by Nicole Locke
She almost smiled and caught herself in time. Knew that her face twisted in those moments and she didn’t want these men seeing it.
As she approached, she expected the Spanish men to step away or stare, instead their eyes were merely questioning, almost friendly like Nicholas’s.
Then one of them grabbed her scarred hand and said something in rapid Spanish. Startled, she tried to yank it back. But he held it firm until the man next to him said something sharply and he released his hold.
Nicholas approached then. The Spaniard who grabbed her hand pointed to her hand, then streaked his fingers across his unmarred face.
Helissent didn’t need to comprehend the language to know she was insulted. She lifted her chin, tilted her face so they’d see the full extent of her scars. She felt that burn of familiar humiliation at her shame. Yes, she was scarred; yes, she’d failed her sister; yes, she’d scorched her soul with her cowardice. But they had enough staring and she had work to do. When she turned, Nicholas stopped her.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I can’t interpret what they are saying; give me a chance.’
‘You haven’t had to live with it. I know exactly what they are saying.’
His eyes turned kindly to her. ‘Patience.’
Nicholas, whose face was as scarred as her own and who was friends with these men.
The Spaniard merely repeated the same words as he gestured to her hand and then to his arm.
The other Spaniard said something clipped, direct. The one who’d boldly grabbed her hand blushed. When he began to roll up the sleeve to his tunic, and she saw the raw reddened patch of peeling skin, she understood what he’d asked.
She didn’t have a lot, but she would share every bit of her salve if it meant she could help these men.
* * *
The Flemish left him over an hour ago and Rhain still walked slowly back to camp. A camp he could see in the distance because of a brightly burning fire and the smell of food that shouldn’t be cooking.
The food had been scarce, but the Flemish were master trappers, and he used a bow and arrow, stayed downwind and got lucky. In the end, they had enough food to last them for a few days, but expecting a weak fire with lots of smoke, they’d only stripped some of their kills by the stream.
Afterward, he cleaned himself. The water by the village provided little privacy, and here he could take his time. He breathed deeply now, knowing it was only he and his men. And Helissent, whom he had been avoiding.
Only a few more steps and he’d be clear of the trees. A few of his men already heard his approach and glanced his way, but not Helissent, who was bent over the fire that had guided him here.
She had made some sort of soup. The steam wafted from several small clay pots hanging over the fire. Rabbits hung next to them, their skin crackling in such a way to make the paltry meat they carried edible.
Her hair looked not brown as he thought it was, but golden and red in the fire’s light and it curled wildly around her face though she had plaited it back at some point.
Which revealed all of her face to him. Though she kept it at an angle so her wounded side was tilted away from the fire’s flames. He wondered if the heat hurt her, or if she subconsciously kept it away from flames that had caused the injury.
No. She never did anything subconsciously when it came to her scars. She made sure everyone saw them, so her averted face was because it hurt her. When he saw her wince as she reached over to lift one of the burdened sticks to turn the meat, an irrational concern flooded him.
What were his men, what was Nicholas, doing letting her work? He hurried his steps, but then she abruptly turned her head and stepped away from the fire to address Carlos.
Who shouldn’t have been talking to her since he couldn’t speak English. Who shouldn’t be standing that close to her or turning around or pulling up his tunic as Helissent stepped even closer, as her hand reached out—
He stomped into the clearing and Carlos stepped quickly away, but not quick enough for him.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said, yanking a stick off the fire. He didn’t know if the meat was fully cooked and didn’t care. He also didn’t care if Nicholas’s brow rose. All he cared about was getting this cursed journey over with. Then he could stick his own neck under Reynold’s sword because he deserved it.
Chapter Seven
Stretching his arms behind his back, Rhain watched the men dismount and Helissent walk slowly to the woods to relieve herself.
She moved more slowly than she had yesterday and he knew she was hurting. As he had before, he didn’t acknowledge her pain or injuries.
But he couldn’t ignore it. He was too aware of her hurting and it pained him. What could he do? He knew what happened the last time he touched her and he wouldn’t order the task to someone else. Not after he felt as he did when Carlos stood too close to her.
He might not be able to ignore her, but he could ignore his men’s glares as he sat on a boulder and pulled out his mother’s necklace from the pouch around his waist.
This necklace had been his focus for five years and would be for what remained of his life. As ever when he saw the silver glinting, everything came flooding back to him. The way his mother was in the last moments of her life, bloodied and in pain.
‘Did you have to behave that way with her?’
He didn’t raise his head at Nicholas’s taunt, nor did he put the necklace away. Nicholas, who only knew he searched for the pendant, but not why, had seen it many times before.
‘A few kind words would not go unnoticed by her...or the men.’
He should have known Nicholas wouldn’t walk away. The man was relentless, forging in where he didn’t belong, where it wasn’t safe to go. It lost him an eye once and still he did it.
‘She demanded she travel with us and I allowed that.’
