Never Kiss A Stranger (26 page)

Alys looked around and noticed Ira circulating quite drunkenly amongst the revelers, one crooked elbow full of little sprays of the plant. The old man made his way to Piers and then shook his head and tsked.

“None for you, lad. Not married,” he said with a wink for Piers and frown for Alys.

After Ira had moved on, Piers turned to look at her. He glanced down at the mug in her left hand, its base resting on her knee. Her right hand was presently intertwined with his.

“More drink?” he asked in a low, relaxed voice.

She shook her head. Then she licked her lips and leaned toward him. Piers met her more than halfway, kissing her fully at last, pushing his tongue past her lips, the bitter taste of the mead sweetened exponentially with his desire.

All around them, married couples were stealing away into the forest. Alys pulled away reluctantly, but only because she knew it was a temporary separation.

“Piers,” she whispered. “You have no mistletoe to give me.”

He shook his head. “You heard Ira: we’re not married.”

Alys let a smile curve her mouth as she pulled her right hand free from his. She reached up to the back of her head and then held her fingers out to him.

“I say we are.”

He looked at the tiny plant in her hand and then back into her eyes. She could see that the happy ease he’d possessed only a moment ago was now gone.

“I need to talk to you, Alys. Will you come to the tree with me?” he asked.

She said nothing, only nodded.

He followed her closely up the ladder, his weight allowing her to climb more securely, his arms on either side of her hips steadying her. Her legs were trembling, from both nerves and the nature of her ascent. She stopped, her eyes closed, clinging to the rough ropes.

He nudged her with his head. “Go.”

Alys went.

The interior of the tree house was pitch, and after the bright contrast of the bonfire, Alys couldn’t see anything. She went instinctively toward the center of the shelter, where she knew the tree’s trunk would be. Piers’s footsteps whickered past, and in a moment, the bright flare of a candle sprang to life, illuminating the narrow cot that was, thankfully, not suspended by ropes.

She watched him crouch down and fill and light the small brazier. He replaced the lid with a scrape and then stood, staring at her. Dressed as he was, he could have stepped from the crowd of Sybilla’s well-heeled friends, stood at the king’s side, sat the throne himself. His clothing was refined, his body large and intimidating, his expression feral. The candlelight gave the hard planes of his face depth and mystery; his eyes glittered, colorless. Alys’s heart beat with the rhythm of a thousand primitive drums.

He continued to stare at her, saying nothing, but she could feel his hesitation.

“Piers, do you want me?”

“I do,” he replied. “But there are things I must tell you.”

“What is there of such import that you would deny me?”

“Once I tell you, you may well deny me.”

Alys shook her head with a smile. “Never.”

“Ira is my grandfather.”

Perhaps it was only the wind, but Alys felt the floor under her feet sway. “Surely that’s impossible. Does he claim this?”

“‘Twas I who discovered it, when he took the signet ring from me. It belonged to his daughter—my mother, Elaine. When my father got a child on her, he had the signet ring made for her. When Ira found out his daughter was carrying the lord’s child, he tried to kill Warin Mallory. My father and Judith Angwedd had Ira banished from Gillwick. He was told that I succumbed to the same illness that claimed her, twenty-four years ago.”

Alys could only blink. “Piers, that—it’s so fantastical. Are you very sure?”

He nodded. “I am.”

Suddenly, Ira’s increasingly foul disposition toward her made perfect sense. She was noble, and she wanted a member of his family. The last time that happened to Ira, he had lost all. His home, his daughter, his grandson.

Piers broke the weighty silence. “He gave me back the signet ring, of course. And some information that I believe solves my father’s deathbed riddle—Bevan bears a mark on his chest. One that I have seen with my own eyes. Bevan’s true sire bears the mark’s twin.”

“The proof you need?”

“Mayhap. I still do not know for certain who fathered Bevan, but it is considerable more evidence than I possessed before you found Ira.”

Alys brought her hands to her mouth. “You have a grandfather,” she whispered.

He gave her a slight, crooked smile. “Thanks to you. I owe you a great deal, Alys. That’s why I must lay all of my plans out in the open.”

