Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls

by Jessica Woodard

  F rom his carefully bland tone it was clear he was suspicious, but Vivienne wasn’t worried. She lied like a champion. The trick to a good lie, she’d found, was to always use as much truth as possible. So she answered him honestly.

  “My mother was from Toldas, and when she died my father refused to speak of her ever again. I wanted to visit my relatives and learn more about her, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She wasn’t faking the petulance in her voice now. Really, she was quite put out with her father. “In fact, he tried to marry me off to keep me home.” The parade of men she had been presented with was too humiliating to contemplate. Some were grey-haired lechers looking for a second wife, and some were so young it would have been a marriage in name only for years to come. But all had been loyal subjects of her father, guaranteed to tie her down in Albion. It had been intolerable. “So I left.”

  “Just like that? Most fathers don’t let their daughters run off.”

  “My best friend, Max, and his friend, Ella, helped me escape.”

  “They let you ride off alone?”

  “Of course not.” In fact, she had left with three guards, but Verit came down with a raging fever, and Vivi had ordered Martin to tend him until he was well enough to be escorted back to Albion. That left just Wallace. “My guard’s horse came up lame in one of the towns we passed through, and the innkeeper there recognized me from my trips with my father.” The innkeeper had, indeed, recognized her, but not from a mundane trading trip. She and her father had passed through several times on their regular tours of the kingdom. “He would have escorted me home, or alerted my father to my whereabouts, but Wallace wouldn’t listen. He thought I was overreacting. So I snuck out that night and headed for the hills.”

  “I imagine he followed you.”

  She shrugged with her left shoulder. “Perhaps for a while. I’m sure he returned home when he couldn’t find me.”

  “It will be hard on your man when he shows up without you. What do you think your father will do?”

  Vivienne blanched. She honestly hadn’t considered what would happen to the guards if they reported back to the palace without her. If she were really a merchant’s daughter then Wallace would return home to an undeserved sacking, but given that her father wasn’t a merchant at all, all three of her guards faced a far more dire punishment. Would he throw them in prison? Most likely. Vivi felt sick. She’d never thought they’d be returning without her, so she’d made no provision to shelter them from blame. She was furiously trying to think of a way to help them when her interrogator broke in.

  “Cat got your tongue? Or do you just not care what happens?” His voice was full of disdain, and despite her guilt Vivi’s temper flared.

  “Of course I care! Wallace has been my guard for over ten years; besides Max he’s the closest thing I have to a friend.” All her guards were. The remorse was still there, but her anger was stronger. This bumbling giant had no right to pass judgement on her. She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was merely an oversight on my part. It never occurred to me that Wallace would be punished until you mentioned it.”

  “Well, you certainly sound like a typical member of the peerage.” His voice was loaded with cynicism and doubt.

  “I beg your pardon?” Vivi spoke frostily.

  “You know: flighty, thoughtless, spoiled. Self-centered. Just what I would expect from a wealthy young woman.”

  “Excuse me?!” Except for the lie about her name and rank, she had told the truth. He thought she was flighty and thoughtless? How dare he?!

  “Oh, no need to act offended. It’s not like I believe a word you’re saying.”

  She glared at him. She really was an excellent actress. If Fain hadn’t learned long ago to trust his instincts, he’d even believe her. She had a fine-boned face and a patrician nose that could easily have come from one of the high families of Albion. He wondered where they found her. “No need to glower. It’s a good story. A young woman running away from a forced marriage isn’t implausible, and you certainly sold it well. But the little voice in my head tells me you’re lying.” And for the past twelve years he’d trusted that little voice implicitly.

  “Would the little voice care to elaborate precisely why?” Her eyes glittered with irritation, while her voice dripped sarcasm.

  “No need to mock me, lass. It isn’t as though I’m the only one who talks about things that aren’t really there.”

  “I assure you, I never speak of things that—”

  “Really?” he broke in. “How are the sparkles?” He smirked at her and saw her spine stiffen.

  “What?”

  “The sparkles. You know, swirly golden sparkles? You kept talking about them.”

  “Clearly I was drunk and hallucinating.” She spoke through a clenched jaw. “They’re gone now. What do you make that vile beverage out of?”

  “Pine needles and bread mold.”

  The look on her face was priceless, but her retort came swiftly.

  “You don’t happen to add raw sewage to it, do you?”

  “Now that you mention it—” he almost laughed, but caught himself and turned away to attend to the tea. The kettle began to hiss, and he dropped a bundle of herbs into a mug and then filled it to the brim with boiling water. “This should taste slightly better, but only slightly. Once it’s cool enough, drink it down.”

  The lass clutched the mug in the long tapered fingers of her good hand, and he watched her blow across the surface of the tea. She finally lowered her eyelashes, taking her murderous glare off of him, but he kept staring at her, his lips twisting in a grimace born of bitter amusement. He wondered if he would have been convinced that she was nothing but a spoiled heiress, if he hadn’t seen her arm set. The woman who never screamed while her bones were realigned just didn’t seem like the same person as the petulant girl who spoke casually about running away from home.

  “Tell me the rest of your tale. How did you end up outside?”

