When he thought about it later, and he did often, he knew that something between them changed there and then. They had kissed and petted before, but this was different. Very different. The passion was undeniable, but it was of a kind and quality that neither had experienced before. Deeper, and more intense than he was able to articulate.
When they separated, she didn't move away, but instead laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes while he stroked her hair. Mathew watched the orange candle flame by his bedside move and flicker, casting shadows on the walls.
Fifteen minutes later there was a light tap at the door. Lara immediately pushed herself up and walked to the
mirror and began nonchalantly smoothing her hair. Unfortunately, in her haste to get up, she also pushed directly on Mathew's wound, causing his eyes to bulge. Realizing what she had done, she put a hand over her mouth in shock just as Ceta came in carrying a tray of food.
"Are you all right?" Ceta asked, seeing Mathew's expression.
"Just a passing pain."
Lara suppressed a giggle and looked out the window, blushing. Mathew, on the other hand, failed to see the humor in the situation.
"Oh good, here come Akin and Daniel, with the doctor," Lara said.
Ceta walked over and looked out the window as well. "I'll go downstairs and see them in. I do hope Siward comes back quickly."
"Will the sheriff arrest those men?" Lara asked.
"I'm sure he'll do what he generally does—scratch his head and look confused."
Ceta smiled and gave Lara's arm a squeeze before departing.
"See that he eats," she called out from the hallway.
Mathew turned over on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. "Do you know, I've been giving this some thought. Have you seen the way Ceta and Father Thomas look at each other?"
"Mm-hmm," Lara replied, still looking down into the street below.
"I'd say they like each other, wouldn't you?"
Lara turned, looked at him, and shook her head.
"Well of course they like each other, silly. Anyone can see that."
"Oh," Mathew said, a bit disappointed. He had just congratulated himself on his perception. "But they've only just met."
"So?"
"But I don't see how they can . . ."
Lara walked over to the bed and sat down, taking his hand. "My mother said she knew the first time she saw my father. He and Ceta have been together all day."
"Really? Did you know the first time you saw me?" Mathew asked. There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he reached for her waist.
"In your case, it took a little longer," she said, putting a spoonful of stew in his mouth.
22
Elberton
Siward Thomas walked more quickly than usual. His long legs negotiated the cobblestone streets of Elber-ton without apparent effort. It was not often that he was confused, but there were a lot of things he needed to sort out. Collin kept pace beside him. Aware that the priest was deep in thought, he remained silent to avoid disturbing him. Along the way they passed the spot where Will and his friends attacked Mathew. It was empty now and Collin was content to note they had decided to make themselves scarce.
Matters of right and wrong had always been clear to Father Thomas, but lately things were becoming more confusing. First Bran's death, then breaking the law, and now his attraction to Ceta Woodall. To complicate matters further, there was Mathew's disturbing incident last night in the woods. Nobody could possibly have seen the exact number of Orlocks from that distance, let alone in the dark. But Mathew had. True, it might have been a lucky guess, but the boy said he was positive, and his count was precise. Mathew, he knew, also was not given to lying or exaggeration. His information had certainly saved their lives. The question was, how did he know? And for the moment Father Thomas had no answer.
Had he been less perceptive, Father Thomas might have been inclined to attribute his decision to flee Devon-dale solely to his promise to Mathew's dying father. Bran was his oldest and closest friend. Certainly there were other options available. But with candor, he admitted to himself that his own experience with the king's justice had colored his view of things.
The plan that he'd formulated so promptly was to get Mathew to the sanctuary at Barcora, then enlist the aid of the church in speaking with King Malach directly. Father Thomas was aware the archbishop had Malach's ear, providing the king was willing to listen. In recent years, Malach had grown increasingly inflexible in his decisions, relying more and more on his advisers, and less on his outspoken son, Delain.
It was at their urging that the ports were closed to the Bajani. Fools, Delain thought. What did they think the Ba-jani were going to do when that happened? The king's actions had all but ensured pushing Bajan toward Alor Satar. Dealing with Duren again was bad enough, but now he had Bajan, Nyngary, Cincar, and the Sibuyan all on his side, which made matters infinitely worse. If the news that Captain Donal and Dr. Wycroft related to him was accurate—and he had a feeling it was—the western alliance was in terrible trouble. On top of everything else, Duren had somehow managed to convince the Orlocks to leave their caves and side with him again—if Orlocks could properly be said to side with anybody. That made the least sense of all. It was inconceivable any sane person would voluntarily come into contact with those creatures.
This was only one point among many that he considered as they walked.
The Orlocks had clearly singled Devondale out to attack. Why? The town possessed no strategic value, and it made little sense from a military standpoint. Gravenhage and Mechlen both produced steel, and both had far greater resources. Possibly there were explanations for these things, he thought. But what the priest could not get out of his head was why a raiding party of twelve Orlocks would follow them for over a week. Certainly their encounter in the forest was not simply a chance meeting. The Orlocks wanted something or someone in their group—perhaps all of them.
