Shana Abe (6 page)

Avalon had to look away. Elfrieda had been nothing but brave and kind in bringing her here, and did not deserve the spark of envy that bloomed in Avalon’s heart at the sight of the lovers.

There was a wisp of a woman in a chair by the meager fire. She was old and fragile, draped in shawls with a ratted fur across her legs, peering up at Avalon now with expectant curiosity, her hands fluttering on her lap. Mistress Herndon, no doubt.

Avalon waited for the chimera to come alive again, to tell her what to do next, but it remained perversely silent, apparently having led her here only to go back to its slumber. She let out a sigh of frustration, then moved closer to the woman, pushing back the hood of the cloak without thought.

Mistress Herndon’s eyes widened, milky white and brown, and then she gave Avalon a quivering smile.

“Why, ’tis Lady Gwynth,” she said, surprised. “I had almost forgotten about you, and yet here you are. Lady Gwynth.”

Avalon knelt at the foot of the chair, close to the old woman, and spoke gently.

“I am Lady Avalon, mistress. Gwynth was my mother’s name.”

“Avalon?” The gaze turned confused, the smile faded. “Avalon? But little Avalon is dead.”

“No.” Avalon placed one of her hands carefully on the woman’s, feeling the slight trembles that would never stop.

“Aye,” insisted the woman. “She died in the raid. And Gwynth is dead too, my sweet lady, both of them dead, and who are you, then, looking just like them?”

“Gram, this is Lady Avalon.” The man released Elfrieda and came to stand by them both. He was young and not very handsome, but had earnest brown eyes and a temperate look. “Remember I told you, Gram, about Lady Avalon, that she would come to see you tonight.”

“Did you, now?” Mistress Herndon leaned back in her chair, squinting at Avalon.

Elfrieda moved behind her lover. “Lady Avalon seeks to know something of your friend, missus. Remember Lady Luedella? Remember how she came to live with you? Lady Avalon would like to hear of it.”

“Oh, Luedella.” Mistress Herndon clicked her tongue in dismissal. “She’s dead, as well.”

“Aye, Gram,” said the young man, helpless. He looked at Avalon and shrugged.

Avalon turned back to the woman. “Can you tell me what you remember of Luedella?” She felt her own aggravation at not knowing what she sought, struggling to put a half-formed idea into words. “Tell me why she left the castle, for instance?”

Mistress Herndon looked away, then down at her lap. “Oh, aye,” she said, soft. “I remember how she left, my Luedella. And my lord, dear Geoffrey …”

The fire spat and sizzled; a surly coil of smoke wafted out into the room. The old woman spoke again.

“She lost everything, so many did. But they did not kill her. I don’t know why. I don’t think she knew, either. Yet she lived. He hated her, I think. He used to mock her to her face. He used to hit her. I saw it.”

“Who?” asked Avalon.

“The lord. The baron. I don’t know why. Mayhap she just reminded him of what he had done.”

Avalon was astonished. “Do you mean Geoffrey used to hit her? My father?”

Mistress Herndon gave her a startled look, then scowled. “Of course not. The baron would never do such a thing.”

“Then it was Bryce.” As Avalon said it she found herself nodding, matching the agreement in the woman’s expression.

“Aye, Bryce.”

Elfrieda made a tiny sound, almost a whimper, and quickly walked over to the door. The man followed her, took her back into his arms.

“And—” Avalon stopped, then made herself say the words. “What was it he had done? What did Luedella remind him of?”

Mistress Herndon sucked in her cheeks, then lifted up her head and stared down at Avalon.

“Why, he bought the Picts, girl.”

The floor was hard and cold beneath her. Avalon found herself braced with her hands behind her, fighting for the balance that had vanished in an instant. Then Elfrieda was there with an arm around her shoulders, slight but strong.

The room fell silent again, only the dim clamor of the barroom below them leaking up through the wood.

Avalon found her voice.

