheese maker. But she would miss Ranald. She doubted there was a man more comely, or as kind, or as strong, in the entire western territories.
But he was a sworn envoy with a mission to complete--the mission she had delayed--and besides, her thoughts and dreams were most improper. She should not dwell on kissing a sworn envoy, and certainly not wonder if his lips would feel as wondrous as Wilf's son, Garack's. They'd stolen several kisses last midsummer eve. Kissing Garack had been no hardship, but she'd known him since they were children. Dreaming about the mouth of a sworn envoy was most improper--and most delightful.
How shocking and immodest she was! She wanted more than a kiss. She wanted what no woman could ask or claim. She wanted what would be the ruin of both of them. It was as well they were close to her destination. They'd soon part. She would keep her dreams to herself, and Ranald would go on his way, respected and with his reputation intact.
And she'd forever have her dreams of Ranald to keep her company whenever she felt lonely. Alys cupped her breasts with her hands, wondering how Ranald's touch would feel. She would never know.
Rolling on her side, she pulled the cover over her shoulders and, with a last petition to the Nine Goddesses to protect them the rest of the way and to watch over Ranald when they parted, Alys closed her eyes.
She was deep asleep when the altercation roused her.
Voices were raised outside her chamber. She recognized the host's voice, arguing with two others--insisting and demanding, by their tone. The heavy oak door muffled the exact words. Late arriving, inconsiderate travelers, Alys supposed--until her chamber door flew open.
She sat upright, wishing she had a candle or lamp to break the gloom, but the light from the host's lamp was enough to see the two men. Their names she didn't know, but she knew their faces. Members of the warden's squad.
"No!" she screamed, drawing the blankets to her chin. The host protested and called for help, but the men pushed him down and dragged her from the bed. She fought and kicked but was no match for them. But scream and yell she could, praying Ranald would hear.
* * *
CHAPTER SIX
Alys's first scream seared through his dreams. Ranald sat up, wondering what sort of nightmare had awakened him, as she cried out again and again.
In a heartbeat he was out of bed, grabbing his sword, and discarding the sheath as he ran. He raced through their parlor and burst into her chamber, to see Alys being dragged across the room in her sleep shift.
She broke off mid-scream at his appearance, her eyes begging him for help.
"Loose that woman at once!" he demanded.
"And who might you be, bursting into a private bedchamber in this fashion?" one of the men asked, his meaty hand gripping Alys by the arm.
"And what right do you have to interfere with officers of the law in pursuit of a miscreant?" the other asked.
"This is my right!" Ranald twisted his sword in his hand and presented the hilt. "Host, the lamp, if you please," Ranald said.
Seeming relieved, the host held the lamp aloft.
Both men peered at the sigil in the hilt. The one holding onto Alys loosed his grasp--a little. "Then you, Sir Envoy, should be aiding, not thwarting us. We've chased her for three days. This wench is a thief, absconding with parish property."
"I am not!" Alys fought to free herself but the villain held on.
"Loose her!" Ranald commanded. This time they obeyed. But they didn't move. It was Alys who stepped away, white-faced and shaking. He ached to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that would bring disaster on their heads. He had the upper hand; he'd take all advantage. "Is it the custom in your village to intrude, uninvited, into a young woman's bedchamber? Do you make a practice of arguing with the monarch's authority? Do you frequently bandy accusations at the innocent and drag them away without due consideration? Is this how you administer justice in your sector?"
"Lord." The taller one inclined his head in acknowledgement. "This woman absconded, taking village property with her. She stole a pony."
"I did not!" Alys cried out. "I paid Farmer Bram a fair and agreed price!"
"And where did you steal the money to buy it?" He spat back at her.
Ranald regretfully restrained the urge to drive the hilt of his sword into the oaf's fat belly. "It is not the monarch's wish that a young woman be obliged to face accusations and calumny in her sleep shift!" No matter how comely she looked. Sweet, holy Goddesses! If he was tempted by her hair flying loose, and the sweet curve of her breast under white linen, what did the sight do to these vicious clods? Ranald wanted to pull her away from them and protect her with his body. He'd settle for confounding them with his undisputed authority.
"We require an answer," the second one said, tempering his tone a little. "We ask you to hand her over to our authority."
One look at her white face settled that decision, if it had ever been in question. "Good men, as I said, this is not a matter to debate in the middle of the night. So I dismiss you, but first let me tell you, the monarch's authority takes precedence. I am charged with conducting Alys of Wenmere to her kin in the western territories, and any who hinder me, hinder the monarch. If you wish to accompany us, and address the issue in the western tribunals, that is your option." If they had authority to travel that far.
"Lord, we cannot delay. We must have satisfaction. The monarch cannot refuse us, and you hold his authority."
Would they never desist? He was tired, and Alys looked ready to flee into the night in only her shift. "On that authority, I demand you withdraw and leave this young woman in peace. This issue will be settled in the western territories with the maid's family to support her claim."
"We know nothing of this purported family," the second man said.
"Aye," the other added. "Our charge was to bring her back--by force if necessary." The accompanying leer hardened Ranald's heart. "Why should we be gainsaid? We demand restitution."
He was tired, angry, and primed to fight them for Alys. Instead, he must retain composure and appear dispassionate. "Restitution? Is that your prime demand?"
"Aye, lord, with respect, it is." The first one, at least, was beginning to realize Ranald's authority.
"Did you witness that, mine host?"
; "Indeed I did, lord."
"Then you shall have restitution." Ranald wanted to smile at Alys, to wipe the shock of betrayal from her face, but not yet..."You claim the theft of a pony. If you find said beast in the stables, take it. If the owner is displeased, then we will settle the matter further in the western courts as I offered."
"'Twas not what we wished--" the taller began.
"You don't wish for restitution? You will have the allegedly stolen pony. I will give you the monarch's chit for fodder and stabling for the beast for three days back. What else do you wish?"
"We wish for the girl!" the taller one said.
"Aye," the other added. "She must serve her penalty."
"No!" Alys's gasped. No way in all the heavens were these louts getting their hands on her.
He stepped forward so he stood a hand's breadth from them. "Let me remind you of the monarch's justice. If complete restitution is made, the thief may choose exile over incarceration. Since the Lady Alys is no longer in your parish, consider her exiled." He paused just long enough for them to start protesting. "You are, as justice agents pursuing an alleged miscreant, fully conversant with the monarch's laws?" If they were, they'd know he'd fabricated a new law.
The pair looked at each other, confounded and confused. "Lord," the first one wasn't entirely ready to give up, "we had orders."
"And now you have restitution. If you can describe the pony."
"Indeed, lord, we can! A small dun with a dark mark between the eyes." Unfortunately, an accurate description of Braniv, but it was a fair exchange for Alys's freedom.
"I paid for that pony!" Alys said.
She should have held her peace. All eyes were now on her.
"Then it must needs be debated in our courts," the tall one said.
"No need!" Ranald cast Alys a warning glance, hoping she'd understand, and, more to the point, desist. "I have decreed. I speak the monarch's word. Now, you two, go to the stables. I will follow, when I have time to dress, and prepare the script you will need."
PARADOX III Page 5