Coins and Daggers (4 page)

Ulric glanced up and then back to his
reading quickly. “Welcome back, sister.” He even reached for his
blasted tankard. “I suppose it would please you greatly to know
that you haven’t changed one bit.”

“
And I suppose
it would please
you
greatly to know that you are just the
same darned eremite I left behind too.” She glanced around the
barely lit study and shuddered. “And this room is as dark as your
mood, brother. Besides, I only came here to say
that--What?”

Ryia glanced dubiously at her brother who
was now staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. She
was half-tempted to brush at her face or something.

Still eyeing her, Ulric eased out of his
chair and grasped his little sister by the shoulders, looking her
over from head to toe.

“What happened to you?” he demanded.

“
Whatever are
you talking about?” Now, she was
really
confused.
“There’s nothing wrong with me. Have you gone daft?”

One large hand squeezed her jaws and he
turned her head from side to side, studying her as if she was some
rare object. “You used to be.....chubby.”

“I was never chubby, you idiot.” Completely
outraged, Ryia shove out of his grip and gasped. “And did you
honestly expect me to look the same after all this time? I’m a
woman now. A married woman, in case you’ve forgotten.”

For some odd reason, he found himself
chuckling and he did not know why. He certainly was not over-glad
to see his sister but he was mightily pleased to see that she was
in fine health. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, much like their
dear mother had been. Long tresses of chestnut hair hang past her
shoulders, framing a face that was radiant as ever. She had their
father’s eyes, he seem to have had forgotten. Cool blue eyes the
color of the sky at springtide.

“.....wouldn’t want the children to see you
in such a mad state...”

Ulric shook out of his reverie and cleared
his throat. “Children?”

Ryia let out a
dreadful sigh and patted her dear brother on the shoulder. “You
seem to have gotten awfully slow, Bryce.”
Bryce
. It had
been years since anyone had called him by his first given name.
“You know.... Children. I happen to have two of them. Maliha and
Joseff. I would have brought them along but I wanted to confirm
first if you had wasted away here all by yourself. Heavens knows,
you would scared them to death.”

“Well...” He cleared his throat, unsure of
what to say. He hadn’t expected that news. He had a niece and
nephew that he’d never met. Ulric didn’t know whether to laugh or
run far and never look back. “I see. And uh...how old are
they?”

“Joseff is four and Maliha, three.”

Still in the
manageable stages, thank Jesu
.
Ulric blew out a low whistle and returned to his seat. “What did
you come to say just now again?”

Ryia arched a brow, thoroughly stunned at
how easily her brother had managed to change the subject. Shaking
her head sorrily, she sighed. “I need your help with a matter of
great import.”

“What is it?” He was back to reading
again.

“My lady’s maid had somehow fallen ill so
I’d had no choice but to leave her behind. I shall need your
assistance with finding me a temporary maid for my stay here.”

“Can’t you just ring on your long-lost
friends and ask for their help?”

Lady Ryia rounded the wide desk and stopped
dead next to her brother, yanking the parchment fully and quite
rudely out of his grip.

“
In case
you’ve also forgotten, those ‘
long-lost friends
’ are
not welcome here. They’ve all hated me for ages, thanks to you and
your bad manners.”

Ulric gently unfolded her fingers, one by
one, from his reading material lest she crush it, all the while
scowling up at her. “Then ring for Edwin. I’m sure he’d be more
than happy to assist you.”

“Fine! Why do I even bother? I suppose I
might even take an earlier leave from this blasted place than I’d
intended also.” She threw up her arms in a child-like fashion and
stood akimbo. “Your company was sour years ago, Bryce, but now I’m
afraid it has gone thoroughly rancid.”

Flinging a
long chestnut plait over her shoulder, his sister turned and fled
the room, all rage resounding from the way she slammed the door to
his study. It was the type of sound to rattle the teeth and leave
even the shedboy in the far southern stable of the estate curious.
If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that his sister had
gotten
some
spirit...and had grown far more
annoying for his liking.

