The Wizard's Ward (Queen's Quests Trilogy Book 1)

by Deborah Hale

Maura jumped to her feet. “No guest in our home ever tried to strangle you before today. Fine thanks for our aid, that!”

  “I never asked for your aid,” Rath growled.

  Part of him protested that it could be dangerous to antagonize his captors. Another part felt so foolish and vulnerable being bound by a force with less substance than cobweb. He felt compelled to lash out with the only weapons at his disposal—his words and his attitude.

  “Perhaps you did not.” Langbard began to wash Rath’s wound with the warm water. “But I hope you will have the sense to accept it with good grace.”

  Rath could never remember being addressed in quite that tone of exasperation tempered with forbearance. It made his conscience tingle just as the herb-strewn water did to his torn flesh. He knew both must be cleansing and healing, but he could not bring himself to trust the strange sensations.

  “Where I come from, no man does a good turn for another unless he wants something in return.”

  “I regret it is the same everywhere, Master Talward.” Langbard smeared the wound with what looked like a paste of crushed fresh leaves. “The only difference is that the people you have known make no secret of the exchange. Will it ease your mind if I tell you plainly there is something I want from you?”

  “Perhaps.” Rath considered. “What is it?”

  Langbard wrapped a wide strip of linen around Rath’s upper arm. “If you give your word you will do no violence to Maura or me, I will have the binding spell that holds you removed.”

  “You would believe the word of someone like me?”

  “Trust must begin somewhere, young man.” The old wizard looked up suddenly, catching Rath in his discerning gaze. “Since I believe it comes more easily to me than to you, I am willing to make the first overture.”

  While her guardian tended Rath’s wound, Maura had wandered over to the hearth and added another stick to the fire. Now she rose and stood watching the two men with ill-disguised wariness. She probably had some other innocent looking leaf or feather or bit of ash in the pocket of her apron with which to subdue Rath again if he did not mind his manners.

  “I will do neither of you any further harm.” He flung the promise at her. “You have my word... which is worth far more than the lady may believe.”

  She narrowed her eyes as if to say he presumed a great deal to speculate about what she did or did not believe.

  “Very well then.” Langbard grappled onto the bedpost to hoist himself to his feet. “Maura, if you would be so good?”

  “Are you certain about this, Uncle?”

  “Quite certain. Go ahead.”

  With the air of someone compelled to act against her better judgment, Maura intoned yet another string of words Rath did not understand. When he tried to raise his sound arm, it jerked up, pushing against a restraint that was no longer there.

  Removed by a girl’s garbled singsong? The old wizard might be content to trust him, but Rath doubted he could return the compliment. His suspicion of magic ran too deep.

  He slid up, so his shoulders rested on the pillow. It felt a little less vulnerable than being flat on his back. His wounded arm protested the movement, though not as painfully as he expected.

  “You never answered my second question, old man. What is it you want with me?”

  “All in good time,” the wizard replied. “Once you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

  “Those can wait.” Rath’s stomach disagreed loudly. “I’d prefer to know what you would have me do before I accept any more help from you.”

  “Fair enough.” Langbard settled himself on the edge of the bed. “It is fortunate, your appearance in our lives at just this time. Maura and I must set out on a journey soon. About the time you should have your strength back, I believe.”

  “Uncle!” Maura cried.

  Clearly she had not known what her guardian meant to ask of him. Now that she understood, she did not approve the idea. For some perverse reason, her resistance eased Rath’s suspicions.

  The wizard raised his hand to bid her be silent. “An old aunt of Maura’s wishes to see her. She lives to the south, in a little town called Prum. You have probably never heard of it.”

  “Prum?” Rath heard himself say, in spite of his usual reluctance to reveal what he knew. “On the edge of the Southmark steppes? They have a fine cattle fair there in the fall.”

  “You do know it!” Langbard rewarded him with a broad smile.

  “I have been there a time or two.” He glanced at Maura, narrowing his eyes and flashing his wickedest grin. “Good pickings at cattle fairs.”