  Fain leaned his weight against the bed and studied the violet-eyed lass who grated out a tale about being chased by wolves and thrown from her horse during her bid for freedom. He didn’t believe her, but he was sure another man would have. She was beautiful. She was sincere. And he was convinced in his bones that she was lying. Her clothes, person, even the casual grace with which she shrugged her shoulder… all were consistent with her story, but it didn’t matter. Someone must have gone through a lot of effort to set this up, which made him wonder what exactly his enemies were planning on doing with the information she retrieved.

  “Well, Miss Wellesley, that is an amazing story. Your tea should be cool enough to drink, now.” He spoke blandly, but she raised her eyebrows so high that they almost disappeared beneath the dark fall of her hair.

  “You really don’t believe me.” She sounded bewildered.

  “I’ve a suspicious mind. Tell me, though, where were you bound?”

  “Inisle, of course.” She took a cautious sip of her tea, and made a face. That was to be expected; all of Connelly’s healing concoctions were foul. As she slowly drank, she kept speaking. “I want to know what happened to my mother, and I want to meet my kin.”

  “Right.” He acknowledged what she said without giving any sort of indication that he accepted it in the slightest, and the lass rolled her eyes.

  “Fine, don’t believe me. After all, I’m sure you get any number of hapless goose girls and lost milk maidens who stumble upon your keep and instantly claim to be wealthy women who have lost their way. It must happen all the time. I bet you’re knee deep in stranded young women. Your cynicism is completely understandable.”

  Fain couldn’t keep from grinning at the overdone sincerity she loaded into her response. He was surprised when she offered back a mischievous smile, instead of pouting or demanding he believe her.

  “I’ll say one thing, Miss Wellesley. You’re a bundle of contradictions.”

  “So I’ve been told. I
choose to believe it’s part of my charm. But, please, call me Isabelle. Now perhaps you would be so good as to let me know to whom I am beholden for such fine hospitality?”

  “I’m Fain MacTíre, and this is my keep.”

  “Well, thank you for the incredibly suspicious welcome, Master MacTíre.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly very sleepy.” She handed him the empty cup, and made herself comfortable on the bed once more.

  Fain watched as she straightened the blankets awkwardly with one hand. Even dirty, and tired, and injured, the girl was beautiful. Wherever she was from, whoever she was, she certainly wouldn’t have passed unnoticed. Which should make checking her story a relatively easy task.

  Chapter Four

  Fain closed the heavy slab door with a muffled thud, and strode off through the echoing stone hallway. Most of the keep’s inhabitants were abed at this hour, but there were still torches alight in their sconces, allowing the guards to see during their rounds and filling the halls with the tang of smoke. In a happier time these hallways would be softly illuminated with oil lamps or candlelight, but both were difficult to smuggle into the mountains in large quantities. It galled Fain to know that in Inisle, the capital of Toldas, the palace was filled with gas lights, while his people had to make do with the ever-present scent of pitch.

  His boot heels clattered angrily down the hall, unmuffled by any carpet. The keep was missing so many soft touches that would turn it into a modern stronghold, instead of a throwback to medieval times. No drapes, no tapestries, no carpets; in the winter they even ran short of oil for the few personal lamps. Food was scarce when storms kept them from hunting, and just at the moment they had barely enough soap to keep everyone from the illnesses caused by filth.

  Come to think of it, he was pretty sure Marlplot hadn’t bathed in over a month.

  He stopped and took a heaving breath, letting it out in a rush. It wasn’t like him to get worked up over the lack of civilization in the keep. Their life was as it was, and everyone who chose to join him had made their peace with it long ago. No, he was fretting over things he could not change because of her.

  He spent his life focused on his duty, never thinking of the hardships involved. He never doubted that it was worth the sacrifices, but to have a self-centered, pampered brat ensconced in his bed, holding her tea in smooth, uncalloused hands, reminded him of the life he’d left behind. A life that he could never claim again.

  He shook his head in frustration, and then was irritated when his shaggy hair whipped across his face. He ran his fingers through it and tried to calm down. There was no point in dwelling on the lass, especially when she had probably never actually lived the life he missed. She was almost certainly a spy, sent to find them and report. It was a stroke of luck that her injury would make it difficult for her to escape unaided. He could keep her here, permanently if need be, and their location would be safe.

  In the meantime he would send someone to Albion; more information couldn’t hurt. There was even some possibility that she wasn’t a spy, in which case he could release her in the spring. With that decision made, he started off down the corridor once more. He knew just the fellow to send.

  “Baines, wake up, man!”

  “Mgph?”

  “I said wake up, you lazy sod, I’ve a job that needs attending.”

  “MacTíre, is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “I was hoping it might be a pink-cheeked maiden, with an ample bosom and a yearning for forbidden knowledge.”

  “No such luck.”

  “It’s a hard life I live.” Baines sat up in his bunk, rubbing the last sleep from his eyes. He was a solid man, and rough from his mountain life; the kind of man that nobles would call “my good fellow” and expect to leap at their command. Fain had found him to be a loyal and devoted friend, and full of the wisdom of his years. Baines had often given Fain the sort of council he might have gotten from his own father. The difficult life of a mountain-bred man had whittled away any falseness that might have been allowed to linger in a softer, city life, until all that remained was steadfast and dependable.

