by C. C. Wiley
“There is an inn not far from where we are,” James said. “If you can last a half-day’s ride we will continue on.”
“Connected as we are, I don’t think it likely they’ll want to help us.”
“Then we will borrow the smithy’s tools and break free on our own.”
Terrwyn glanced over her shoulder. James’s face was set in a study of perfect calm. That was one thing she could count on. He was steady.
Except for the times when he looked at her like he wanted to eat her. Then he near made her want to jump out of her clothes and head for a cool stream.
“Then, if you are a very good girl,” James continued, “we’ll see about renting a place for us to bathe and rest properly.”
“What?” Terrwyn restrained the need to smooth the dirt from her jerkin. She’d worn it for so long it had begun to stick to her skin. Instead, she tucked the random stray hair behind her ear. She was surprised to find numbness in her fingers. It matched the same feeling in her head. Exasperated with her body’s frailty, she startled when James smiled down at her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What way is that, sweeting?”
Although his response carried the tone of complete innocence, Terrwyn wished she could see his eyes. Perhaps her edginess was nothing more than an overreaction to exhaustion. Her back wedged against his chest, she took a deep breath and tried to relax.
James’s voice dropped an octave lower than normal as he began to hum a new tune. This one was a fighting song, one of powerful thrusts and parries.
“There now,” Terrwyn said. “You’ll learn fine if you keep those words in your head when I’m helping you find your skill with a knife and sword.” Feeling the need for honesty, she patted his thigh to soften her words. “I cannot promise I can keep you alive, but I can promise to teach you how to live a while longer.”
James shouted his laughter until his shoulders quaked. At her vehement rebuke to keep quiet, he squeezed her tight. He shook his head in wonder at the woman who sat before him. She was actually planning his first lesson in the art of hand-to-hand combat. He looked forward to letting her win. The first few times.
She launched into a discourse on the art of wrestling, and he nearly dropped the reins. Visions of their limbs locked together made him shift uncomfortably. Entertained and aroused, he listened intently to the seductive timbre of her instructions. When the Inn at the Crossroads came into sight he was annoyed to have their ride end so soon.
He would have to ensure she continued her instructions in detail. He particularly enjoyed hearing that when in wrestling mode he should lock his thighs around her waist. He considered whether he would request she demonstrate the move.
James drew up on the reins and stopped Zeus in a grove of trees. They dismounted still as one. Only this time he came off a few seconds before Terrwyn. He caught her and held her close. They wavered, teetering, trying to sort out the balance of their weight.
Zeus jerked his head to reach a fresh growth of grass. His motion ended their battle. They fell into the bushes, the air knocked out of their lungs.
A startled shriek erupted. Then Terrwyn began to laugh. Her laughter was muffled instantly when James pressed the back of her head, bringing her lips to his.
Still lying across his body, their legs entwined, she pushed up from the leaves. “Your injuries—”
“Are improving with your every touch.”
Her eyes wide, she stared at his mouth. She blinked before lowering her head to drink from his lips.
James allowed her full access. His body hummed from her onslaught as she pressed her hips into his belly, stirring his loins. His body bucked instantaneously.
Flipping Terrwyn on her back, he covered her mouth, quieting the surprised squeal. She lay beneath him. His hips opened her thighs, spreading her legs. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them over her head. When he glanced up, he saw the bruises that spread into a wide ring. Although he ached to press his body into hers, have her drain him senseless, he released her and pushed up. He was staggered to find his hand was trembling when he swiped his hair from his eyes.
Still lying where he left her, Terrwyn watched him. His quick reflexes stunned her. She would have never believed an artist could move quickly. Without warning, he had her flipped under him, swift and easy. A proud smile tugged at her mouth as it wove its way over her face. He would be wonderful in close-quarter combat. Aye, there was hope for them yet.
Being kissed into submission was a tactic she was willing to learn. Always an eager student, she decided she must convince him to kiss her again. This time, it would be she who turned away first.
“Stop that,” he said.
Torn from her plans to tutor him as soon as they were free from the damn chains, she took a moment to register he was angry. A storm had formed over his sky blue eyes. His anger stemmed from something she had done. “Stop what?”
“Woman, don’t pretend you are unaware of what you are doing.”
Terrwyn licked her lips and stared hard at him. His breathing came in short bursts. Wary of his mood, she moved slowly as if he were an injured creature. She studied the pulse beating along the thick cording of neck muscles. He seemed to squirm under her observation.
“Bless the saints’ ugly bones! You cannot look at me like you are and expect me to keep my hands off of you.” He turned, tugging on the front of his jerkin, a glare in his eyes. “And unless you want me to take you here in the bushes, contain your tongue.”
Terrwyn clamped her lips together. Mystified by his anger, she reached out and stroked a soothing hand over his back. His reaction was to roll on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs in a whoosh. His hand slid over her mouth. His lips were close to her ear. Puffs of air pushed her hair, caressed her skin.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. It beat out a fast tempo as she struggled to draw in a breath. While she contemplated biting his hand, he whispered, “Riders.”
