It wasn’t until Legrey pushed Belle from him, screaming at the blood pouring from his hand, that Fain realized he’d gotten it wrong.
For a moment he was paralyzed by his mistake, but then he saw Simon smash his palm across Belle’s defiantly raised cheek. She cried out and fell against the wall, but struggled upright, trying to defend herself. All of a sudden his rage was back full force, and this time it had an outlet.
Legrey raised his hand to strike her again, and Fain sprang forwards, grabbing the hand and bending it backwards. The blackguard was caught unaware and completely off-balance, and he spun his body rapidly to compensate. Fain readied himself, and as soon as Legrey was fully facing him he let loose a vicious right hook, knocking Simon to the floor. Fain leapt on top of the downed man and, grabbing his head in both hands, slammed it repeatedly into the floor. When Legrey’s eyes lost focus, Fain pounded it once more for good measure, and then backed away, breathing hard.
“Fain?”
Belle’s voice was hesitant, as though she were uncertain how he would respond. He lifted his eyes and looked at her. She had blood on her mouth, both Simon’s and her own. Her hair was even more disheveled than normal, and her face was pale. His heart beat painfully in his chest at the sight of her so shaken. He grabbed a cloth from the wash basin and, using his free hand, cupped the back of her head gently. Carefully he blotted the blood from her chin and cheek, avoiding her split lip.
“I’m sorry, Belle.” The wide violet eyes watched him. “This shouldn’t have happened.” He stared fixedly at her mouth, trying to get the last bit of blood off, trying to avoid seeing the accusation that must be in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
She reached up and took his hand, effectively ending his ministrations. When he looked up, she spoke softly. “Thank you, for stopping him.”
Two tears rose in her eyes, and, before they could fall, Fain pulled her close against his chest and wrapped her safely in his arms.
It was like his dream. She lay her unbloodied cheek trustingly against his chest while he cradled her close. They stood for a moment, neither moving nor speaking. Fain felt tears soak through the linen of his shirt, and her shoulders heaved in silent sobs. He wanted to soothe her—wanted to promise to keep her safe—and at the same time he wanted to flee. His heart felt like it was being torn in half inside his chest, caught between the emotions.
At last she calmed and stirred, and Fain quickly dropped his arms and backed away, grabbing Legrey off the floor and slinging him across his shoulders.
“Fain, wait—”
“I have to deal with Simon.” He was curt. He didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to pretend that the last few moments hadn’t happened. “I’ll send Marlplot to help you.”
She let out an exasperated growl. “Don’t you run away from me.” He headed for the door. “I have questions for you!” He kept walking, moving his feet faster. She shouted after him.
“You are the most infuriating man in the world, Fain MacTíre!”
“Glad to hear it lass,” he called back. “It’s good to know I excel at something.”
Simon Legrey came to when Fain threw him into a snowbank. The man lay there and moaned, holding his head as though it were going to fly to pieces. Fain and several others regarded him without sympathy.
“What’s your problem, MacTíre?” Legrey sniped at him.
“Matthew, would you care to explain to our former comrade what my problem is?”
The more serious of the Shapherd brothers glowered at Simon. “I believe you feel he assaulted a woman under our protection, Fain.”
“True enough. Anything to add, Connelly?”
“’tis my thinkin’ that ye’re ruminatin’ on the charges that first had Simon here run from his home ta join our wee band. Thinkin’ that perhaps they had more merit than this boggart claimed.”
“I am indeed. Sean Kelly ? Did you wish to say something?”
K elly, a small, wiry man, stepped forward and kicked snow in Legrey’s face. “I believed your lying tongue, when you told me it was lies, that the duke’s daughter loved you, that his lordship just objected to your low birth. I vouched for you, on the strength of our old friendship. And now you have proven yourself to be just the villain the duke claimed you to be.” His normally cheerful face was incensed as he leaned low and hissed, “Get out.”
“Connelly? Matt?” Fain polled the impromptu tribunal.
“Agreed.” The men spoke almost as one.
“You heard them, Simon. Go, and don’t ever return.”
