The Other Woman

by The other woman (NCP) (lit)

  Later, as she was strolling back to the castle, she was stopped by a youth with a folded note.

  "Beg pardon, milady, but a man asked me to give this to you."

  "Thank you, Fadden." She gave him a quick smile, and then scanned the note. All traces of pleasure were washed away by its contents. "Say the word and I will give it all up for you."

  Snarling, she pinned the boy with her stare. "Who gave this to you?"

  "I-I don’t know, milady. He said he was in a hurry and gave me a penny to--"

  Ally cut him off with a curt nod. "Enough, and quit shaking in your boots. It’s the man I plan to hang, not you. What did he look like?" She took in the stammered description, and then set off at a lope for the castle. She had to talk to Roland.

  Her steward met you at the door with another note. "This was delivered for you, milady, and knights from Lord Merrick have just arrived. I was going to send for you, even though they asked for your lord--," he cut off as a tremendous crash came from the lord’s solar. Swearing in sudden fear, Ally thrust the note inside her tunic and ran toward the sounds of battle. Why hadn’t she worn her sword?

  Grabbing a spear from the wall, she thrust open the door, standing to one side just in case. Six of Merrick’s knights were in there, all with swords drawn. Roland fought three at a time, and he was already bleeding from a gash near his good eye.

  "What in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing?" She roared, dashing an urn of dried flowers to the floor.

  It got their attention.

  Datsig, the tallest knight and one of Merrick’s best friends, glared at her sternly. "This is none of your affair, milady."

  She snarled at him and stalked between Roland and his attackers, brandishing her spear. "How so? Are you not trashing my home? Attacking my husband without call? Explain yourselves or I’ll gut you before Merrick can."

  Datsig met her gaze with cold fury. "He lies bleeding to death at this very minute, milady. Your husband had him ambushed. We beat his name out of the man left alive before he died."

  Her lips parted in shock and the blood drained from her face. "What?"

  "Ally," Roland said warningly.

  She whirled on him. Sounds buzzed noiselessly in her ears, blocking anything he might have said, but his lips were not moving. Not Merrick. Not now. Nausea rose up to choke her, and she raised a hand to cut off the other knight who tried to speak. When she’d caught her breath, she demanded of Datsig, "How bad is he?"

  His lips opened, and he paused. With reluctant gentleness, he answered, "Bad."

  Bile rose in her throat. "I must see him."

  Datsig glanced at Roland, hatred warring with his own desire to be with his friend.

  "Kill him later," Ally gritted out. "I have to see Merrick." She didn’t really believe Roland was guilty; it wasn’t his style. Explaining that now would be difficult at best, and she didn’t even glance at Roland lest Datsig’s eyes be drawn there, too. Getting Merrick’s knights out of her house before a battle erupted was more important. She liked these men, and seeing their blood splattered all over her floor would slay her.

  Roland could not believe Ally would just desert him. It wasn’t that he needed her aid, but she had forsaken him to run to her lover’s side the moment the stakes got high. It galled him like the spikes of an iron maiden, burned like the fiercest dart. She’d left him.

  He’d never had any of her heart.

  Duty made him follow her. Merrick’s knights rode like hellfire licked at their heels, and Roland let them get ahead. Ally would have time to see Merrick, and then he would retrieve her. Only she could say if it would be done without bloodshed or not.

  * * * *

  Ally rode into Merrick’s yard and tore up the steps. She had to see Merrick with her own eyes.

  The fear was a revelation. She’d thought she’d guarded her heart, that she didn’t love him. What a lie. In the crisis, her feelings stood out bold and black, like a silhouette lit by lightning. She cared, and she didn’t want to. What a fool she’d been.

  In those horrible few seconds, she dared to wonder if she also loved Roland already and was too much the coward to admit it.

  He was in his bed, the bed they’d shared for so many nights, and his skin was so white, it looked like he’d already bled out. Then he opened his eyes and scowled. It was a feeble attempt, but made her want to cry.

  "Merrick," she whispered, sinking down in the chair beside his bed. His hand was so cold.

  His gaze moved past her to glower at Datsig. "I told you not to bring her."

