Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (23 page)

Fain waited in the village square, keeping his mind carefully blank. He listened to the slowly resuming bird calls, and the jingling of the horses’ tack, and the growing despair in the men’s voices as they called for the townsfolk and went unanswered. Man after man came to stand before him, reporting in broken voices of empty houses. All through the town, it seemed, tables were set, breakfast was laid, and not a soul was found.

Aside from the lack of people, there was nothing else to report. He ground his teeth in frustration. What purpose was there in spiriting away an entire town, but leaving behind no message? No threat? No warning? They had to be missing something.

“Fain.” It was Connelly’s voice, more somber than any had ever heard him. “Over here, man.”

Fain slogged through the thick snow, headed for Connelly. When he reached the last house, he could see what the little medic had noticed.

On the edge of town was a cattle pen, where the town’s herd was kept. The cows had been loosed; stolen or set free, there was no way to tell. In the center of the pen was a hastily erected gallows, built from the fence posts. An empty noose swung free in the air, and a sign was nailed to the cross-beam.

Built for the Beast

A dam inside him broke, and he threw back his head and howled, pouring his anguish out in that piercing, mournful cry. Then he fell to his knees, brought down by the damning gallows.

This was all his fault.

The men were angry. Fain sent three of the more skilled horsemen to the keep, riding bareback on the newly acquired mounts. The rest made their way as swiftly as they could without putting Tom through too agonizing a ride. The band was mostly silent and fuming as they quick-marched through the mountains, and Vivienne was scared. She would have sworn these men would never hurt her, but, angry as they were, they seemed like different people. When she couldn’t keep pace with them they rapidly outdistanced her, and Connelly fell behind, making sure she didn’t get lost on her own.

“Connelly, what has happened?”

“The foolishness o’ men, lass. O’ pride an’ greed an’ revenge.” Even Connelly seemed angry, although it was mixed with a deep sadness.

“Don’t give me a riddle! I want to know what happened at Dorshire.”

He looked at her. “The people have been taken.”

“All of them? Where? By whom?” Vivi was horrified.

He shook his head. “Nay, lassie, ye must take this up with MacTíre. ’tis not my place ta tell his stories, no more than I would tell yer own ta him.”

Vivienne practically hissed infrustration. “Do you never tire of being mysterious?”

“Call it a hazard o’ the trade, lass.” Even his rejoinder was tired. “But I can tell ye this much; if I could knock yer heads together an’ banish this foolish mistrust, I would.” At that he fell silent, and she could wheedle no more out of him.

Instead she thought of Dorshire. A whole town full of people—men, women, and children—taken from their homes. Who would do such a thing? And what did Fain have to do with it? For surely as she knew anything, Vivi knew that there was some connection there.

What had Connelly said? That pride, greed, and revenge were the motivators. Was this a counter-strike of some kind? Had these folk been taken as punishment? And, if so, punishment for what?

She cast a sidelong glance at the string of horses.

A growing horror settled on Vivienne. She had kept silent about who she was out of prudence, and a stubborn refusal to offer trust to one who refused to trust her. But she had never actually thought that Fain might be some sort of villain. What if she was wrong? What if he had done something so terrible that this was a reprisal for his actions? What could he have done to warrant the taking of an entire village?

She watched his broad back as he strode ahead of her. Her heart ached inside her chest. What if this man was not what she thought he was?

By the time they reached the keep, the word had already spread. The bailey was filled with men speaking in rough, angry voices. Vivienne tried to listen, but it was hard to pick out individual words from the general commotion.

“—black-hearted bastard—”

“—get them back.”

“We’d never catch them—”

“—flush out Fain.”

She twisted her head, trying to find the man who’d mentioned Fain, but it was impossible. Fain himself strode to the center of the crowd and raised his hands for quiet.

