by Deborah Hale
“A shame you could not have caught it,” replied Maura, ignoring his gruff tone. “A bit of stewed rabbit is very nourishing.”
Rath sheathed his blade then groped for the pony’s lead rope and marched away.
Maura fell into step with him, keeping the pony safely between them. “Do you suppose you could snare a rabbit—on purpose I mean?”
“Of course I can!” Was she trying to get a rise out of him? “Lived most of my life on little else but fish and small game. It is a wonder I have not sprouted fur or gills by now.”
“Good,” said Maura. “Then, wherever we make camp in the morning you’ll set a snare or two? The fresh food Sorsha gave us is running out and I want to save the dried provisions until we have no other choice.”
“You make it sound as if we were going on a long trek beyond the Great South Desert. It should not take us more than three weeks to reach Prum, unless we both break our legs and this fellow runs off on us.” He patted the pony’s broad rump.
“Besides,” he continued after a moment, “we are well away from the Windle with no sign of anyone following us. Once we get some rest tomorrow, I reckon it will be safe to start traveling by day. We will be able to move even faster then.”
Maura took a while to answer. “I still believe it makes sense to live off the land as much as we can. It is like what you said about never having too many escape routes.”
Rath could not shake the feeling that she had some secret motive behind her desire to conserve their supplies. Or perhaps his healthy sense of suspicion was running away with him?
He laughed, partly at her and partly at himself. “You are sounding more and more like an outlaw, my lady. I had better get you to your old auntie in Prum before you are thoroughly corrupted!”
Even as he spoke, his feet seemed to slow, as if he was reluctant to hasten their parting.
Chapter Nine
“CAN WE STOP and rest for a while?” Maura’s gaze lingered on the small lake they passed on their second full day of walking. “It looks so pretty and peaceful here.”
Tall reeds swayed in the mild breeze and spring sunlight danced on the water between flat green leaves of pondflowers. The place entranced Maura with its beauty.
When Rath did not appear to have heard her, she raised her voice. “You will probably think this is nonsense, but I have never seen a lake before.”
“Never seen a lake?” Rath cast her a dubious look. “Truly?”
Maura shook her head. “Nor an island, nor the sea. Not even a mountain, except far in the distance. That spot in Betchwood where we first met was the farthest I had ever been from Langbard’s cottage.”
Her grief for Langbard struck her afresh when she spoke his name. As it did every time she woke, and often after some activity or talk or other thought temporarily pushed it from her mind. Foremost among those distracting thoughts was the nagging worry of where she must go and what she must do once she had found the wise woman, Exilda, and the map.
Yet, between her sorrow for the past and her fear for the future, Maura’s present journey offered surprising moments of discovery and diversion... even delight. Knowing how fleeting such times could be, she treasured them all the more.
Rath turned his gaze toward the lake, as if he had not noticed it before she spoke. “Might as well stop here as any place, I suppose. We are not being pursued that I can tell, and we have made good speed. There is no hurry to reach this aunt of yours, unless she might have heard news about Langbard and be worried for you?”
His words reminded Maura that she did have a reason to get to Prum as quickly as possible. Langbard had told her the Waiting King must be woken by Solsticetide. Until she saw Exilda’s map, she would have no way of knowing how much farther she must journey to find him.
“That may well be.” Swallowing a sigh, Maura cast a longing glance toward the lake. “And I do not want to keep you from your own... business. It was good of you to help me get away from Windleford. I do not want to trespass on your kindness any longer than I can help.”
“My kindness?” Rath laughed at the notion. “You would not get very far on that! I made a bargain with Langbard and though I am an outlaw, I do keep my word.”
Maura hastened to assure him she no longer doubted that.
Before she could get the words out, Rath spoke again, his voice heavy with regret. “Even if I had not promised, I still would have done what I could for you, to make up for bringing danger on you and Langbard. I did not mean for that to happen.”
“No!” Maura circled around in front of the pony, planting herself in Rath Talward’s path. “What happened to Langbard was not your fault. I know I blamed you at first, and for that I entreat your pardon.”
She pointed to a tree near the lake, its branches garlanded with blushing blossoms. “Let us sit and talk a bit while we eat and set the pony to graze. An hour or two hardly matters in a journey of this length. Who knows but a little rest now may help us walk all the faster when we set out again?”
After a moment’s consideration, Rath nodded. “That is another outlaw rule to live by. Rest and eat at the first safe spot you reach, for you may find yourself tired and hungry later when you dare not stop.”
The pony had already taken advantage of their brief pause to nibble a mouthful of tender new grass.
Rath tugged the beast toward the tree. “Just a little farther, old fellow. Then you can eat and drink your fill.”
He turned the pony loose to graze then he and Maura settled in the shade to eat. “How can you be so certain I am not to blame for what happened to Langbard?”
“Because he told me.” Maura bit into the last of Sorsha’s dried apples. “During the passing ritual. I know you do not believe in it, but I heard his voice in my mind, and I shared some of his memories. You cannot imagine what comfort it brings me to have had that time with him. It is as if part of him remains with me and always will.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rath squirm. The man seemed more at ease fending off accusations and insults than accepting apologies or thanks.