Alys dropped her hands from her mouth and held them out, walking toward Piers. “Why would such happy news give me pause? In truth, it only makes me more certain that we are meant—”

He grabbed her forearms, keeping her from embracing him as she wanted to do.

“Wait. There is more.”

Alys let herself be held captive by him, relaxing and looking up into his face. She would be patient.

“Whether the king grants me Gillwick or nay, I know that I will encounter both Bevan and Judith Angwedd in London.” She waited. “And once Edward’s decision is reached, I fully intend to see Bevan dead. By my own hands,” he added.

Alys’s heart skipped a beat. “You would kill him for what he has stolen from you.”

Piers shook his head. “He has played a part in stealing much from me, true: my father, my childhood, my self-respect—nearly my life. But more than that, he is a vile pestilence upon this earth, and I cannot abide him to live. You know not what he is capable of, Alys. And should I triumph in London, I would never rest easy in my own home while he lives. And neither would he. His entire life, Bevan has begrudged me the very air I breathed.”

“Piers, you are no killer.”

His eyes glinted in the candlelight, and for a moment, Alys was not quite certain that was true.

“Even if Edward sides in your favor, I doubt he would stand aside wordless while you take another man’s life,” Alys reasoned. “He could retract Gillwick the moment after you’ve won it.”

Piers had no reply.

“Perhaps there is another way.” Alys twisted her arms in his hands and he released her. She stepped to him fully,
placing her hands on his chest. “We shall speak to the king, and—”

“I do not tell you these things so that you might try to reason me out of them,” Piers said. “But I would not hide it from you, no matter how ugly.”

He was very, very serious. He meant to kill Bevan Mallory, and any resistance Alys put up to the idea would only be met with rejection. She could not change his mind. At least, not tonight.

“I accept what you are telling me,” she said at last. “I don’t necessarily agree that it is your only recourse for justice, but I see why you might feel thusly.”

He nodded.

“Is that all?” she asked, praying it was, but fearing in her heart that he had saved the worst of the lot for last.

“No. I will not hold you up before Edward in order to aid my cause. It is too dangerous for you, with the game Sybilla plays. When we reach London, I want you to use what coin you have left to send to Fallstowe for someone to come and fetch you home.”

Alys nodded, relieved. “Alright.”

Piers seemed to be about to say something else, but stopped mid-word. He closed his mouth and frowned. “Alright?”

“You have been right all along, Piers,” Alys said, curling her fingers into his tunic, drawing the warmth from him. “The way I left Fallstowe was stupid and childish. Sybilla was only trying to do what was best for me, for the family. I know she must be very upset with me right now. I owe it to her—and to my parents, who left our family in Sybilla’s hands—to return, and do whatever I can to help right things.”

Piers was very still. “Even if that means marrying Clement Cobb?”

“Whatever I can, save that.” Alys smiled briefly, but then let it fall from her mouth as she looked up into Piers’s eyes. “I love you, Piers. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, whether that life is at Gillwick, or Fallstowe, or even here, in your grandfather’s woodland village. Once I’ve settled things with Sybilla, I will come to you, wherever you are.”

Piers shook his head. “No. Alys, it might mean losing your family if I fail to gain my father’s title. Think of the children you might one day have—would you keep them in a tree, like this? Like Tiny? Stealing from travelers and digging in the dirt for roots when there is no food, no coin?”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Alys insisted. “I believe in you, Piers! I know that whatever you will say to the king will make him see reason!”

“You don’t know that!” Piers shook her. “I don’t know that! It is my word against Judith Angwedd’s.”

“Take Ira!” Alys said, hope filling her. “He can be your witness.”

But her optimism was dashed. “Oh, Alys—you are so used to being listened to, catered to! Think you the king would take the word of a commoner, living illegally in the wood with a band of peasant brigands, over a noble’s word? Even one as disgusting as Judith Angwedd? Ira would likely end up in the dungeon for his trouble. Ira is no one. And right at this moment, even in this fine suit of clothes, I am equal only to him in the king’s eyes. In the eyes of the law.”