Legrey scrambled up with a sneer. “Fools. What makes you think I won’t go running straight to the king, with news of your whereabouts?”
Fain laughed. “What makes you think we’re worried about that? I warrant you get anywhere near the king, and the duke will have you shot in the head. You can’t betray us without hanging yourself.” He smiled, and felt his teeth bare wolfishly. “I know your kind, Legrey. Revenge isn’t worth the cost to yourself.”
The sneer died and was replaced by sullen ire. “At least provision me.”
“No,” Sean Kelly spoke up. “You leave as you came, with nothing.”
“I agree,” Matt Shapherd rumbled decisively. “You’re good for nothing, and you get nothing.”
Connelly didn’t say anything, just look ed at Fain. Fain nodded his head slowly. “A bag of hardtack, and a bow, to shoot what you may. Plus any blankets you claim as your own.” Sean and Matt started to protest. “I know how you feel, lads, but if we send him out with nothing then we might as well kill him now. And neither of you spoke for death.”
They stood silent for a moment, then Sean nodded as well. “I’ll get his blankets and bow.”
“Hardtack, coming up.” Matt trotted off. Both were back in short order. Simon said nothing more, just stood and waited. When the provisions arrived he shouldered them all and turned to go, without a word.
“Follow him. Make sure he leaves the valley, then let him be.” Fain ordered in a low, curt voice, and Sean nodded. He was enough of a woodsman to follow Simon unseen, and had expected the assignment. Once he had slipped out the gate and Matt had returned to the kitchen, Fain looked at Connelly.
“I’ve a task for you, as well.”
“No need ta mention it, MacTíre. I’m already on my way.” Fain watched Connelly go, wishing he were going in the little man’s place, and knowing he did not dare.
Chapter Thirteen
Vivienne was pacing in front of Connelly’s fire. She didn’t want to pace, she wanted to flop on her pallet in exhaustion and mental fatigue, but every time she tried to stop moving her nerves drove her to her feet once more.
At first it had been her reaction to the incident with Simon keeping her moving. She shuddered when she thought of how close she had come to real injury. Mostly, though, she was angry at him. Angry that he was bigger than she was, angry that she couldn’t have fought him, no matter how much she longed to do so. When Fain had slammed him into the floor, Vivienne had felt a primal satisfaction. It was unnerving to feel so good about seeing a man beaten into unconsciousness, but her only regret was that she didn’t do it herself.
Eventually she’d stopped seething, and then the tears came. She had been so scared, trapped in the laundry like that. In her father’s palace no man would ever have dared to lay his hands on her without permission, and somewhere deep inside she’d never really believed any man could. She’d been a fool, running away like it was a grand adventure, as though she were somehow invincible. The hot tears ran down her face while she shook in delayed terror.
If Fain hadn’t come when he did… She clutched the back of the heavy wooden chair, spasmodically clenching and unclenching her hand. Her lungs heaved as she tried to control her sobbing. She would not stand in this dark room and cry like a little girl. She would not.
The door opened and she let out a little startled scream, snatching up the hearth shovel to defend herself.
“Easy, lass, easy. I dinna
care ta lose any teeth.”
“Connelly!” she gasped in relief. “I’m sorry, I was—” She paused, unsure of how to complete that sentence.
“No mind, lassie, I know how the terrors can take ye, long after the danger is past.” He bustled into the room, lighting a few of the scarce candles to brighten the shadowed corners.
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Never that. ’tis only natural. But why’re ye alone? I thought ta find Marlplot at yer side.”
“I sent him away. I was just mad, and I didn’t think I needed him, and he hadn’t finished his supper…” She trailed off. “I guess I just wanted to be alone.”
Connelly raised an eyebrow. “I dinna mean any harm, lass, but betimes ye display all the sense of a wild flibbertigibbit.”
Vivi started to bristle, then sighed and flopped onto the bed as the wind went out of her sails. “You’re right.”
“No tart rejoinder? Ye must be worse off than I knew, Princess.”
Vivienne froze. She sat up ramrod straight and stared at Connelly. “Excuse me?” Her voice was a whisper.