  She rewarded his baiting with an indignant huff that made her attractively shaped bosom rise and fall beneath her tunic. Rath could not recall the last time he’d had such amusing sport.

  “Maura and I are not so well traveled,” said Langbard. “The way is long, I understand, and the roads not as safe as they might be. We could use a guide and guard to escort us, if you would be willing to oblige us in exchange for healing and hiding you? It occurs to me you might like to make yourself scarce from this part of the kingdom for a while.”

  So he might. Much as he loathed the Han, Rath had a grudging respect for their thoroughness. They hated to leave a job unfinished, and he was the unfinished part of their duty to root out the fugitives making camp in Betchwood. He could do worse with his time than steal away to someplace safer in the innocent-looking company of an old man and a pretty girl.

  He held out his right hand, palm up, in the customary sign of good faith. “I hear the Southmark steppes are pretty in the spring. I believe we have a bargain, old man.”

  Before the wizard could slide his hand over Rath’s to seal their agreement, Maura cried, “Never!”

  Chapter Four

  “MAURA,” LANGBARD RUMBLED in a more ominous tone than she could ever recall him using with her, “you and I can talk about this later. At the moment, I am discussing the matter with Master Talward.”

  The wizard’s thick brows lowered over his piercing blue eyes as he fixed her with a look that would have made most folk cower. What had come over him? He’d been mild as a sheep after Rath Talward had throttled him. Now he rebuked her for giving him a warning he would be a fool to ignore?

  Maura had no intention of being silenced by his stern stare. Not with their safety at stake. “Have you gone daft, Uncle? Journey all the way to Prum in the company of this outlaw?”

  She stabbed her forefinger in his direction. “It makes no sense, if you fear for our safety, to tote a brimming basket load of trouble along with us.”

  Rath Talward was trouble. Maura had no doubt of that. The air of it hung about him like a potent, pungent musk.

  Moreover, he relished having everyone know it, too. Eyeing her with such gleeful impudence and grinning when he spoke of good pickings at cattle fairs. Boasting of taking anything he wanted in life, including that ridiculous name. She had to admit, it did suit him.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, Rath Talward gave a lazy stretch with his good arm, bringing it to rest behind his head. The bed linens slid down, by design, no doubt, to reveal more of his muscular bare chest, its rippling flesh seamed with more than one battle scar.

  “If a party hires a bodyguard for his meekness and good manners, they are begging to have their throats slit in their sleep before they ever get where they are going.” He spoke with impudent ease, and his voice seemed to linger lovingly on the violent words.

  Maura wanted to hustle him off to the Windleford garrison, where he clearly belonged. What had she imagined she’d seen in him earlier, to stir a flicker of admiration and sympathy?

  “We have ways of protecting ourselves, in case you have not noticed.” She directed her next words to Langbard. “Those ways will be of little use guarding against one who travels with us. I tell you, we have more to fear from him than from any dangers we might encounter on the road to Prum.”

  The wizard shook his head. “We do not have an unlimited supply of cu
ddybird feathers, my dear. You know how hard they are to come by.”

  She did, all too well. Ever since Langbard’s sight had begun to fail, she’d had to gather the pesky things, which were only visible against a background of snow. Since cuddybirds wintered in the Southmark steppes, the only time one could hope to find any in Norest was after an early or late snowfall.

  “Spells are all very well,” Langbard continued. “But sometimes there is no substitute for a swift application of physical force.”

  “Well said, wizard!” Rath Talward extended his hand once again. “Have we a bargain, then?”

  “We have.” Langbard laid his hand on the outlaw’s, palm to palm. Then they reversed, with his hand on the bottom.

  “Men!” Maura glared at the pair of them.

  Sorsha had often complained about this vexing tendency for male creatures to side with one another against a woman. Especially if they were in the wrong.

  It did not surprise her that an outlaw would do such a thing. She had thought better of Langbard, though. “I am sure I will not get a wink of sleep the whole journey for fear of what he may be plotting.”