Sighing, Ulric returned his gaze to his
reading and cursed when he noticed that Ryia’s fingers had smudged
his fresh ink. He’d spent all morning penning that particular entry
for the estate’s journal, which had required extreme precision and
tidiness. He couldn’t possibly re-pen it now as he had other things
to look after. Reaching for his tankard, Ulric took a deep sniff
and drained the contents. He would have to put that off until after
supper when his head managed to cool.

Opening a drawer, he shoved the parchment
inside and then marched across the room to his private cellar-box
and retrieved a flagon of brandy. He’d managed to uncork the bottle
and pour just a bit in his tankard when the door came swinging in
again. Apparently, no one respected his privacy these days.

Edwin came huffing in, hair looking mightily
ruffled. “I hear I am to escort Ryia on an expedition.”

An expedition is not what Ulric would have
called it. “I simply suggested your company.”

“
Of course, you did.” The
drawl in Edwin’s voice suggested that he knew exactly the
type
of
expedition too. “Because maid-hunting is my expertise and something
I desire wasting away my morning on.”

“Truly, Edwin. Sarcasm does not become you.”
He poured himself a drink and regarded his friend with a raised
row. “What you need is a drink to prepare yourself for your and my
sister’s grand outing.”

Edwin glared but sighed with heavy
resignation. “Mock all you want, Ulric, but I will repay you for
this one. Mind you, I know your secret.”

Lowering the tankard from his lips, he
almost laughed out of sheer suspicion that Edwin would gladly dupe
him. “You would sell me out to my own sister?”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?” Edwin
strode over and grabbed the flagon from his friend’s hand, taking a
burning swig of the liquor.

“No wonder I only have you then.”

“Not that”--burp--“Not that I’d need to,
seeing that your captive has been creating quite a ruckus down
there since last night. If Ryia is to even step over to the west
wing, my tattling wouldn’t be necessary at all.”

Ulric was already
half-way towards the door. “And you planned on telling me
this
when
?”

His friend shrugged, bracing himself against
the cellar-box. “Like I said, it’s not like I need to tattle.”

Gulping down some more of his friend’s
brandy, Edwin slid down on the floor and decided to drench his mind
away until the next few minutes when he’d promised to escort Ryia
to town. At least, while a little lightheaded, he would be better
able to survive the afternoon.

* * *

“
W
hat precisely is the
matter?”

Ulric bounded down the stone staircase,
almost skidding on a loose rock, as one of his guards stayed hot on
his heels.

“The wench’d been throwing pebbles and sand
at the door all night but she only quieted down since before dawn.
Haven’t even heard a peep out of her since, milord.”

“Well, have you checked on her?”

The guard stammered a bit before managing
one coherent sentence. “No, milord. She has uh.....quite a good
aim, sir.”

Coward
. Ulric shook his head, his
grip on his own torch tightening. It took them another minute to
reach the gaol cell and he did not hesitate to slide the bolt aside
and swing the door open. The torchlight flooded the room and he
peered inside, feeling unbelievably uncomfortable as his guard
hovered close behind him.

“Where is she?”

“I...I don’t know. She was right over there
the last time I saw, milord.”

Stepping further inside and wondering what
type of witchery the wench had committed now, Ulric trained his
gaze on the room, spinning slowly...and then stopped. In the left
corner of the room, closer to the door, a small body was huddled
still and unmoving.

“Hold this.” Shoving his torch into the free
hand of the guard, he moved quickly towards the figure and stooped
down low. Reaching out a tentative hand, he pulled on a slim
shoulder and drew back at the burning heat he felt there. The wench
was burning. “She has a fever.”

“Milord?”

Ulric swallowed tightly, a raw unfamiliar
guilt swelling inside his chest. Gently turning her over, he
brushed the thick mass of hair from her face. Her complexion was
ashen and her lips had developed a bluish tinge, all combining with
the horrific sounds reaching from her abdomen. Nineteen, she’d
said? What dire a circumstance could she had been in to end up in a
predicament as this?