They lay still, hidden in the brush. Their harsh breaths came and went until each breath gentled and worked with the other. “Zeus,” Terrwyn said against his hand.
Moving as one, they turned their heads to look at the horse. The stallion continued to eat at the grass, moving down the sloped ditch. He paused and lifted his head as if he sensed other horses drawing near.
James made a clicking sound. Zeus moved farther down the hill and went back to munching on the greenery.
The horses whinnied when their riders brought them to stop in front of the inn. Why Zeus never responded, Terrwyn would never understand. Perhaps James had another secret to share with her. Whether he was surprising her with his ability to silence the stallion’s nature to another horse’s call or drawing pictures of flora and fauna, the man had magic in his hands. When she shivered under his touch, she wondered what it would be like when he finally decided to use his magic on her.
Terrwyn sat on the ground. Her legs were bunched up close to her bottom, her heels close together.
James sat out of reach, the chain stretched between them. The saddle lay upside down. A small knife in hand, he pried off a panel underneath the arch of the pommel. A linen cloth pouch sat in the well. He pulled it out, balancing it in his palm. “There’s enough gold here to procure the smithy’s help. Maybe a night’s stay at the inn.”
She shook her head. “Nay, once they lay their eyes on these English-made manacles, there won’t be enough coin to be had. And if there is, they will reveal us as sure as you need to take another breath.”
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
“Aye, we have little choice in the matter, now do we. We cannot walk up to the man and say, ‘Hand over your tools like a good boy’. Those tools are his livelihood. You may as well tell him to hand over his wife and children.”
James ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. He glanced over at her. “And you remain determined the tools come back after we are through?”
“Even if he was as fa
ir and good as they come and we had all the coin in England, he won’t want to help us. It would put his family in danger.”
“All right then. Soon as the light is dimmed and they appear to head for bed, we will make our way to the stables.”
Terrwyn knelt over the saddle and kissed his cheek. “’Tis a grand plan.”
James caught the back of her neck before she could withdraw. He held her suspended over the saddle. She swayed as he drew her closer. He pulled her in, caught her bottom and yanked her into his lap. Enticed by the taste offered before them, they ignored the clank of the chain.
His breathing erratic, James lifted Terrwyn from his lap. When she thought he would push her away as he had before, he surprised her once again. “Come.” He held his arm out, his side ready for her to slip beside.
Reluctant, she scooted over to sit next to him. His back resting against a rough boulder, he cushioned the hard surface, allowing her a place to relax.
They sat, hip to hip. Terrwyn tucked her head into the crook of his arm. James smoothed her hair and kissed the top of her crown. He released a deep sigh and gave her a one-armed hug. “It won’t be much longer. Then we will be free of the chains.”
Terrwyn nodded. Aye, soon the chain that kept them together would be broken. She did not know why, but the thought was not as appealing as she once believed it would be.
A single lantern hung in the window of the smithy’s shed. The dim light spread into the moonless sky. Terrwyn and James watched the innkeeper close the doors behind him after the last post of the day rode in. His shadow wavered against the outside wall of the establishment as he rounded the building and entered the Inn at the Crossroads.
The noise of muffled evening talk carried on the wind and into the glen. The innkeeper and his staff moved about, preparing for another day of toil. The slap of the door announced their presence each time they came and went. They brought in firewood. They carried out slop buckets. Refuse was tossed to the pigs in the pen near the barn. If the wind was right, their existence would not be known until the slab of salted pork hit the trencher on the trestle table.
Angry shouts broke through the quiet of isolation as the innkeeper and another man stumbled out the door.
James laid a hand on Terrwyn’s shoulder. “Steady.”
The innkeeper’s punch whiffed past the man’s jaw. “Guest or not, you look at my wife like that again and I’ll pummel you into the ground.”
A young woman stood in the doorway. Her wide hips and full bust blocked the light seeping through the open door. The kerchief on her head worked to contain her frizzing hair. “Here now, Hywel, there’s no call to act a fool.” She held up two jugs and tapped them together. “Who’s goin’ to help a lovely lady like meself drink this fine ale?”
The men paused, swaying, their chests puffing from exertion. Hywel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Come, husband, ’Tis no way to treat a paying guest. Let the man go. He meant no harm.”
Their guest slipped quickly back inside, past the innkeeper’s wife. “Here,” she said, thrusting the jugs into his hands. “Have Magda pour us a large portion and play us a song or two.”
“Will you dance me a jig, Tilda, my love?” Hywel called out as he waddled to the door.
Tilda gave him a punch to his arm, softening it with a teasing laugh. “Aye, you play your cards right and you won’t tear your mind from me.”
He grabbed her waist, pulled her to his large belly. “You dance only for me, you hear?”
“Oh, go on with yourself.” She slapped his chest and shoved him inside.
As Terrwyn rose from behind the shrub, Tilda paused in the doorway. The woman held the door half-open and looked out into the night, across the dirt lane that marked the crossroads. Satisfied she saw nothing that should not be, she turned and closed the door.
