Boadicea's Legacy (16 page)

“‘Tis just a kiss,” she whispered.

“It is not, and you know it, my lady Ela. Between you and I, there is no such thing as just a kiss.”

She gave him another sample of her mouth. “I suppose not.”

“I promised your father that I would bring you back untouched.”

Her sigh was so huge that it shook the tent. “My father understands the dilemma I am in. If I choose to take a lover, then so be it.”

“A lover?” He coughed into his hand, uncomfortable. “I would not be a means to an end.”

“Why not?” She caressed his shoulders, her touch tempting.

“My honor demands that I protect your honor, even if you don't want it.”

“My virginity does not equal my honor. I told you this.”

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but for her own good, he pushed her away. “Would your father agree? Or would he demand a marriage that I can't, in good conscience, offer?”

Her sharp intake of breath caught him by surprise. Had he hurt her with his words? He thought back over what he'd said. “As you already made clear, I have no money and no land. And you are the daughter of a lord.”

“As if I would ever marry you!” He heard the hurt in her voice but didn't understand it. “Be honest, Osbert. It's because you're worried in your warrior's heart that I might snap my fingers and turn you into a mushroom.” Then she made a great show of curling up to rest.

He reminded himself that she was her most viciously amusing when she was cornered and feeling uncertain, but it didn't help him sleep. He thought he may have just said something to cause her to hate him. He didn't know what it was.

Ela wished that she could tear her own heart from her chest and toss it out to the rain. She'd douse the damnable spark Os caused and end the hurt he managed to inflict without even knowing he did it.

Was she wanton or immoral for wanting to kiss him? Her entire being cried out to be held in his arms. The tiniest flame of interest kept growing despite his displays of controlled temper and his annoying honor. Fate was the
cruelest joker of all to put him in her path just when she'd made a bargain to give up her gifts.
I could love him
.

Her eyes drooped, and she gave in to the lull of sleep, hoping that she wouldn't be sent in to fight the nightly battle of Boadicea against a Roman named Claudius.

Since she'd been a little girl, her head had been filled with images of Boadicea riding into battle, adorned with gold and silver. She drove a two-wheeled chariot—a mighty figure filled with rage.

In the dreams, she rode up in the front with her mother, while her sister rode a white horse next to the chariot.

The dreams never changed, and Boadicea always died at the Roman's hand.

A
re you still angry this morn? I only meant to protect you.” Os looked so earnest that she turned away from him before she threw herself at his feet. “From my lustful, youthful desires. Yes, I thank you. Why would I be at all embarrassed or angry about that?” Ela quickly plaited her hair into five manageable braids, then wound them around her head like a crown. She used the edge of her wet veil to wash her face and scrub the overnight gunk from her teeth. “I would give anything for some mint leaves and warm wine. And fresh bread with butter.” She rubbed her empty belly. “And cream.”

“Fish pies from Norwich Market, so hot the sauce burns your tongue at the first bite. Then apple cider and something sweet for dessert from the corner stall. Now I'm hungry too.” Os sighed, looking around at the green, wet ditch. “We've nothing to eat, and chances are slim that we will find anything before noon.”

Ela lifted Bartholomew's hoof, picking at the river
pebble caught in the shoe. “At least we will be able to ride, wherever we're going. And maybe the rain will have scared away Thomas de Havel's men, if fortune is smiling on us …”

Os quickly shook out his wet cloak and dismantled the branches of their tent. “That was very smart, to drag those from the trees by the river.”

Ela looked up, surprised. A compliment without a mocking thrust behind it? “Thank you. Sometimes I get hunches … I've learned to follow them.”

He ruffled the last of the dampness from his hair. “There you go, talking like that again.”

“You get hunches—intuition, that nagging sense that something isn't right—don't you?” She saw from the way his expression closed that he knew exactly what she was talking about. “It doesn't make you a witch.”

“Men can't be witches.”

“Right. Your Sir Percy said that women were the root of all evil. I'll thank you to remember what sex Thomas de Havel is, and then tell me again who is the more evil, me, or him?”

Seeing that he wouldn't answer, she decided to leave without him. He'd catch up, but in the meantime, she wouldn't have to look at him and wish that things were different. She started walking up the slippery slope of the ditch, falling back every few steps. Finally, she made the top of the hill, where she sucked in a shocked breath.

Ela turned to wave at Os, a smile on her face. “There's a village, and a chimney is smoking, which has to mean there is food.”

Never mind the fact that we slept in the rain and cold when there were perfectly good houses just over the hill. We could have been dry and with other people
. If she thought about it, she'd be sad that the last night they'd spent alone hadn't been in love's embrace. From here on, they would surely find other travelers on their way to Norwich.

He raced up the slope, Bartholomew following, breathing smoky plumes into the chilled morning air. The look on his face was priceless as he took in the tranquil scene below. He crossed himself and mumbled a quick “thanks.” “I don't recognize the town. I was hoping to find one I knew by now.”

“There's the river—could that be the River Tas Hilda said to find?”

He seemed to study it, rubbing his chin. “Mayhap.” He turned to her and spread his arms, a grin on his handsome face. “Shall we go find out for sure, my lady Ela?”

Her traitorous heart leapt, and she accepted his proffered hand. “Do you think they'll have ham and eggs?”

They slid down the hill and walked through a field until they came to the half gate surrounding the village. Nobody stood guard, and they walked right in. Os looked out over the quiet streets. “I don't see a manor, or keep, to mark a nobleman's residence. I say we find the chapel first. Mayhap the priest will share his bread.”