“I said yer worse off than I knew. Fae Merriweather says ye could set down the imps o’ Tyrol.”
“And how might you know Dame Merriweather, Master Connelly?” Vivienne gave him a hard look. She’d entertained suspicions before, but now…
“Ah lass,” he laughed at her, “ye already possess the answer, an’ ye know it!”
Vivienne felt tingles go down her spine. If she was right, then the little man cackling before her was quite a bit wilder and less predictable than Fae Merriweather. For a moment she felt fear, but then she pushed it aside. Whatever else he might be, Connelly was her friend. Of that, she was utterly sure.
“I suppose it’s Master Hob Connelly, isn’t it?”
“Right ye are, yer clever highness. Hob Connelly at yer service.” And he swept into an elaborate courtier’s bow, complete with turned-out ankles and circling turns at the wrist.
“A pleasure, Master Hob.” She hopped off the bed and dropped low into a curtsy. “Now tell me, what on earth are you doing here?”
“Alas, highness, ’tis not mine own secret ta tell. Ye know the rules.”
She sighed. “Then perhaps you could tell me what is going on in Albion.”
He cocked his head, looking for all the world like a large, man-shaped bird. “All I may share is what ye might guess for yerself, lass. Try askin’ a favor I may give.”
“All right, then.” Vivienne thought a moment. “May I have paper, pen, and ink?”
“That ye may.” He turned and rummaged through a drawer in the corner. The drawer was where he kept his flint and tinder; Vivienne had fetched them several times when he was lighting a fire. She’d never seen anything even remotely resembling a pen in there. “Here ye are, as requested.”
Connelly handed over a fine stack of white linen foolscap, an exotic quill with green and gold pinions, and a golden inkwell. Vivienne looked at the handsome writing set, worth an absurd amount of gold, and raised her eyebrows.
“I suppose that drawer has a false bottom, or something?”
“Nonsense, lassie.” He grinned at her, showing every one of his small teeth. “‘T has always been there, yer just peculiarly unobservant.”
A quick knock sounded on Fain’s door, and then Connelly stuck his head in, without waiting for a response.
“I’ve a letter here, MacTíre, needs deliverin’.”
“Why bring it to me, man?” Fain barely glanced up from his book. “We both know you’ve got a contact with the outside world. Just send it by them.”
“Firstly, ’tis a slanderous lie, an’ I’ll thank ye not ta be spreadin ’such tales.” The little man had a twinkle in his eye. He knew the secret of his outside source drove Fain crazy. “Second, even if ’twere possible, I dinna think ye’d care me ta send this letter that way. After all, ’tisn’t mine.”
That drew Fain’s attention. “Then whose is it?”
“’Twas penned by the breath-takin’ lass currently asleep in me chambers.”
“Belle wrote it? Surely she didn’t ask you to give it to me?”
“She requested I see it delivered, but left it ta mine own discretion how I was ta go about accomplishin’ the task. I’m givin’ it ta ye.”
Fain slowly stretched out his hand to take the folded sheet. “What are you up to, old man?” He knew Connelly didn’t think Miss Wellesley was a spy. There had to be a reason he was handing over her private letter.
“Not a thing, lad, not a thing. I kenned ye wouldn a want her sendin’ off letters, willy-nilly, without yer say so, so I brought it here. ’tis up ta ye how ye deal with it.” Fain was still suspicious, but Connelly excused himself. “I’ll bid ye goodnight, an’ let ye get ta yer readin’.” The medic said the words with a straight face, but as he let himself out the door, Fain sighed. Connelly hadn’t been talking about the fairy book.
He stared at the letter. It was addressed to Max Wellesley, House of Yarrow, Albion. Hmph. Christopher Maximillian Wellesley was the actual, flesh and blood heir to the current duke. Either the lass was sending a letter in code, which was never intended to make its way into the hands of the young Lord Wellesley, or she was, in fact, his cousin. His brow furrowed in thought. Or there was something else going on here. Something he hadn’t thought of yet.