  "So you did." Datsig answered. "But you needed her."

  Sighing, Merrick closed his eyes. "I don’t blame him for loving you, but the bastard might have been man enough to face me over a blade."

  "He didn’t do it." The words were out before Ally had time to think. "Roland is not a coward, but I know who is." When he said nothing, she reached in her tunic and pulled out the note she’d been given, but hadn’t read. The other was there as well, crumpled but legible. As she’d feared, it was like the others. "Come to me, Ally. We can make it work." She choked on the words, and then held the note up to show Merrick. Her hands trembled, and the fury brought tears to her eyes. "It’s Jean, I know it. There was another like these two, which I threw in the fire. He’s done all this. He still wants me, and he thought you were in the way."

  Merrick closed his eyes. He knew all about Jean--they’d shared far more than a bed those cold nights. Just as he’d admitted his pain over his wife’s leaving, she’d shared how Jean had hurt her. It was part of the loss. They’d shared so much, and he would take a piece of her with him when he left. He was good, and honorable, and he didn’t deserve to go like this. Such a fierce fighter, and for a time, he had been hers.

  Finally, Merrick opened his eyes. His breathing was growing shallow as he looked at Datsig. "Go with her. Shadow her steps until you find that worm Van Sadis."

  Datsig came forward and gripped Merrick’s hand, his eyes bright. "I will. I will see it done."

  Merrick squeezed his eyes shut. Then, he was gone.

  Ally sobbed in pain as she felt his spirit leave. It was as if a part of God himself had gone from her, leaving an empty shell instead. It hurt. God, it hurt.

  She cried like a widow, like a woman whose best friend has left. It took all she had to drag herself away, but she knew Roland would have followed her. It was time to go to him.

  He was waiting for her in the gloom of evening, just outside the portcullis. Datsig walked her to the gate. His voice rough, he called to Roland, "Your wife convinced Merrick that you are innocent. We will speak more of it later." He turned to Ally and for her ears only, he said, "He loved you. He never spoke of it, but we all knew. I am sorry … you should have been--"

  She hissed and raised her hand. "No. It’s done and past. The dead won’t live again, and I won’t be buried with him. Come to me after the burial if you can’t find Jean--I doubt he’ll be easy to locate. I have a feeling he’ll show his face soon enough to me."

  Datsig nodded and clasped her forearm as he would that of another warrior. Ally mounted her horse and returned to Roland.

  It was dark, and the torches could only do so much. She was grateful for their flickering light and the depths of her hood. Tonight was not the time to talk or to let her tears fall, not with their men there to see.

  Roland had only one question. "Is he dead?"

  She swallowed and bowed her head. "He is dead." And by the flat tone of Roland’s voice, he might not be all that had perished that night.

  * * * *

  Her words proved prophetic. Roland was not grateful to be acquitted. He was not pleased that she had returned to him without a fight.

  He moved back into his own room, leaving hers vacant.

  It was the last that penetrated her grief. The first night she dismissed his absence, too busy crying to worry about it. Later she sought him out and tried to talk. He listened to her words but said nothing. B
adgering him was useless, so she left him to deal with her own grief. It did not occur to her until much later that she should have shared the notes with him. It might have made the difference, but she’d been too miserable to contemplate adding pain upon pain. If he yelled at her, if he blamed her....

  By harvest, he was gone.

  Chapter 15

  Roland didn’t try to fight it. Wanderlust had gripped him, and an intense need to get out. He’d been in a foul mood ever since the Merrick incident and seeing Ally’s swollen eyes only made it worse. Black grief shadowed her gaze while she grieved for another man, and any fool could see she’d loved him. Putting leagues between him and his wife seemed the wise thing to do until he conquered his anger.

  Shardsvale lay over the mountains and three days away. Soon the snows would close the pass, giving him a good excuse to stay away.

  He should have been hunting Van Sadis, but he knew that Merrick’s men would already be tearing the land apart. Odds were high they’d find the dog and eviscerate him, thus saving him the trouble. Barring that, he could have hunted down the man who had cheated Ally out of a fortune in tithes, but since he’d become fairly certain that had been Jean, it amounted to the same thing. Vengeance didn’t seem as pressing as escape just then. Time with Ally had confused him--he was losing who he was. The mess would still be there when he got back.