“Then reconsider telling Edward of the Foxe Ring!” Alys insisted. “It may not help, true, but what then could it harm?”

“It could harm you. It could harm your sisters,” he
said quietly, and Alys felt as though her heart was being squeezed.

“Alright.” She licked her lips. “But what if you do succeed with the king? Will you come for me then? Make me your lady, in truth?”

“Gillwick is no Fallstowe, Alys. Even if I gain my father’s place, I cannot offer you a crumb of the life that you are accustomed to.” He averted his eyes. “I cannot say what I will do.”

“You cannot say?
” Alys stepped away from him. “You mean no, don’t you? You don’t plan to come back for me, no matter the outcome in London. Piers, do you care for me at all?”

His eyes flew back to hers and his anger was apparent. “Yes! If I did not, you would not be here with me now!” He turned with a terrible blasphemy on his lips, one hand on his hip, the other swiping across his face. “I could have left you alone in the wood long ago. Carried on without you.”

“And you would have sickened and died! Never known your grandfather!” Alys tried not to shout, remembering the quiet of midnight that was all around the tree house, but tears filled her eyes. Why was he being so cruel? “You said yourself that you owe me a great deal—does that not include the truth of your feelings for me?”

Piers nodded. “I do owe you a great deal. Which is why I cannot allow any misunderstandings between us.”

“Misunderstandings?” Alys threw her arms out to her sides. “How can you misunderstand me? I love you! I want to be with you, no matter what happens! I care not that you are rich or poor, that you’re titled or common. We can live in a castle or a tree or a cave, what little it matters to me! The only misunderstanding is why you
would readily throw that kind of love and loyalty aside as though it’s rubbish!”

“I want,” Piers said slowly, looking at her, “what is best for you.”

Alys quieted and stepped to him once more.
“You
are what is best for me.” She clasped his face in her hands, forced him to continue to look at her. “You’ve taught me to take nothing and no one for granted. You’ve shown me what it feels like to want a man, to want him for a husband, to love him as if he is the only man on earth. The way you
should
feel before you enter into a marriage.”

“I won’t let you throw away your life.”

So there it was. There was his true reason.

Alys felt her brows lower, and she welcomed the anger. Perhaps it would smother the heartbreak she felt at his professed self-loathing.

“I am not a child,”
she said shaking him once for emphasis. “And it is
not
your decision to make.” Then she brought her lips to his and kissed him with all the passion she felt, her anger, her fear, her love. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe, and kissed him and kissed him, trying to erase his doubts. He did not deny her, although he did not encourage her.

At last she leaned back, her hands coming to rest on either side of his neck. Her heart pounded in her breast, and she could feel the reverberations of its thumping against Piers’s solid chest.

He stared down at her, his eyes black and starving for what was before him. If only he would reach out and take it, take her …

“We should try to get some rest. We’ll leave as soon as it is light.”

Alys felt tears press against her eyelids and she shook her head faintly as she stepped back from him.

“You don’t love me at all, do you?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I simply can make you no promises.”

Alys rolled her lips inward and bit down on them to still their trembling. “Very well, Piers. Have your time in London to do what you feel you must do. No promises. I think we understand each other quite clearly now.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you, Alys,” he said in a low voice.

She walked around him and paused at the side of the cot to slip out of her shoes. She crawled beneath the covers, not bothering to take off her cloak. She turned on her side to face the skin wall, her body feeling stiff and sore, as if she had sustained a great fall. After a moment, she heard Piers sigh softly and then the light from the candle went out, draping the shelter in darkness. The cot dipped as Piers joined her.

Alys didn’t know how they managed to not touch on such a narrow bedstead.

Tiny knew that if she was caught down from the tree in the middle of the night, her Papa would switch her legs raw. But she thought there might be some pudding left from the feast, and she knew there would be mead, and any matter, Layla was restless. Lady Alys would take the monkey with her on the morrow when she and Piers left the town, and Tiny wanted to savor every moment she could steal with the marvelous little animal, and breathe the air that was scented with the presence of a real lady, for as long as possible.