Just before he killed the last one, he heard the creature
say, There he is. It was specifically referring to Mathew. True, the boy had spoiled their surprise at the Layton farm, but Orlocks had never been motivated by revenge before. There had to be something else.
And then there was Ceta Woodall. Ceta. They had been together most of the day, and her face kept intruding into his thoughts, even during the brief times they had separated. When he became a priest, he had believed the church would be his solace for the remainder of his life.
The Church and God will be your constant companions, and there will be little room in your life for pleasures of the flesh. If you harbor any doubts on this subject, choose not this path. His superiors had told him that when he trained for the priesthood.
He knew that most priests didn't marry after they made the commitment, but some did. Invariably, duties to the people of their community made having a home life and family difficult, and it took an extraordinary person to balance both. He had gradually come to believe that he was past such things. Apparently he was wrong.
Siward Thomas had been Devondale's priest for almost a decade now, and had reluctantly begun to accept middle age. True, there were women in the village who considered him a marriageable prospect, but he had always managed to gracefully avoid their well-intentioned efforts.
Ceta, with her large hazel eyes and slender figure, made him feel alive and young again. She was certainly the most attractive woman he'd ever met. There was an ineffable quality about her that he could not put his finger on. Priests were supposed to have answers, and it disturbed him not to have any for his own questions. Perhaps it would be best to speak with one of his superiors when they reached Barcora, he thought.
Collin cleared his throat. They were in front of the sheriff's home. Father Thomas didn't even remember the walk there. Although neither of them had heard Ceta's description of the man, what she said to Lara had turned out to be accurate.
To say the sheriff was disintere
sted in what happened would have been a gross understatement. His principal concern seemed to be whether his dinner was getting cold. Though he listened politely to their story, nodding occasionally, the entire conversation was punctuated by frequent glances at his supper. In the end, the sheriff promised to come by early in the morning and speak with Mathew. He also told them that he would notify the port collector to inform the guard patrolling the ship to remain alert for any signs of perfidy. Thus satisfied that his office was discharged, the sheriff showed them out and returned to his meal.
As the door closed behind them, Collin and Father Thomas exchanged glances and started back for the inn.
"We should thank God everyone isn't similarly endowed with his burning curiosity," Father Thomas observed.
It took Collin a second to digest the last statement before he burst out laughing. A few seconds later Father Thomas started laughing as well. The laughter acted like a release, a turning point in the events of the last week, when there had been very little to laugh about.
"I haven't had a chance to ask you, my son—how have you been doing through all of this?"
"Me? I'm fine," Collin replied offhandedly. He was still smiling, but after a pause, he added on a more serious note, "It's funny, you know, but I've been thinking about my family lately. My mother and father—my brother too. I miss them. The odd thing is, I even miss Devondale. When I was there, I couldn't wait to leave, and now ... I don't know, it's all very confusing."
"I miss Devondale as well, Collin," the priest said. "I had hoped to get this journey concluded quickly, but now with the news about war, I'm not sure how things will play out."
"Father," Collin said, "I know we're going to Tyraine and then on to Barcora, but why?"
"It's my hope the Church will intercede with the king
or his minister of justice. If possible, I would very much like to prevent Mathew from going on trial, or spending several months in jail waiting for one."
Collin nodded slowly. "And then?" he asked.
"Then? ... Then we go home."
Collin didn't speak for a minute. A light mist was falling, and he pulled his cloak closer around him. "What's Tyraine like, Father?" he asked eventually.
'Tyraine? Well, it's a city ... far bigger than Devon-dale and Elberton put together. I'd say it's even bigger than Anderon. It has a huge harbor where ships from all over the continent come to trade. As a matter of fact, it's the largest port in the West. It's been many years since I've been there, but when I was, I had the impression of a place in a constant state of motion."
"Motion?"
"Mm-hmm. Even late at night, and well into the early hours of the morning, people were out on the streets."
"So you'll be going back to Devondale after we're done at Barcora?" Collin asked.
There was something about his tone that caused Father Thomas to turn and look at him. "Is it that obvious?"
"She's a neat lady," Collin said with a smile. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to pry," he added, realizing that he might have overstepped himself.
Father Thomas returned the smile. "Yes, I think she's special too."
"Have you told her you're a priest?"
"No," Father Thomas replied, a little too quickly. "The subject hasn't come up yet. I suppose I'd better have a chat with her when I get back."
"It might be a good idea."
Father Thomas glanced at Collin out of the corner of his eye. In the last few months, if not the last few days, the boy had matured a great deal. If anything, he had become more serious and thoughtful, despite his glib manner. When he recalled the sandy-haired, mischievous child who would occasionally let frogs loose in his class only a few years ago, the change seemed quite amazing to him. The priest counted Mathew lucky to have such a friend.
"Collin ... do you know what happened between Mat and those men earlier?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I only got there at the end of it, Father. I was coming back from Effie's house when I spotted Mat and the others. He had his sword out, so I knew something was wrong. I got to him as fast as I could."
"Did you actually see him get injured?"