  “Tush, my dear.” Langbard rose from his perch on the edge of the bed. “After all that has happened to him today, young Rath is likely as frightened of us as you are of him.”

  The outlaw gave a hiss of contemptuous laughter, yet a subtle tightening of his rugged features told Maura that Langbard’s guess might not have strayed too wide of the mark.

  “Now,” Langbard strode toward the door, “we must let our bodyguard rest and recover his strength while we make preparations for our journey. Come below and make the man some food, Maura, if you please.”

  Her nerves were badly frayed by all that had happened. When she’d woken that morning, it had been to the relative safety and peace of her familiar world. She would go to bed, exhausted but probably unable to sleep, facing a bewildering and perilous future. At the moment, Rath Talward embodied all her worst fears, sheltered under her own roof.

  She shot Langbard a reproachful glance. “If you like him so well, you cook for him!”

  With that she swept out of the room.

  A moment later she heard Langbard’s footsteps on the stairs behind her. “Your pardon, my dear! After the day you’ve had, I should have bid you rest rather than put you to work. Get yourself to bed while I make food for both you and Talward.”

  At the foot of the stairs, Maura stopped and turned into the comforting embrace she knew would be waiting for her.

  “I do love you, Uncle.” She gave a sniffle, followed by a weary chuckle. “But you are a terrible cook. If you fix a meal for this Talward fellow, he may think you are trying to poison him and cancel your bargain.”

  Still holding her close, Langbard threw back his head and laughed. “So that explains why you took over the kitchen when you were barely high enough to reach the kettle!”

  Maura glanced up to see a mist of unshed tears in his eyes.

  His voice fell to a broken whisper. “I always tried to do my best for you.”

  Her vexation with him melted into a warm puddle. “Of course you did. No one could have done better. I have had such a happy life here; can you blame me if I am loathe to leave it?”

  Langbard raised his hand and passed it over her hair. “I know there will be dark and dangerous days ahead for you, my dear. But I hope fond memories of our time here will sustain you until you win your way to an even happier future.”

  He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know you think I am being a willful old fool to insist on taking young Rath with us. Truth to tell, he is exactly the sort of escort I had hoped the Giver might send.”

  “You believe that is my birthday present from the Giver?” Maura rolled an aggravated gaze in the direction of the gable room upstairs... or perhaps toward heaven.

  “Now, now.” Langbard shook his head. “He is just the kind of companion we need. The man knows his way around the kingdom. He is strong, swift and resourceful. He must be, to have lived the kind of life he has and evaded the Han for so many years.”

  “But, Uncle...” It was probably pointless to protest, but Maura could not give in without trying.

  As she’d expected, Langbard refused to heed her. “I believe there is more good in him than you... or he may suspect. The years since the Han invaded have not been kind to your generation, Maura. Give him a chance, won’t you, for my sake? He is not nearly as fierce as he likes to pretend.”

  “Oh, very well.” Maura grumbled as she stepped out of his embrace and headed for the kitchen. “Against my better judgment, I assure you. And on condition that you will teach me that trick with your voice.”

  “Trick?”

  She turned to look back at him. “Do not play innocent with me. You know what I mean. The tone that makes people do whatever you ask them, no matter how much they might protest.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, my dear, but there is no magic in that.” Langbard thought for a moment. “Apart from love, I suppose, which is the most potent kind of magic.”

  Would she find love with the Waiting King? Maura wondered as she puttered in the pantry. If they were destined to wed and reign, neither of them would have much choice in the matter. No more choice than she had about starting off her quest in the company of the last Embrian she would have chosen as an escort.

  Had he lost all sense, accepting the old wizard’s offer? Though Rath Talward had never lain in so comfortable a bed, in so snug a room, he could not sleep.

  Perhaps because it was so warm and cozy. He was not accustomed to comfort. He mistrusted it. More often than not, anything that looked, sounded, felt, smelled or tasted too good was apt to be bait for a trap.