“ Tonight we hold vigil for the people of Dorshire. All of us had friends there, and many of you had family. I hope, wherever they have been taken, they are together, and safe.” The men around Vivi murmured fervent prayers as Fain continued. “There will be time for every man who wishes to offer up his prayers to the gods. As for me, each of you know what my prayer will be.”

Vivi felt ice go down her spine as the entire courtyard joined Fain in what must have been an oft-recited sentiment.

“May my foe someday be within my reach. And may my knife find his black heart.”

The men sat huddled in small groups, sharing stories and remembrances. Vivienne drifted from group to group, letting them tell her of their friends from the town of Dorshire. Occasionally a group would fall silent as she approached, and then she’d smile and move on. Those groups spoke in hushed, angry whispers, and Vivi knew they were speaking of retaliation.

Fain sat alone before the hearth, a jug of the disgusting rotgut balanced against his knee. When her wanderings brought her close to his seat, she came to stand beside him, staring into the fire.

“Still no questions, Belle?”

“I promised.” But her voice was tight with tension. It was hard not to demand answers.

“And you’ve shown admirable restraint.” He paused to swig from the jug. Vivi wondered how much he’d already drunk. He seemed possessed of some odd, melancholy whimsy. “I find myself on fire with curiosity, though. If I offered to answer
one
question for you, what would you ask?” He leaned forward in his chair, focusing on her intently.

Vivienne’s mind raced. So many questions she could ask. Who are you? What are you doing here? Who is your enemy? What do you think has happened to the people of Dorshire? She realized, though, that there was only one answer she truly wanted. She turned from the fire and met his eyes. Something burned in their depths, as though what question she would ask were a matter of vital importance.

She opened her mouth, but her eyes started stinging at a sudden upwelling of tears, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. She was afraid of what he would say, but the answer to her question was more important than her fear.

“Have you ever—
would
you ever—spirit away an entire town?” Her voice shook as the words came rushing out. “Have you ripped families from their homes? Have you burned them out, or killed them, or thrown them in a dark hole to be left to rot?” She couldn’t stop, now that she had started. She reached forward her one good hand and clasped his knee, digging in her fingers. “Have you
ever
done anything like this?”

“No.” He set the jug on the ground and used both hands to hold her face. “No, Belle, I never have. I never would.” She could feel the force of his sincerity behind the simple words. “Not my people, nor anyone else’s.”

Relief washed over her. She had nothing but his word, but still…

“I believe you.”

She saw her own relief echoed in his eyes. He stroked a thumb over her cheek, just a light caress, before abruptly sitting back in his chair and picking up the jug again. Vivi’s face felt cold where his hands had been, but she loosened her fingers’ grip on his knee and sat back as well. Both of them focused on the fire.

“So trusting.” He sounded half teasing, half regretful. Her eyelashes were still damp from unshed tears, but she answered lightly enough.

“We can’t all be suspicious mountain Yeti, MacTíre.”

“Ready to tell me your name, then?”

She laughed. “One step at a time, Master Yeti. One step at a time.”

The winter settled on them in earnest. The early storms had clearly been an indication of what was to come, for as the weeks passed they rarely saw more than one day of sunlight before more snow would fall. Drifts piled deep in the valley around the keep, and the men spent long hours in front of the fires in the great hall. The mood in the keep slowly lightened again. No one forgot Dorshire, but their anger would keep until spring. For now they played endless rounds of cards and dice, wagering chores or silly forfeits.

Vivi spent some of her time in the kitche ns and the laundry, scrubbing pots and stirring the giant wash basin, but most of her hours were whiled away in the great hall, along with everyone else. Fain often sat in an empty corner, separating himself from the crowd of men around the roaring hearth, and though others were hesitant to approach him, Vivienne never paused.

“Anyone would think you were a hermit taking shelter from the winter’s cold, rather than the leader of this rag-tag bunch.”

He shrugged, not bothering to rise from where he sprawled on the long wooden bench. “I enjoy peaceful reflection, on occasion.”

“I think you just like brooding.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He smiled. “Have you come to share my solitude and lighten my day?”