“If I did not draw the Xenoth down on you, what did?” His question almost made Maura choke on her apple.
She could not entrust Rath Talward with the truth, could she? He had done her good service in past few days. Despite Sorsha’s warnings and a few misgivings of her own, he had not taken the slightest liberty with her. For some reason, his unexpected gallantry did not please her as much as it should have.
For the most part, though, he had fulfilled Langbard’s original judgment of him—hardy, brave, resourceful, and, at heart, not nearly as fierce as he liked to pretend. But given his disdain for everything to do with the Elderways, it might not be in her best interest to tell him of her true errand.
Or the danger that it involved.
At best, he might think her a madwoman and abandon her in the countryside many miles from Prum. At worst, he might decide to turn her over to the Han in hope of a reward or clemency.
“The Xenoth came for Langbard.” With so little practice at telling falsehoods, Maura doubted she had much skill. For that reason she stuck as close to the truth as she dared. “He was more important than he may have seemed to you. He had been in hiding a long while and they finally found him.”
Hoping to distract Rath from asking what would make one old wizard such a threat to the Han, she hurried on. “You could say it was we who brought danger on you.”
“No worse than I could have brought on myself.” Rath did not sound greatly troubled by what she had told him. Perhaps he was relieved to know that once he parted from her, the Xenoth would not be dogging his heels.
Just then, a fishhawk that had been gliding overhead in slow, graceful arcs plunged out of the sky like an arrow. An instant later, the bird rose back into the air with a triumphant shriek. Its wings pumped hard to lift the burden of a fat fish clutched in its talons.
Rath watched, nodding his approval. “Mind what you said the other night about
living off the land?”
“Aye,” said Maura. “What of it?”
He flustered her when he questioned why they should conserve their traveling provisions. It had occurred to Maura that she might need those supplies later, when she no longer had a skilled hunter on hand to help her find food.
Rat rose slowly to his feet. He pulled off the robe of Langbard’s that he’d worn since leaving Windleford, revealing his own snug leather breeches, dark shirt and padded vest. “This might be a good place to replenish our stores. Do you know how to catch fish, or do you have a spell that will make them jump out of the water into your frying pan?”
“Of course not!” Somehow, Maura did not mind his teasing as she once had. “Though there is a blessing you should say to thank the Giver for the food you’ve been provided.”
As she expected, Rath rolled his eyes and shook his head, though he looked more amused than scornful.
“Can you teach me how to catch fish?” Maura asked. She might need any survival skills she could pick up from him.
“Aye.” Rath offered his hand to hoist her up. “If we make camp here, I can show you how to set a rabbit snare, too.”
After an instant’s hesitation, Maura took his hand, and let him help her to her feet. But when it came time to let go again, her hesitation lasted more than an instant.
He had large, well-shaped hands. Though he held her gently, she sensed the restrained power in his grip. True, those hands had wielded weapons and done violence. But somehow she knew it had never been in a careless or remorseless manner, and never without dire cause. For all he might dismiss his old foster mother’s beliefs, her example must have laid a strong foundation that the demands of his later life had not altogether eroded.
Maura felt it in his hands and she glimpsed it in his gaze as both held her for a long, sweet, bewildering moment. The next thing she knew, his lips were drawing closer to hers. She remembered that day on the way to market when he had asked for a kiss and she had refused him. If he asked now, she would still have to refuse... though she found herself wishing otherwise.
Still closer he came. Perhaps he did not mean to ask this time, only to take what he wanted unless she made some move to stop him. How tempted she was to pretend she did not see it coming until too late.
What would Langbard say, though? He had approved of Rath Talward as her bodyguard. But not for these wages!
“P-please,” she murmured. If she pursed her lips a trifle more, they might brush against Rath’s. How that impulse enticed her! “I must not.”
At her tremulous words, his whole body seemed to tense and harden, as though supple plant matter had been transformed into unyielding metal.
“Of course, you must not!” He released her so abruptly, she almost stumbled. “A virtuous follower of the Giver should never consort with a vile outlaw. Think how you might be corrupted.”
“I think nothing of the sort!” Maura backed away, wondering if her regret for that aborted kiss blazed on her face as it ached on her lips.
“Do you not?” Rath’s lip curled. “Ever since we met, you have called me nothing but lout and ruffian. Said you would rather kiss a musk-pig.”
Beneath his gruff tone he sounded genuinely offended. Did he care what she called him or how she thought of him? Most of the time, he seemed to relish shocking her with his menacing pose.
“I only called you a lout when you acted like one,” Maura protested. “Which you have often gone out of your way to do.”
She hesitated for a moment, wanting to tell him the truth about why she could not kiss him. At least, as much of the truth as she dared. Before she could decide how much that might be, another fishhawk plunged out of the sky, quite near.
Ignoring her reproach, Rath bent over and picked up a pebble. Then, with a sudden release of tightly coiled strength, he sent it skipping over the still surface of the lake with a succession of soft splashes, each coming quicker than the last.
