Hunter's Woman (8 page)

He fell into step beside her, taking her free hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm.  Aslyn gaped at him, tried unsuccessfully to pull away.  She glanced at Kale, but he was staring at the road ahead of them, his expression stony. 

“Out for an evening stroll, are we?”

“In point of fact, no,” Kale said succinctly.

“No?”

Amusement gleamed in Kale’s eyes briefly as he looked down at her.  It vanished when he transferred his gaze to Algar.  “Mistress Aslyn was leery of approaching the well with so many soldiers milling about.”

Aslyn glanced at him sharply, flushing when she realized she had not fooled him even for a moment.  How embarrassing to think she’d gone through such an elaborate charade, and all for nothing! 

Lord Algar’s brows rose.  “Ever the gallant, eh, Kale?  Rescuing damsels in distress.”

Kale slid a glance in his direction.  “You may count upon it, Algar.”

Seeing that they were so intent upon challenge and counter challenge that she might just as well not exist save for being the ‘bone’ the two were snarling over, Aslyn snatched her hands free, turned and seized her pot from Kale’s other hand.  “Thank you.  Both of you.  If you’ll excuse me now….”

She didn’t wait for a response from either man, or look at them again.  For all that, she was acutely conscious of the fact that they took up positions on either side of her, leaning against the stone walls of the well, both men at great pains to appear oblivious to each other, each not so subtly continuing to issue challenge to the other.  It grated on her nerves, but she did her best to focus upon scrubbing the cook pot.  When she’d finished, she filled it once more.

Any thoughts she’d nurtured that she might slip away unhindered vanished immediately, however.  Kale, who’d taken it upon himself to haul the buckets of water up as needed, filled the pot, wrested it from her grasp and held out his arm.  While Aslyn was busy ignoring the hint, Lord Algar possessed himself of a hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.  Surprised, Aslyn turned to glare at him, trying to pull her hand free, whereupon Kale took her free hand, tucked it in the crook of his arm, and gave her a tug. 

Giving up the fight, Aslyn allowed them to escort her back to her cottage.  She made no attempt at conversation, however, despite Lord Algar’s many attempts to prod her into intercourse.  Kale remained silent.  She wasn’t certain whether it was because that was typical of him, or if he was wise enough not to attempt the impossible.  In any case, she felt like a prisoner—
was
a prisoner, however courtly their behavior appeared. 

Did they fancy that they were courting her, she wondered a little wildly?  But she decided she simply could not credit that.  The rivalry between them was far older than their acquaintance and, she thought, far more complicated than a simple contest between two randy males for a chosen female.

She was certainly not flattered by the attention, whatever the case.  She was more inclined to view it as a comedy of errors, wherein Kale had perceived Lord Algar’s interest as being more than it actually was and had set himself up as rival purely for its antagonistic value. 

The girl she had been before would probably have been too pleased and too flattered to look beyond the surface.  The woman she was had not had that luxury in many a year now.  She could not afford only to take things at face value.  She felt certain her secret was still that, a secret, because she had not lingered long enough in any one place to allow suspicions to grow, but she could not be sure enough to stake her life on it.  Nor could she risk that she would be unintentionally tripped.  Either way, her life was forfeit.

She felt a sudden, deep yearning for the life she had once had, a painful wish to be merely a girl, caught up in flattering courtship by two attractive, eligible males.  Or even simply to be too blind and shallow to perceive the layers of deception, lust, and intrigue that lay in wait for the unwary.

Alas, innocence was not to be had for the wishing.  She could not enjoy the attention.  She could not preen and find pleasure in it.  She could not even enjoy a secret amusement at the situation she had found herself in. 

In truth, she was far more embarrassed than amused by the picture they must represent and relieved beyond measure when they came to her cottage once more, until it occurred to her to wonder if they would part company at the door or if she would have to conceive an idea to foist them off.