  Unfortunately, the chill ride up the mountain reminded him of the first time he’d seen Ally posing as Odell the Silver-Tongued minstrel. He’d believed she was a boy when she’d joined their party, and thought he’d been imagining her constant gaze on him. Unfortunately for her, he’d confirmed that the itchy sensation wasn’t his imagination, and he’d thought her a kept boy, performing more than music for his masters. It had angered him enough that he’d contemplated killing the lad, and only the gross unfairness of the match had stopped him. He’d finally confronted the "lad," and in front of Ceylon and Uric, of all people. Looking back, he could realize how that had to have hurt. She’d left the next day, riding out of Shardsvale ahead of them. She’d been attacked, and though he now knew she hadn’t been raped as well, he felt the guilt.

  Memories of her innocence brought his thinking full circle, and he continued the climb in a grim mood.

  The wind howled outside his tent all night and left him and his men chapped and chilled the next day. A sharp pang of chastening remorse hit him as he neared the shepherd’s hut that served as a resting spot. Unaware of Ally’s presence, he’d flirted madly with the shepherd’s daughters under her very nose. If Uric hadn’t grown jealous of "Odell’s" feigned attentions to Ceylon (they hadn’t been married yet), he might have gone to the maid’s room. He had gone to her room on the way to fetch Ceylon the healer for the Queen. And on the way back, when he and Uric had been escorting Ceylon to Queenstown, he’d been a stone’s throw from Shardsvale, with no intention of going to see Ally.

  The shepherd’s blond daughters were confused by his cool demeanor when he stopped at their hut this time, but they accepted it readily, focusing their attentions on two of his men instead. He watched cynically as they disappeared for "a little warming draught" while he cuddled with his mulled wine. How ironic. He’d been celibate for months, and the only woman he could think of was a hot-tempered wench with misery in her eyes.

  * * * *

  "You don’t look good," Uric said with concern. He’d waited until Roland was warm and fed and his wife was occupied before quizzing him.

  Roland stretched his feet before the fire and sighed as the orange-yellow flames billowed heat at him. "It’s been a long summer."

  "Um."

  Roland slid a glance at Uric, knowing he wouldn’t comment without more information. Dante would have dissected the topic by now and added his own succinct comments. Much as he loved his brother, he preferred Uric’s way. Besides, Dante hadn’t stayed long after Merrick’s death. Probably he’d gone to do some investigating of his own.

  The flames lulled him into a deeper relaxation, unlike any he’d felt since his wife had stepped into his life. "My wife is a complicated woman. Nothing is what it seems with her."

  Uric flashed a sympathetic smile. "Women are that way."

  It wasn’t funny, and Roland couldn’t smile. "My wife is a virgin."

  Shock made Uric’s blue eyes widen. "She told you…?"

  "I felt."

  Uric frowned. "Then you’re...."

  "Not yet. We did not finish."

  With a sigh, Uric sat back. "And now you’re here. Did she chase you off?"

  The bitter truth squeezed Roland’s chest. "She’s in love with a dead man." He told him about Merrick, about Ally’s journal, everything. When he fell silent, they sat there in thought for a while.

  Finally Uric stirred. "It sounds as if she’s in love."

  "That’s what I’ve been telling you."

  "Not with Merrick--with you."

  "Uric...."

  "No, listen. We both know she loved you when she wrote her journal. I don’t think she would have held you off so long if she weren’t afraid you’d break her heart. Maybe she did love Merrick in her way, and it makes sense--they were lovers of a sort. It doesn’t matter now. She loves you, and when she’s done grieving for him, she’ll remember that."

  Doubts clouded Roland’s feelings. He felt relief, yet he was still angry. Jealous, if the truth be told. She shouldn’t have been so close to Merrick, yet wasn’t that his fault? Had he left her a choice? He hadn’t been faithful, but they’d had that agreement. He closed his eyes and growled. That bloody agreement always came back to haunt him.

  Uric offered him a faint smile. "Stay a while and get your bearings. The passes will be closed for a month or more, and by then you’ll know what you want."