He broke the seal and flipped open the letter. The handwriting was beautiful. Whoever Miss Wellesley was, she’d obviously spent hours perfecting her penmanship.
Dear Max,
First of all, I am going to admit that you were right. This was a crazy idea. I never should have left. You’re a dear friend to have helped me, but if you had an ounce more sense in your head, you would have sat on me until I gave up. Really, Max, what were you thinking?
Now we’re both going to forget I ever admitted anything so scandalous as you being right. If you ever mention it in public I will have you shot. Keep that in mind.
Fain almost laughed out loud. Surely she didn’t just threaten to shoot the son of the second most powerful man in Albion? It had to be code, although for what, he couldn’t guess.
I have fallen in among, well, I hardly know what. A band of men who live in the mountains of Toldas, and at the very least, are NOT soldiers at a lawfully manned outpost. How I got here is quite a long tale, and I shall save it for when I see you again. Suffice it to say, for now, that you bought me the most ill-bred horse in all the kingdom. I did like the purple ribbons, though.
So here I am. Do not worry for me; at least, not too much. I have shelter, and food, and should be safe for the winter. The men are mostly harmless, and the one ruffian that offered me insult has been thrown out into the snow to fend for himself.
I shall save that story for another time as well. I don’t think I have the composure to write of it just yet. I am fine, thanks to the swift intervention of the leader of this company, but it was a close thing. Really, Max, how could you let me come out here alone?
So Connelly had told her what had become of Simon. Just as well. He didn’t want her worried that the blackguard would be lurking around every corner. Still, it was the first thing that he could recognize as possible information. Someone could go looking for the man cast out in the snow. It was a thin clue, though, given the speed of post and the difficulty of finding one lone man in the mountains. He read on.
The leader I mentioned is a man named Fain MacTíre. You’d like him, Max. Almost everything he does infuriates me, so you’d find him endlessly amusing. I broke my arm before I arrived, and while I was still bed bound he tended to me with a kind of sweet solicitude. At the time I thought he was quite the most fascinating man I’d ever met. He was kind to me, even when I woke him up in the dead of night, and he read stories to me, to help the time pass.
Fain peered closely. There was a line written next, but she’d crossed it out. He held it up to the light to see if he could decipher it, and immediately wished he ha
dn’t. Unless he was wrong, the crossed out line said, He’s quite handsome, too, when he forgets to scowl at me.
Nevermind, that’s not important. My point is that I thought him kind, if not very genteel. Ever since I’ve been up and getting around he’s been horrid to me. He’s told me I can’t leave, not just because winter is on us, but because he doesn’t trust me. He thinks I might be dangerous, and actually accused me of being capable of poisoning everyone!
I’ll be the first to admit, if he was worried about finding live frogs in his bed, I would be a prime suspect. But I’ve never intentionally hurt anyone, Max. At least, not since that time I gave you a nosebleed for calling me a sissy, but I was only nine and you deserved it.
It’s never hurt me, before, when people thought I was something I wasn’t. I spend so much time playing the tease, most have forgotten I have a heart and a mind hidden away, and I prefer it that way. So why do I care if this stranger distrusts me?
He saved me, today. The man who attacked me found me alone, and I think he meant me real harm. But Fain came and pulled him off me and beat him within an inch of his life. I know you know me well enough not to be horrified when I say I was glad after the fact, but at the time I was in shock. When I started to cry he held me. I don’t know how to describe it. I felt so safe, and cared for. And then he pushed me away and ran off. It was… awful.
A few of the words were smudged on the page, where she’d obviously shed a tear or two. Fain threw the letter down. He was learning nothing, and it was tearing him up inside to read it. If she was telling the truth, if she really was the most frustrating, confusing, intriguing, beautiful woman he had ever met…
But she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. He knew she was lying to him, knew it in his gut. He snatched up the final page and read swiftly, scanning for anything of importance.
Enough of this sentimental nonsense. Max, I forbid you to say a word to anyone. I promise, when spring comes and travel is safe, I’ll come straight home. If Fain still thinks to keep me here then I’ll sneak off. You know how skilled I am in that regard.
Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls Page 10