With an edge of desperation, she pulled free as they reached her door, grasped the handle determinedly and turned, barring entrance, a false smile pasted on her lips.  “I must thank you … both … for your assistance.  I wish I could invite you in for something to war—a cup of tea to warm you, but I have someone coming in a very little bit with a sick child.”

To her relief, the men exchanged a look and bowed.  Kale stepped forward and set her cook pot on the stoop.  Even as he did so, Lord Algar seized her hand and bent over it to give it a salute. 

“Until this eve, then, Mistress Aslyn,” Kale said, a wicked gleam in his eyes, then nodded and departed before she could say anything at all.

She was left with her jaw at half cock, staring after him in consternation over Lord Algar’s dark head.  The comment brought Lord Algar’s head up with a jerk.  As he whipped around to glare after the huntsman’s departing back, Aslyn recovered sufficiently to grab her pot and duck inside the door.  When Lord Algar turned to look at her suspiciously, she pasted a bright smile on her lips.  “Thank you again,” she said and hastily slammed and bolted the door.

She braced her back against the door, partly from the weakness of relief, partly from an uneasiness that Lord Algar would not take her dismissal lightly.  Her heart was thundering in her ears, making it difficult to listen for sounds of Lord Algar’s departure.  Finally, however, he left without another word. 

Aslyn stared down at the pot hanging on the hook above the fire.  She had nothing to put in it.  She’d intended to go foraging for something to make a soup once she’d returned with the pot.  She didn’t dare do so now, however, afraid she’d run up on Kale or Lord Algar again, or worse, both of them.

She turned and looked sadly at the crusty loaf of bread that had been brought to her earlier.  It would have gone well with soup.  Alone it lost much of its appeal.

Dismissing it, she began to pace the small room, trying to think how she might depart Krackensled without being accosted by either of her ‘suitors’ or the men with them.  It seemed an impossibility.  The soldiers roamed the land at night, searching for the elusive tolks.  During the day she would be far too easily noticed, by villagers and soldiers alike. 

Twice, she’d gone foraging and both times she had repeatedly spotted soldiers lurking nearby.  She did not believe for a moment that it was purely coincidence, despite the fact that they’d given the pretense of having other matters on their minds.

She was obliged to admit, after much pacing, that it would be worse, given the current situation, to try, than to wait for a better time.  If she tried and was caught, then she would be under suspicion and watched even more closely.  If she waited, the situation might turn in her favor.  There had been no reports of attack in nearly a week.  Surely the soldiers would soon leave if nothing happened to keep them in the area?

In the afternoon, a rap came upon her door.  She was reluctant to answer it, but she could not simply hide away, as much as she would have liked to.  Still, she was cautious, calling through the door before she opened it. 

Enid favored her with a curious look when Aslyn opened the door.  “You were expecting someone?”

Aslyn smiled weakly.  “It pays to be cautious.”

Enid hid a smile.  “Especially when you’re being courted by two such powerful men.”

Aslyn turned away as she felt color creep into her face.  “They are hardly courting.  The rivalry between Kale and Lord Algar is almost certainly older than our short acquaintance.  It’s difficult to be flattered when they seem more interested in besting each other than claiming the ...  uh ...  prize.”

Enid nodded skeptically.

Irritated, Aslyn asked if she had need of anything.

Enid grinned, not insulted in the least.  “Nay.  Jomares is outside taking care of those repairs, as promised.  I thought mayhap you’d like a bit of company.”

Aslyn was not currently inclined toward company—in truth she would not have welcomed it at any time, but she found she could not be rude in the face of Enid’s determination to promote a friendship.  She refused, however, to be drawn into any sort of discussion regarding her ‘suitors’.  Instead, she played with the baby and listened absently to Enid’s recital of all the clever things the baby had done most recently. 

Baby Eah seemed none the worse for her accident the previous week.  The knot on her head had all but disappeared, leaving a yellowed patch of bruising.  Jomares was healing well, as well and, with the exception of the continued attacks by tolks, all was right with Enid’s world.