  Roland agreed. Maybe time spent with a happy couple would remind him of the way things were supposed to be.

  Only as days went by, it became apparent that Uric and Ceylon weren’t happy. Oh, it was obvious that they loved each other, but "wedded bliss" had set in.

  "Uric, these stewed carrots are wonderful. Try a bite." Without waiting for a yea or nay, Ceylon dipped a scoop of the orange roots and tipped them onto Uric’s plate.

  He stared at it in disgust, and then glowered at her.

  She smiled brightly. "They’re good for you."

  His eyes narrowed and he took an angry bite, grimacing as he chewed.

  "You’ll get used to them," she assured him brightly. Her eyes turned to Roland’s plate full of liver and creamed sweetbreads.

  He gave her a warning stare. He was not her husband. Ally might have gotten away with it … he cut off that line of thought. Ally was not here. If she had been here, he doubted that she would have cared what he ate, and she would have found a diplomatic way to work out who did the ledgers and who organized the armory, but then, she was a completely different woman. Biting though her wit might be, she’d never challenged his option in public or undermined his authority before others with dogged arguments. Any man but Uric would already have taken her to task about it.

  These were little enough things, but Roland could see how they combined to drive his friend mad. Above all this, though, lurked a greater source of tension.

  Uric had his mother locked in a tower. Oh, she was quite mad, and cruel beyond belief, and it had been the only way to keep Ceylon safe from her jealous wrath. In Roland’s opinion, it ought to have been done years ago. The problem was, Uric still went to see the woman, and he always returned from those visits in a black mood. Roland couldn’t see why he bothered to go, unless it was guilt driving him. The Ogress, as his mother Maude had been called, had been good at fostering guilt.

  By the time Ceylon’s friend Anne arrived from Queenstown, Roland was having serious doubts about marriage and women in general. Yet within days of the older woman’s coming, Ceylon turned completely around. It was as if someone had taken magical sheers and clipped her managing personality off like a dangling thread. By the time he’d seen her completely
ignore Uric’s heaping plates of meat and turnips for three straight meals, he was certain something odd was up.

  He caught Uric alone after dinner. Glancing over toward the fire to make certain Ceylon was occupied with Anne, he demanded, "What did you do with your woman?"

  Uric frowned. "What do you mean?"

  He waved a hand. "The last time I looked you two were dancing around each

  other like wary badgers. Now she’s doe eyed and submissive." He rubbed his chin. "Is she breeding?"

  "No."

  Head tilted, Roland peered at Uric’s face and neck. "Odd, I don’t see any hen pecks."

  Uric’s look was droll. "Very funny."

  "Hardly." Roland squinted across the room as he considered Ceylon, who was talking to a servant. Suddenly he frowned. "You haven’t taken a stick to her, have you?"

  "Roland!"

  Unrepentant, Roland shrugged. "Sorry. It’s just that you two seemed to be slipping deep into the ‘old married couple’ roles. I’d half feared I’d soon find you with a new mistress and her locked in a tower."

  Blue eyes narrowed in dark anger. "Now you go too far!"

  "Forgive me, then." A wry smile crooked Roland’s mouth. "I’m not feeling too charitable toward the married state of late."

  Uric grunted, indicating both understanding and forgiveness. This time.

  It changed the way Roland viewed marriage, however. Not that his and Ally’s would necessarily be the same, but it reinforced his opinion that problems could be fixed. Looking back, he could see where he’d gone wrong. Ally wanted a lover, and he’d tried to be her friend. What she needed was a careful, focused seduction. The friendship would grow in its own time, but he’d lost track of the goal. Getting her to bed with all speed was most important if he wanted to keep her, and now that he’d had time to reflect, he knew that he still did. The minute the passes cleared, he was going to home to fix his marriage.

  Unfortunately, the queen interfered first.

  "She’s summoned Ceylon to Queenstown?" Roland watched Uric as he made arrangements for travel. It was barely spring, and although Ceylon had made a name for herself at court, the queen’s need must be desperate for her to bother summoning Ceylon in this frigid weather. Spring was still a month away, and it wouldn’t be a pleasant ride.