‘Travel with us, but not to be ordered about. Last night you stormed into the camp and ate like some brute. She made that delicious soup and you didn’t even thank her. Instead you pointed to her and demanded her to get on with her own business because she was slowing everyone down.’
He had been rude. Something about the woman chafed him with emotions he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. He was no better than his brother had been when he met his wife.
His brother...his cousin. Would he never learn or remember? He had no brother. His life wasn’t what it once was; he wasn’t what he once was. Apparently it didn’t matter when the emotions were the same and all of them futile.
She hadn’t been slowing them down. With the fire going and the food cooked, they’d readied the horses and themselves far more quickly than they would have on their own. As a result, they left earlier today and were almost to Tickhill Castle.
But all her helpfulness didn’t matter when he’d seethed with jealously all evening and might have got even less sleep. All because Carlos had at first backed away from her, only to then step in front of Helissent as if to protect her...from him.
He had burned to confront the man, but instead forced himself to ignore the implied meaning and then watched as Carlos gave Helissent his blanket and shared kind words and his attention.
He shouldn’t care. They would soon arrive in Tickhill, which was just as good a place to leave her. They didn’t have to travel to York. He’d be rid of her and the complications she represented.
‘It may be a fortnight before we reach York,’ Nicholas said. ‘Even you couldn’t be that cruel for that long.’
He couldn’t be that cruel now as he searched the woods for her return. His eyes had been drawn to Helissent as she readied for bed last night, too. As she sang a song absent-mindedly under her breath. Quietly, haltingly, he knew she wasn’t aware that she sang it.
It was a song he didn’t know even though he heard her sing it in such a way at the
inn. A song he was certain no one would comprehend simply because Helissent sang the song so abysmally, it would have hurt his ears if she sang it any louder.
The other men noticed as well, but they simply gave her amused looks. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes away from her. The song did something to her features, calmed her in a way that wasn’t there before and it only intrigued him.
When Nicholas cleared his throat, he returned his gaze to his friend.
‘We should arrive in Tickhill before evening,’ he said.
Nicholas’s lips thinned. ‘So that’s the way of it. Does she know?’
‘There’s no point. Tickhill has what she needs.’
‘But certainly not you, or me and what the men need. We already agreed to avoid the castle in case Reynold had spies there.’
‘We can’t ignore it now since I won’t take her to York. She’ll have a place to sleep and kitchens to cook in. Everything she could find in York.’
‘As well as your benevolence since the King owns it. You’ll no doubt assure she’s taken...and kept inside.’
‘She won’t be a prisoner there.’
‘No. But Tickhill happens to be the most formidable fortress in this entire region with highly trained soldiers for protection.’
‘She doesn’t need protection, or didn’t you take care of those men well enough?’
‘I won’t rise to that taunt.’ Nicholas crossed his arms. ‘If you feel this strongly about dropping her so soon, I wonder why you brought her in the first place. You didn’t even tell her what you did that night.’
‘Tell her what? That I gave the villagers coin to care for her? Shatter what little pride she has because people had to be paid to be kind to her?’ It still burned Rhain that he’d had to do it, when those people should have cared for her regardless of his money. ‘Plus, you know that money gives no guarantee that they could actually protect her. It was merely a...precaution.’
‘A precaution that alleviated your guilt for leaving her.’
‘I have no guilt; her travelling with us practically guarantees Reynold will kill her.’
‘Consequently, you leave her to Tickhill’s care. She won’t agree to it, you know. She said she wanted York and she doesn’t act like a woman who would settle for something she doesn’t want.’
No, she didn’t, but it would be safer for her in Tickhill. The more time she spent with him and his men meant more time Reynold could discover her.
‘She’s never seen Tickhill, perhaps it would suit her.’
‘It would certainly suit you,’ Nicholas said. ‘You and I know why your temper’s too finely honed, but that woman, who was brave enough to fight those men, and the punishing pace of travelling here, does not.’
‘I am no more nor less than I’ve been.’ He forced his hand to stop clenching the necklace. ‘And I have no time for your amusements.’
‘Ah, but I’m wondering if you intend to lock me up in Tickhill to protect me as well. But until that delightful point, we have a half-a-day’s ride full of tension, resentment and anger ahead of us.’
‘All the more reason to leave her at Tickhill. And I thank you for the idea of leaving you behind, too.’
‘It’s not her who will continue this discord, it’s you. The men don’t like how you treat her.’
‘I don’t care what they think as long as they obey orders.’
‘You know orders don’t work with them. It’s the only reason they’ve banded together instead of tearing themselves apart, or setting their sights on tearing apart this country.’
Rhain’s gaze returned to the necklace in his hand. The workmanship was exquisite, but he hardly saw it without deathly images. The mercenaries’ skills were like the workmanship of the necklace, beautiful and deadly. ‘I earned the right to lead them.’
‘One on one, yes, and your connections have made the venture most profitable for them. But if you keep your frowns, they may mutiny.’