Aslyn felt her heart drop to her toes when Enid asked if she’d heard of the latest attack.  “There’s been another attack?” she asked a little breathlessly.

Enid nodded, her eyes wide.  “Just last eve.  I’m surprised you’ve not heard, considering.”

Aslyn was almost afraid to ask.  “Considering?”

“Will the Red—the farmer that was here to see you about the boils just yester morn.  He was on his way home, and nearly there when he was set upon.”

“He was … was he … killed?”

Enid shook her head.  “By Goddess Ot’s mercy!  Frightened nearly witless, but he was fortunate enough to come off without a scratch.  He had chanced to kill a stag along the way and had it upon his shoulders.  Doubtless, it was that that attracted them.  In any case, when they leapt upon him, they dragged the carcass from his shoulders and he was able to flee while they fought over it.” 

“The poor man,” Aslyn murmured.  She did sympathize with his fright, but her own plight was beginning to look more and more desperate and she had difficulty focusing upon anything but unraveling the problem.  With an effort, she dismissed her anxieties and directed the subject back to Baby Eah, knowing Enid could not resist following.  She wished she could as easily put it from her own mind.  It unnerved her to think the man had been set upon so quickly upon the heels of his visit to her.  She dearly hoped that Enid had not spread the tale in the same way she’d told it to her, else the villagers would be wary of coming to her door, or worse, become hostile in the certainty that the problems they were having were her doing.

All in all, she was not sorry to see the McCraney family take their leave.  As she opened the door for them, however, she discovered she was sorrier still that they had already said their good-byes, for Kale stood upon her stoop.

Chapter Seven

Enid threw her a twinkling glance, nodded at Kale and departed, leaving Aslyn staring uncomfortably at her visitor. 

“I’d invite….”

“Thank you,” Kale said.  He handed her a wheel of cheese and strode inside with something wrapped loosely in a piece of thin leather. 

Aghast, Aslyn watched speechlessly as he moved to the hearth with the air of one who belongs.  He was carrying, she saw, a haunch of meat, already skewered and ready, apparently, for the fire.  He arranged it on the spit before he straightened and turned to face her, his expression unreadable. 

He had invited himself to dine with her and had brought the main course.  Or, did he think she would be the main course, Aslyn wondered uneasily?

After a moment, she pushed the door closed.  By tomorrow, she would almost certainly be receiving the looks reserved for women of easy virtue, but it was far too cold to leave the door ajar for the sake of decorum.  In any case, she doubted her reputation would survive much longer whatever she did.  Kale and Lord Algar had blatantly marched her down the street between them.  No doubt the community had been titillated over that and was even now snickering about the healer and her two lovers.

The townsfolk’s low opinion of her would not wound her, nor need she concern herself about it as any young, unwed, woman would need to in order to find acceptance.  It might well lead to a precipitate departure for her, however, if for no other reason than that she would be avoided out of censure and have no way of earning her keep.

That might have its advantages.  Not that she liked the idea of being run out of town, but it would certainly solve her dilemma over how she might leave without arousing suspicion.

On the other hand, it would also leave her more vulnerable to Kale and Lord Algar, whatever their plans for her.

After studying him uneasily for several moments, Aslyn moved away from the door.  “I see you’ve brought…?”  She broke off, uncertain of what the bloody chunk of meat was.

“A haunch of venison.”

She nodded and continued to the washstand, pouring water into the basin so that he could wash up.  He crossed the room to stand behind her.  She glanced up at him over her shoulder, caught by his gaze for several heartbeats before she shook herself and moved away with the realization that he was merely waiting for her to move so that he could wash up.

She watched him as he washed his hands, mesmerized by the movements of his hands and the play of muscles on his forearms, exposed when he’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows.  His hands were strong, his fingers long and tapering.  Dark hair sprinkled the backs of them as well his forearms.  She was still watching as he turned at last, drying his hands on the cloth she’d left beside the bowl for him.  He studied her a long moment and finally turned to the bowl once more.  Lifting it, he carried it outside to empty the contents.