Collin nodded. "Mat wounded one of them in the shoulder—the fat one, I think. When I knocked his friend down, the man lunged with his sword. Mat parried the blade with no problem that I could see, but then he just held back. After that there was a scuffle and he charged Mat again. That's when the man's knife got through. Mat's lucky he's not dead."
Collin was about to mention about Bert suddenly leaping backward, away from Mathew, but changed his mind.
"And why do you suppose Mathew tried to conceal his wound from us?"
Collin shrugged. "You know Mat. He was probably afraid of looking silly. That's my guess."
"I see. I thought it might be something like that. And ... what were you doing at Effie's house?"
Collin opened his mouth but suddenly couldn't think of a suitable reply. He was grateful the streets were dark and the priest couldn't see his face. He was still searching for the right words, so as not to compromise anyone's honor—Effie's in particular—when he heard Father Thomas chortling and realized that he was being teased. The priest put an arm around Collin's shoulders and they made their way back to the inn without further conversation, which suited him quite well.
The rain continued throughout the night and for the next three days. Father Thomas and Ceta spent most of their time in each other's company. Mathew was grateful to do nothing more than relax and read a book about the brain
Dr. Wycroft sent him. Akin made his way over to the silver guild to renew old acquaintances, and Daniel contented himself by refining and polishing the lenses for his farsighter invention. Collin found a card game with several men who were staying at the inn, and came away nearly five gold elgars richer.
On their fourth day in Elberton, Mathew woke in the gray first light of morning and slipped quietly out of bed. He moved softly, not wishing to disturb Collin or Daniel. Tentatively flexing his side, he concluded that except for some soreness, it would give him no trouble.
The previous day, Dr. Wycroft stopped by and looked at the job Ceta had done with the salves and dressings. He complimented her on her ministrations and said there was little else he could do. He did bring another salve, to be applied once a day in order to prevent infection, and also provided a supply of fresh bandages that he wanted changed daily. Lara promised to see to it. Interestingly, the man seemed embarrassed by what had happened and apologized on behalf of the town of Elberton. He was so serious and formal, Mathew only just managed to keep from smiling. At one point, when they were alone, the doctor asked if he had experienced any other problems since they'd spoken in his office. Mathew understood what he was referring to and said that he had not.
Now, Mathew walked quietly past his sleeping friends and looked out the window. The rain had abated but the streets were still wet. A blowing spray was coming in off the Roeselar. Behind him, Daniel stirred in his bed but didn't wake. Mathew rested his head against the wooden window frame and thought about Lara and how their relationship had changed four nights ago. After their kiss, he wanted to spend the night with her, but she demurred—though only just. With little choice in the matter, he grudgingly convinced himself it was just as well. At least he was spared a lot of nosy questions from his friends the next morning.
Ceta brought him two shirts that once belonged to her late husband; she and Lara had apparently concluded that his was beyond saving. When he tried to pay the innkeeper, she thanked him but refused the money, saying that they were of no use sitting in a chest.
He pulled on his breeches and donned one of the new shirts—sensible dark blue and made of sturdy wool— then silently closed the door behind him and went downstairs. At that hour in the morning Mathew didn't expect anyone else to be up. He was surprised to see Father Thomas and Ceta sitting at a table together near the fire, talking. Father Thomas was holding her hand, and she was looking at
him in that soft way only a woman could manage. Conscious of intruding on their privacy, he turned to go back but only got three steps before Father Thomas saw him.
"Good morning," the priest called out, without taking his attention from Ceta.
Mathew halted in mid-step. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else would be around this early. I was just going out to the barn to say goodbye to Tilda."
'Tilda?" Ceta asked.
"His horse," Father Thomas explained.
"My horse," Mathew echoed.
Father Thomas had come to his room last night and explained his plan to enlist the Church's help after they reached Barcora. When the priest casually mentioned that they would have to leave their horses in Elberton, Mathew was taken aback. Of course, we can't take the horses on a ship, he realized. Nevertheless, he felt badly about Tilda. She had been with him for more than eight years, ever since he was little. The thought saddened him—one more thing to leave behind.
Ceta noticed the look in his eyes and promptly changed the subject by asking how he liked the shirts, meanwhile casting a critical eye over the one he was wearing. He thanked her again and said they were fine.
"Wonderful," she said, genuinely pleased. "Well, I imagine you two men are hungry, so if you'll excuse me,
I see Felker Whalen is here to make his delivery. After I've finished my business with him, I'll see to your breakfasts."
They followed Ceta's gaze to the large lattice window at the front of the room. A man was outside tying a horse and cart to the post. He was dressed like a farmer, and as they watched, began unloading crates of food from the cart. Ceta put a shawl over her head and went to join him. From a distance, Mathew could see that the exchange between them was animated. Ceta examined the eggs and vegetables one at a time, accepting some and rejecting the others, all to the pained expression of Felker Whalen, who looked to be arguing his case spectacularly, if unsuccessfully.
She returned a moment later carrying a pail of eggs and vegetables.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 25