  With a quirky sense of humor.

  “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to don a dress and pretend for me?”

  “I think I’d make a disappointing maiden, Baines.”

  “It’s true, MacTíre, your bosom leaves something to be desired.”

  “Buck up, my friend. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchens, and we’ll see about getting you a chance at some better-endowed wenches.”

  A short time later, they were both seated at one of the trestle tables that stretched in front of the immense stone hearth where the keep’s meals were prepared. Even late at night there was always a small fire banked here, and it didn’t take long for MacTíre to build it back up and set a kettle to boiling.

  Tea was the one thing they never ran shy of in the keep. When Connelly went to forage for the ingredients to his herbal concoctions, he invariably came back with tea as well. Dried tea. Fain supposed that Connelly might have a secret drying shack out in the mountains, but tea didn’t even grow locally in the wild. He’d tried getting Connelly to give up the secret of his source—the man must have a contact in the city that smuggled tea out to him—but Connelly was very tight lipped about it. He’d even tried to follow the mysterious little man on one of his foraging expeditions, but even with his well-honed tracking skills he’d been unable to do so. It was like Connelly just disappeared altogether.

  Once Fain had served them each a large, steaming mug of Connelly’s tea, he began.

  “Baines, how would you feel about a trip into Albion?”

  The man grinned. “Travel is good for the soul but hard on the feet. I’m comfortable with the state of my soul, so I’d need a decent reason to risk my feet like that.”

  “I need to you check out a story for me.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the young lady the wolves found outside, would it?”

  “A bit, aye.”

  Fain shared the tale told by the lass lying in his bed. Baines listened mostly in silence, only snorting here and there to indicate his opinion of her actions. When Fain finished, the other man spoke.

  “So, you’d like me to check out the little lady’s story, would you? Why don’t you believe her? Sounds a likely enough tale to me.”

  “Aye, I know, and yet…” He trailed off. “She is very believable. She seems like just what she claims to be. And she certainly got righteously offended when I told her she’d behaved just like a spoiled brat should.”

  “But?”

  “My guts say she’s lying.”

  “Well, that’s enough for me. But my feet and your guts will have words if it turns out you’re wrong.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Baines gave him a skeptical look. “Who will be watching out for you while I’m gone?”

  “I’ve a whole keep of armed men here, Baines; I think I’m well guarded.”

  “Not from someone who will be right by your side.”

  Fain laughed. “You can’t think I’m in danger from the lass! She could hardly best me in a fight, even if she didn’t have a broken arm. I think I’m safe for the time being.”

  “Don’t be daft, man. A woman can carry poisons as well as a man, and it doesn’t take much strength or skill to stab someone while they sleep. She’s well placed to do you some harm.”

  “ I doubt she can cook, but if she brings me a pie I promise not to eat it. And as soon as she can move without agony, I’ll put her in her own room under guard. But even you can’t sneak up on me in my sleep, Baines; I doubt this city lass is capable.” Fain gave his friend a significant look. One night, after a great deal of drinking, Baines had thought it would be funny to braid Fain’s hair like a maiden’s; but despite the vast quantities of whiskey Fain had imbibed, the larger man had still awoken when Baines was five paces away, and promptly pitched him head fir
st into the water barrel.

  “I still think you’d be a sight with plaits around your ears.”

  “Maybe, but you’ll never know.” They smiled at each other, then Baines sighed.

  “You know, she could still hurt you, without touching a hair on your head, MacTíre.” Fain looked at him, puzzled. “You say she’s beautiful, and for all you’ve done in your short life, you’ve never lost your heart. A woman can do all kinds of damage to a man, if he lets her get in too close.”

  “You think I’d give my heart to a spy?”

  Baines didn’t respond right away, and when he finally spoke he didn’t answer the question directly.

  “I see you when we ride out to the villages, MacTíre. You watch the men with their families, hugging their wives and kissing their children.” Baines looked away and sighed, and then met Fain’s gaze directly. “Your father raised you to value family. I know that. This lass is young, and beautiful, and spirited, and of a good line. If you weren’t so sure she was lying, isn’t she just the kind of young woman you would have brought to meet him, someday?”

  Fain stared at the older man. They never spoke of his father, or his kin. Baines must have been truly worried, to bring it up now.

  “I’m sorry, MacTíre, I had to say it.”

  Fain waved off the apology, and gave a rueful smile. “You have a point. I promise to safeguard all parts of myself, heart included.”

  Baines smiled in relief. “Then, in that case, I’ll be happy for a little jaunt to Albion. I hear they’ve a new style of corset that leaves most everything free to move as the gods intended.”

  “Can you leave at first light? “

  “I could be gone already, MacTíre, if you weren’t keeping me here, jawing.”

  “What about the storm?”

  “This squall? Hardly enough snow to tickle my toes. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back, and the sooner I’m back the less likely you’ll do something foolish with the lady spy.”