Rhain wasn’t used to Nicholas mincing words. It had always been he who used words for weapons, for prodding. Who pieced them together because he liked the way they flowed. Until that day when all words were yanked out of him and he practically choked on the lie his life was.
When he learned his brother was in fact his cousin and his mother and father weren’t Lord and Lady Gwalchdu. When he learned he was a bastard with a terrible secret flowing through his blood.
‘Tell me what you want and get it over with.’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Nicholas said. ‘She is a lone woman, but injured and has suffered greatly in the past. Instead of being afraid of mercenaries, she’s tended their wounds and fed their bellies. Hence my counsel to you is stop frowning at her unless you intend to get killed by them instead of Reynold.’
He didn’t frown at her any more than anyone else. It was the situation, the outstanding questions of his family that might never be put to rest, that shortened his temper. It wasn’t the woman or the attention of his men.
Yet, it still burned in his gut remembering how Carlos looked at her, how she touched his arm to inspect his wound...
Nicholas chuckled. ‘I like watching you struggle. It’s refreshing.’
Rhain knew he frowned then. ‘You think I like her.’
‘I know you like her; in fact, I’d wager that it’s something else. I don’t blame you, she can cook like no one I’ve ever known. Imagine what her fare would be like if she had a decent kitchen, and money for finer ingredients.’
‘You think I like her for her food?’
Her food was exceptional, even when it consisted of only dried meat and water. But it wasn’t the food that made him watch her. It was her. After he tasted her soup, he knew why she stayed bent over the flames though it pained her. He could taste it with every bite; she loved cooking.
‘So it’s some other reason you growl and bite?’ Nicholas’s expression feigned thought. ‘Is it her wounded manner? Or how she carries on even though you know she hurts and yet she’s brave and strong and...sweet.’
Rhain clenched the necklace and welcomed the bite of the metal. A part of him seethed at Nicholas’s words.
The other part feared Nicholas wanted her for all those reasons he listed. Or even Carlos. Carlos, who didn’t have Devil’s blood in him, and didn’t have a madman after his head. Carlos, who had money and could care for Helissent the way he never could. Why was he thinking he ever could? He deserved no one and would release her to someone else’s care at the earliest opportunity in case he forgot...or lost whatever fight was going on inside him.
To do so, he had a simple plan. To praise the benefits of Tickhill until she thought it her own idea to stay.
‘Leave me alone in this. You know even if it’s true, I can do nothing. We jeopardize her enough as it is without someone overhearing this conversation that could be interpreted in the wrong way.’
‘Interpreted by whom? By Reynold and his spies? Are you saying if it wasn’t for Reynold, you would be different than you’ve been for five years? All this time, women have been rubbing against you and you haven’t spared them a glance. Yet with her you are. You even listen to that dreadful song she constantly sings.’
‘Enough,’ he growled. ‘I’m a dead man, why bother with these questions?’
‘Because you’re a dead man and for some reason you’re coming alive again.’
Chapter Eight
Helissent’s body ached with the continued ride north. Her injuries from the other night barely noticeable in the flame that was her skin’s protest, the only relief was Nicholas announcing their arrival at Tickhill. A place she’d heard about, but never seen.
From the distance she saw the castle upon a high motte, ramparts jutting out of the countryside. It was large, far larger than she could ever imagine. The closer she got, its presence
became blocked by the winding streets, the closely packed homes and businesses. Blocked by the noise and chaos of the village as children, shepherds, animals and people ran in the muddy streets.
But she knew it was there, could feel it looming and, in wonder, she craned her neck to find it again. Then they turned a corner and a smell caused her to sit roughly back. It was overwhelming, like suddenly being enclosed in an airless privy.
She was used to how her village smelled: a mix of wide open fields, sheep and people. But she wasn’t expecting what assaulted her the moment they turned a corner and the countryside’s air no longer flowed freely.
‘It won’t be like this everywhere,’ Rhain said in her ear.
He must have taken her sudden startling differently for he speeded up the horse a bit. ‘The smell, it bothers you?’ he said.
She shook her head. The smell did bother her, but hardly noticeable, not when Rhain talked and his voice didn’t hold anger or some seething frustration he harbored since she’d mounted his horse and rode with him.
His voice was pleasant, almost concerned, and that did bother her, but how she didn’t know.
‘The lower streets always smell, most villages purposefully make it that way,’ he said. ‘This is where the tanners, the butchers, the blacksmiths are housed, but as we wind our way up there will be the cordwainers, the tailors and so on. The castle won’t smell at all.’
Rhain’s reassuring words didn’t ease her thoughts, but she didn’t know why. Taking as few breaths as possible, she watched people throw slop down blocked drainages, and livestock defecate on the slimy narrow streets.
Sights she’d seen before, but the sheer number of people made it worse.
And the sounds. There were sheep where she lived, a few goats. Here was overrun with bleating sheep, restless cattle and cantering horses. So many dogs, she knew they had to be as wild as everything else.
When they turned the corner she could glimpse the castle. The road was also wider, and as Rhain had said the air was fresher.