James jerked Terrwyn to the ground. “Have patience.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The moon moved out from behind the clouds. Though it offered them light to see, it encumbered them with the knowledge they would have to wait until the inhabitants of the Inn at the Crossroads were deep into their cups.
James counted six people. The innkeeper and his wife. The char woman. The one they called Magda. And two riders who had arrived at sunset. Any one of them might step outside to use the privy and notice them.
Terrwyn and James sat side by side, their backs resting against a log. James’s movements were slow as he propped his foot on his knee.
“This might be the first time I’m grateful for my wee stature,” Terrwyn said. “’Tis glad, that I am, that they didn’t take my boots too.”
Too tired to speak, James smiled wearily, acknowledging his own relief.
She leaned in for a closer look. “Your wound is weeping.”
“Aye, my feet are worse for wear, too.” He chuckled at his own misery.
“Now why didn’t you say something before? I would have found some herbs to hold the redness at bay.”
“I had other matters on my mind,” he said.
“Well, there’s no need to be an irritable bear about it.” Terrwyn stretched to reach the small blanket they were using to muffle the noise of the chain. “Hand me your little knife.”
James complied without a word.
She made short work of cutting narrow strips. Then she lifted his foot onto her lap. “’Tis a good thing Sir William was stingy with his comforts. This blanket is so thin I can nearly see right through it. It will do well.”
She tucked the pieces of fabric under the metal ring around his ankle. The padding lifted the manacle off of James’s wound. When she was done, she looked up to see the pain fading from his face. It warmed her heart to know she eased his hurting. Isolde, the healer and midwife from her village, would have been amused at her efforts, but it would hold until the irons were broken.
She trapped his leg when he began to draw his foot from her lap. She caught his gaze. There was something about him that showed in his eyes. When he was calm, the color of his eyes reminded her of a clear blue sky. Then there were the gray shades of winter. But this blue was rich and deep, like the color right before dawn.
When James jerked at her touch, she made the same soothing sounds she used to calm one of the lambs. Only this seemed to have no effect. She trapped his foot under her palm. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the dirt from the arch. She held him until his foot was wrapped in a layer of blanket strips. When she motioned for his other one, his hesitation held for only a few seconds, long enough for her to hear his quick intake of breath.
The air heated when they made contact. She did her best to ignore what looked like faerie dust sparking between them. Either her imagination was getting the best of her or the faeries had cast a spell. She decided exhaustion was the culprit. She methodically wrapped and padded the other foot. Her task completed, she released him as if she held a hot coal.
While she brushed her hands over her leggings, she used the time to settle her own reaction to the warmth of his skin against her palm. It made her mouth water. Saints’ bones, it made her want another taste of his lips. Faerie dust, indeed.
“I don’t believe anyone has cared for my wounds as finely as you.” His voice was low and thick. He paused, then turned to lift her hands. He cradled them as if he held precious jewels. “I wish to thank you properly.”
Terrwyn felt her face flush hot. Never had her healing efforts been so appreciated. A part of her wondered how he aimed to thank her more than he had. Instead of letting her imagination get the better of her, she struck out for neutral ground. “Hush. You rest while we can.”
James nodded, then after placing a gentle kiss on each knuckle, he released her hands.
The warmth where he had touched her began to recede. Emptiness took its place. Guilt nipped at her, reminding her that she had not told him she had the journal. Filled with good intentions, she opened her mouth. It snapped shut on its own accord. Now was not the time.
They waited until the music began to rise. The fiddle player set into a rambunctious rhythm. Laughter spilled into the night.
James crawled onto all fours. Then he stood and held out his hand for Terrwyn. They would move as one creature. Traveling over the uneven ground slowed their pace. Their breaths came and went as they ventured out of the shadows and into the moonlight.
They paused beside a storage shed and James listened at the door. No one stirred from inside. He lifted the wedge of wood that held the stable doors shut. Restless, one of the horses nickered. Soon as they were inside, Terrwyn found a bag of grain standing next to a stall. She grabbed a handful and held it out for the horse.
The blacksmith’s tongs and hammers hung on the wall. Various sizes of horseshoes littered a nearby bench. The tall worktable held the smaller versions of hammers and hooks. Rods of iron waited for turning into nails and the sundry iron needs.
James locked arms with her and pointed to the anvil. He swept up a handful of already-formed hooks and a few nails, then grabbed a medium-sized hammer from the table. Terrwyn took the chisel lying beside a pile of tools.
Their arms still locked together, they headed for the door. James looked out. The sounds coming from the inn were beginning to wind down. He motioned that they would stay against the shadowed side of the building. They skirted the small privy house and slipped into the wooded glen.
James gripped the hammer and eyed Terrwyn’s leg. She sat on the ground, her leg propped on a stone. Moments earlier, she had stuffed the thin blanket inside the boot to act as padding. He feared it would not be enough protection if his aim was wrong.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and slid down his cheek. The hammer’s wooden handle was smooth and worn. Perspiration lubricated his hands until he worried the hammer would fly out when he took the first swing.