  A number of those suspicious attributes applied to Maura Woodbury. Rath hadn’t tasted her, yet, but he did not doubt he’d be able to add that to the list. The only thing that eased his wariness somewhat was her opposition to her guardian’s plan. If she grew friendly, then he would worry.

  He heard the muted patter of footsteps on the stairs just as a savory aroma wafted into the room. His mouth watered so hard and so fast, he was obliged to swipe the back of his hand over his lips to keep the moisture from dribbling down his chin.

  A soft tap sounded on the door. Rath was not sure how to respond. It had been a long while since he’d lived under a proper roof. Even then, folk had come and gone as they pleased.

  “Are you awake?” Maura called softly. “May I come in?”

  “Aye, come. It is your house.”

  She eased the door open, then entered, bearing a wooden tray. The appetizing scent grew stronger.

  Rath’s belly let out a shrill squeal. When had he eaten last? After all that had happened today, his last meal felt like a distant memory.

  “Well,” said Maura in a tone of dry amusement, “that answers my next question.”

  Rath cocked his brow.

  “I was going to ask if you were hungry.”

  He gave a harsh chuckle. “Been hungry most of my life.”

  The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wished he’d swallowed them, instead.

  Maura’s face blanched. Something unfamiliar flickered in her eyes. Could it be pity? If so, he wanted none of it.

  “Where is Langbard?” he asked in an impudent tone that he hoped might get a rise out of her. “When you left a while ago, you didn’t sound very anxious to cook for me.”

  “Do not provoke me,” she snapped, “or you will find yourself eating Langbard’s cooking! Then you’ll be sorry.”

  He doubted it, after some of the things he’d eaten over the years. For a moment, he considered telling Maura a few of them, just to relish her disgust. Then he decided against it. He did not want her treating him to another look like the last one.

  She started to set the tray of food on his lap.

  Rath tried to sit fully upright, but his head spun and his arm gave a queer tingle that alarmed him more than the ordinary kind of pain he was used
to. He sank back down.

  “Lie still then.” Maura lowered the tray to the floor. “I will feed you.”

  By the sound of it, she suspected his dizziness might be a ploy to rile her. Rath decided he would rather have her think that than guess the truth.

  “Never been waited on before.” At the risk of getting whatever was in that bowl upended on top of his head, he settled back with a brazen grin. “And by such a beauty, too. I could get to like this.”

  “You will not get the chance, outlaw.” She thrust the spoon toward him with a movement so swift and forceful it might have broken a tooth if he had not jerked his mouth open in time. “I promised Langbard I would see you fed, tonight. Tomorrow, you can feed yourself... or starve. I do not care which.”

  She settled herself on the edge of the bed, with a bowl of generous proportions in one hand. With the other, she pulled the wooden spoon out of Rath’s mouth, leaving behind some hot, soft-textured food of hearty flavor. It was all he could do to keep from groaning his enjoyment.

  It tasted so good... too good.

  He tried to spit it out, but his mouth mutinied. The food slid down into his stomach with a soothing sensation that promised to tame his gnawing hunger.

  “What is this?” He averted his head as Maura brought another spoonful toward him. “Not loaded with sorcery is it?”

  “As a matter of fact—” Maura made no effort to cram the spoon into his mouth, but waved it beneath his nose, tantalizing him “—this barleymush does contain some herbs that will speed the healing of your wound. If such sorcery is too vile for you to take into your fine body, I can always fetch it away and tell that wicked old wizard you do not wish to eat.”

  A very few times that he could recall, Rath had tasted honey. Maura’s tone reminded him of it—sweet, yet cloying. The little vixen was amusing herself at his expense.

  “You are sure that is all?” he growled, then snatched another bite before she could withdraw the spoon. “Herbs to make me heal faster?”

  She heaped the spoon again. “If I was the kind of person who would poison you, do you suppose I would be truthful enough to admit it?”