Maura needed something to do with her hands, lest they reach for him. She needed something to do with the restless energy his nearness had kindled within her.
Spotting a small stone nestled in the grass, she picked it and tried to copy Rath’s swift, fluid release. Her pebble hit the water and sank with a loud, clumsy gulp that seemed to shatter the brittle tension between them.
Rath laughed, with only a hint of mockery. “Well, that was truly pitiful.”
He made a quick search nearer the shore, then handed Maura a flat, smooth stone that looked like a coin with a bulging middle. “Hold it like this.” He demonstrated the proper grip with another pebble he had picked up.
When she could not duplicate it, exactly, he nudged her thumb and forefinger into the proper positions. “Now watch me.”
For the next hour he tutored her in this amusing but useless art as if both their lives depended on it. When Maura finally made her stone perform three little hops before disappearing into the lake, he thumped her on the back by way of praise.
Then he set about teaching her a few more serviceable skills with surprising thoroughness and patience. Not once did he mention what had almost happened between them. Nor did he try allow it to happen again.
Maura told herself she should approve Rath’s unexpected show of discretion. Just as she should welcome his new, comradely manner that refused to acknowledge her womanhood or any troublesome spark of attraction between them.
If only she could match his knack for ignoring the potent awareness that prickled beneath her skin, anticipating and savoring his most casual touch.
And the faint sting of shame that followed it.
“See that?” Rath whispered, pointing toward a faint path in the grass that ran from a small stand of trees down to the lake.
Maura edged closer to him. “What did you say?”
The warm spring light played over her hair, until a scattering of strands shimmered like sunbeams.
Rath tried to ignore it but the subtle pungency of new growth all around stirred his senses, making them far too responsive to everything about Maura Woodbury.
A good thing she had stopped him from taking that kiss he would surely have regretted. He knew she was not the kind of woman to embark on a casual, passing frolic with a fellow like him. Though he had flirted with the notion of settling down to a dull but honest life, he had since thought better of it.
If he was not careful, the solitude and tranquility of the lake would lull his deeply ingrained caution. For the past several days, he and Maura had been constantly on the move during their waking hours, with the pack pony providing a safe buffer between them. Their new activities kept him closer to her than was good for his self-control.
“There, where the grass is worn down.” He forced his thoughts to the task at hand. Never had they rebelled so stubbornly to his will. “That is a way small creatures come to the water at night. It is where we must set our snare.”
He scratched away a clump of grass, then scooped out a handful of soft brown dirt, which he rubbed on his hands.
“What are you doing?” Maura shot him a suspicious look.
“Masking my scent so it will not ward our prey away from the snare.” He offered her some dirt. “Rub this onto the string.”
Understanding glimmered in her gaze along with something Rath had seen so seldom he did not trust himself to recognize it. Admiration? No, it could not be.
As he set the snare, Maura hovered close, watching his every move, whispering questions. Rath did his best to answer and to explain each step, though part of him felt daft for bothering.
Once he delivered the lady to Prum, he doubted she would ever need to snare small game. Yet she fixed her attention upon him with the air of a person whose survival might depend upon mastering these skills of rough living.
After the snare was set to his satisfaction, Rath fetched a bit of waxed string from his pack, along with a hook carved from bone. Then he cut a long supple stick to make a fishing rod.
On a narrow finger
of land that thrust some distance into the lake, he sank onto the grass and pried off his boots, then rolled his breeches up to his knees. Maura followed his lead, pulling off her walking boots and hitching up her skirts.
When Rath caught a glimpse of her slender bare feet and shapely calves, the April sun seemed to shine hot upon his face. He forced himself to concentrate on assembling the fishing rod and showing Maura how to cast the line out into the water.
“Get a good grip on the rod,” he warned her. “If a big fish goes for the bait, you do not want it pulled out of your hands.”
“Like this?” The murmur of the gentle west wind through the rushes made a delicate music to accompany the beguiling lilt of Maura’s voice. She grasped the slender wooden pole near the end with her right hand, then wrapped the fingers of her left hand over the other fist.
“Bring one down more.” Keeping his distance, Rath tried to instruct her by pointing. “And the other up a ways to give you more control when you cast.”
Maura fumbled with the rod, trying to place her hands the way he had told her.
“Here, let me show you.” Against his better judgment, he took up a position behind her, wrapping his hands over hers. “Cast the line out like this. Then pull it through the water this way, so the fish will think that bug on the end of your hook is moving.”
“You know,” said Maura, “it was not what you thought... the reason I stopped you from kissing me.”
What made her bring that up now? It was not a talk they should have while his arms were wrapped around her. But when Rath tried to pull away, he could not. “What makes you think I was going to kiss you?”
“Nothing!” Maura glanced back at him. “And everything! Are you saying you would not have kissed me if I had let you?”
Rath thrust out his chin. “Would it have been such a crime if I had? Like rest and food, pleasure is one of those things a body ought to take whenever the chance comes.”
She tossed her head making her thick glossy braid slap against his cheek. “What makes you so certain a kiss from me would bring you pleasure?”