Ela wiggled her toes, her half boots heavy with mud. “I hardly look like a lady—what if they send us away?”

Os peered at her, and she felt the flush run up her neck to her cheeks as he studied her in the morning light. “You'll
do.” Then he looked down at her feet. “You've holes in your boots.”

“Humph. When I was stolen from my chamber, I should have bade my captors stop so I could change into shoes more suited for traipsing across the countryside.” She crossed her arms, wondering if he would attack her torn dress next.

He surprised her by laughing. “I'm no better, my lady. My cloak is sodden and mudstained, my breeches are stiff with dried dirt, and I'm sure I smell like a combination of Henry and Bartholomew. I could cover you in my wet cloak and whisk you through town just to reach the road on the other side. We'll talk to nobody. I would protect your reputation at all costs.”

“Even if it cost you food on an empty belly?” The spark in her heart brightened, curse it all.

“My first priority is you, my lady.”

He was so honorable that she exhaled and shook her head. “You know what I think about my reputation. It was vanity speaking, and nothing else. Upon occasion, I do like to be pretty.” She sighed, shrugged, and lifted her head. “Now you know yet another bad character trait about me. I wish you had one, Os, so that we'd be even.”

He raised a brow. “I am filled with flaws, my lady Ela.”

“Pah. I liked it better when you just called me Ela. After all we've been through the past few days, it seems silly.”

“We are in company again. ‘Tis necessary to remember the rules of society.”

“I hear you say that and it makes me want to wear my hair down and skip through the streets barefoot.”

“Childish.”

She shook off the insult. “I suppose. I said it made me want to do it, not that I was going to. I do know how to behave. Again, you are hardly seeing me at my best.”

“The great teachers all say that a man's true character shines through during difficult situations.”

“You've studied ‘great' teachers?” Why was she not amazed that her knight would be a scholar too? He could be perfect for her, with the exception of how he felt about her supposed witchcraft.

“Sir Percy taught me to read and write. He said it would help me rise in station, since I had no money or land. Being able to carry messages is what brought me to the earl's eye.”

Sainted Sir Percy. Paragon of compassion for orphan boys and hater of women.
I would love you despite it
. Osbert is a fine man. Sainted Sir Percy, Ela thought.
Paragon of compassion for orphaned boys, and yet a hater of women. I would love, you Sir Percy, despite your corrupted anger—for saving Osbert's life
.

“I am glad for you. I, too, love to read.”

“You mentioned that before. ‘Tis most unusual.”

“That I, a mere woman, am allowed to read—
and
write? My parents insisted that we all learn—Latin, French, even Welsh—so that we could write letters to Aunt Nan.”

“What an unusual family.”

If Ela wasn't mistaken, he sounded more intrigued than
put off. Mayhap there was hope for him yet.

Just then a priest in a black robe hailed them from the front door of a tidy cottage. “Hello there, strangers,” he called. His voice was neither friendly nor cold, just matter of fact. He was short, Ela noticed. Shorter than she, but many men were. His hair was a fluffy white, with a streak of black on the left. It looked like a stripe of boot polish. His aura pulsed a light blue.

His steps were deliberate as he crossed the yard to the edge of the street and lifted a hand in greeting. “I am Father Norbert. Welcome to Elmford. We don't get many visitors, and now you are the third set in two days.” The priest kept his expression neutral, but his black gaze missed nothing. Ela shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of her state of dress.

Os had somehow turned into her guardian again. His shoulders squared, his hand rested above the hilt of his sword, his chin thrust forward. “We are the third? Would you mind, good Father, telling us who the first two were?”

“I have no need for secrecy,” the priest shrugged.

“We do,” Os said.

“Ah. In that case, won't you come in? I have my sister's two youngest inside with me. You entered the back way into Elmford, else ye'd have noticed the commotion. Last night a carriage lost a wheel and a lady of quality had to spend the night in Edith's inn. Her servant died—the lady's, not Edith's—plain broke her neck in the fall.”

Ela's heart raced. As much as she said she didn't care
for her reputation, her father did. She didn't know many noblewomen since she rarely left Montehue Manor, but what would her father think if word got out that she was traveling alone with Osbert? Would he demand they marry, despite the curse?

Nay. Besides, she wouldn't force another person to do something against their will, even if Os did make her heart warm.
Now what am I going to do?

“Can I offer you apple muffins? There's ale in the pitcher there. Help yourselves, please.” Father Norbert took the rocking chair by the fire, and Os went to the plate of food.

A child of two stared up at her with huge brown eyes, while a babe slept in a cradle beneath the small window. The child's aura was mostly pink, but there was an angry crimson streak running through it. Ela ignored the muffins, even though her stomach rumbled, and knelt down before the little girl so that they were eye to eye.

“Hello,” Ela said with a soft smile. “I'm Ela.”

The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth, then winced and switched to the thumb on the other hand.

“May I see?” Ela gently held the sore thumb, seeing the red cut on the pad. “That looks like it hurts.”

The little girl nodded. Father Norbert said, “Aye, she thought to help me with the bread yesterday and got a nasty cut. I've been packing honey on it.”

And she keeps sucking it off
. Ela thought it looked infected, and if the infection spread, it could mean sickness or even death.

It would take but a heartbeat to fix the problem.

“Ela,” Os growled low. “Have a muffin.”

She accepted the food, and the little girl stayed at her side. Ela ignored Os and turned her attention to Father Norbert. “‘Tis too bad about the carriage. That poor woman.”