Reaching an arm under a small back, he eased
upwards, the wench carefully tucked in his arms. Ulric was even
more surprised by her weight. The girl barely weighed a thing.

“Go ahead of me and move fast,” he spoke. “I
suspect the wench is dehydrated and terribly starved.”

The guard moved off instantly, glancing
behind him occasionally as they went. “Where to, milord?”

“To the Odessa Room.”

The guard’s glance lingered a bit longer
than necessary and Ulric decided to allow it to pass for now.
Perhaps he could not blame the man, seeing that same room had been
unoccupied for over ten years now. It had been his mother’s private
chamber after his father had succumbed to illness. It was also the
only room he could place the wench in without fear of his sister
stumbling upon her. No one entered that room. Ever. Save for the
serf wenches who went in to keep it tidy on a weekly basis.

Sweat beaded on his temples as Ulric
embarked the winding staircase and then down the long hall which
led to the Odessa Room. The guard spun the knob, and then held the
door open for him to enter.

“Close the door behind you and get one of
the girls from the kitchen to bring up some water and cloths.”

“Right away, milord.”

Easing the slender body down against the
cool sheets, Ulric smoothed away the girl’s hair and looked her
over. She did not look so terrifying while unconscious, he
supposed. But she did look horribly sick, certainly owing to the
cold gaol and no sustenance.

Glancing away, he refused to acknowledge
that he could ever have been so cruel. Mayhap since he knew he was
exactly that. Cruel...and sometimes incredibly unfeeling. He was a
dark soul and he’d never needed reminding of that, which was why he
found it confoundingly surprising that he’d actually moved the
wench from the jail much less be making preparations to nurse her
back to health.

The same exact wench who had broken in on
him, blatantly held a dagger in his direction.....and even, rather
bluntly, confessed her crimes against him. The girl must be a
raving lunatic or he was. And as much as he would gladly admit to
being an ass, Ulric was also confident that he was not lacking in
good sense. In fact, he was just as sane as he had ever been and
this lightheaded chit was a testament to that. Only someone with
complete sanity could deal with someone so given to utter
recklessness.

The kitchen girl came scurrying inside the
room, some minutes later, with a handful of cloths, followed by the
guard who was holding a firm grip on a filled washbasin. The door
clicked close behind them and Ulric quickly withdrew his hand from
where it rested lightly against the girl’s warm cheek. He knew it
would be a long day before they saw any signs of improvements.

Five

“
I
t appears her fever
has broken, milord.”

The girl spoke rather confidently for
someone who’d only been employed as kitchen help in his household.
But she did move with a mature air about her which spoke volumes in
Ulric’s opinion. He had been watching all morning as the color
slowly seeped back into the thieving wench’s cheeks and now that it
was a long while past noon, he suspected that she might be awake
soon.

He cleared his throat. “Good. Uh...?”

He eyed the girl awkwardly, staring down his
nose as it suddenly dawned on him that he knew the names of none of
the individuals who were currently inside the room with him.

The girl gave a quick curtsy. “It’s Anyla,
milord. Is there anything else I should fetch?”

“Uh, yes. Perhaps some bread and meat from
the kitchen. Some cheese too. And definitely something mild to wash
it down with.”

Anyla sprinted from the room and Ulric
turned to look at the girl again, lying soundlessly on the bed. He
could tell the comfortable rate of her breathing as every exhaled
breath tickled the tendrils of very, very dark hair near her mouth.
It was a luscious type of black, surprisingly shiny and thick
enough to tempt a man into grabbing a fistful. Gaze now traveling
down a slender neck, he took in the soft contours, as they dipped
and slid over to form well-rounded but small breasts which were
perfectly hidden by Anyla’s expert hand.

His gaze lingered a bit more and then swept
upwards, scanning the qualities of a delicate face that sported a
neat little nose and a relatively small mouth. Moving closer, Ulric
could a feel tightening in his chest that he had long ago refused
to acknowledge. With a tender mouth like that, a girl like her
could attract many a respectable men for position of a mistress. At
least, that would have saved her from having to resort to
burglary.