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.” Mistress Herndon shifted in the chair. “And Luedella knew it, too. I suppose it came down to the fact that he could not kill her so openly after the raid. Others might have realized what he’d done. She was the granddaughter of a baron. She was highborn, my lady was. So Bryce vanquished her. I was her maid,” the woman said proudly. “And so she came here, with me.”

There was no proof. Avalon understood this without bothering to ask; she had gleaned it already from the nervousness of Elfrieda, the grim face of her young man, both of them now helping her to her feet.

Bryce had bought the Picts. Bryce, who had everything to gain from the death of Geoffrey and his daughter, and who had not invited that daughter back to her home once it was discovered she still lived. After all, Avalon had inherited a great deal of Geoffrey’s wealth; Bryce had the title and the castle, but Avalon got all three of the manored estates, direct endowments from her mother’s side, plus a good portion of the wealth of Trayleigh.

Bryce had had to give it all back to her when she resurfaced from the dead, a fourteen-year-old heiress. And he had never complained about it at all.

Mistress Herndon was lost in her memories again and didn’t look up as Avalon bent over and brushed her lips against one of the withered cheeks.

“Thank you for taking care of Luedella,” she said, and saw the shining path of a tear that slipped down the old woman’s face.

“She was a fine lady,” Avalon heard her whisper.

Elfrieda opened the door, taking a cautious look out, then let Avalon precede her.

Avalon turned her back as the lovers said good night, pretended to study the blackened walls of the hallway as the two exchanged kisses and murmurs. At last they finished, the man going back into the room, Elfrieda beside her again, reaching up and pulling the hood close over Avalon’s face.

Avalon couldn’t help it; she stared down at the girl, her swollen lips.

Elfrieda caught the stare, looked away, and then back at Avalon.

“We’re to be married this harvest,” she said, defensive.

“I wish you all the best,” replied Avalon gravely.

The noise was much louder than before as they approached the top of the stairs. Elfrieda took the lead again with determination.

The uproar grew and grew as they crept down the spiral, much too loud to Avalon’s ears, almost deafening. It left her dizzy, it slammed into her head and wouldn’t leave, making her put one hand on the wall to find what was up and what was down again. And still the noise flourished, rebounding inside of her, an insanity of sound that made her falter and start again, until she was lost and blind.

She wanted to call out to Elfrieda but couldn’t focus enough to do so. How could she go on? How could she even make it down into that room itself, the source of her confusion? She must conquer this; it was a reflex of the chimera, alive and now gone mad with its own power, keeping her feet numb and her eyes from seeing
where she stepped on the slippery stairs until she crashed into something.

Into some
one.

The world came into focus again.

There was a man in front of her, between her and Elfrieda. Even though he was two steps below her his head was still above hers, darkened in the obscure light of the passageway. Elfrieda was attempting to turn back to her, under his arm, her face the picture of fear. The man noted the disturbance behind him almost casually, and then he faced Avalon again.

She belatedly dropped her chin almost to her chest, hunched her shoulders.

“I beg your pardon, milord,” she said, changing her inflection to match how she thought Elfrieda would say it.

The man didn’t move aside, but remained solidly in the middle of the stairs, blocking her path. Avalon waited, staring at the tremendous sword strapped to his waist, then took a small step to the right, as if to allow him to go on. Still, he didn’t move.

Behind him Elfrieda was paralyzed, peering up at the two of them in agony.

Avalon shifted again, this time to the left. The man stopped her with his arm, then placed one finger under her chin to tilt her head up. The contact of his skin against hers seemed to sear her, almost causing her to jump.

She took in his face and had only the impression of strength, power, before looking away hastily.

“Who are you, child?”

His voice was deep and sure, the purity of his accent clearly marking him as one of Bryce’s visiting nobility.
She bit her lip with the urge to yank her head away from his light touch. She felt so odd, like nothing she had ever experienced before. He seemed to set off a kind of nervous hum throughout her entire body, a sensation of heightened awareness.…

This was insanity, she had no idea why she was reacting so strangely to this man, but they could not be discovered here. If Bryce found out he would kill them all, he would have to, and desperation made her words that much more convincing.

“I am no one, milord.”

“No one?” He flicked back her hood with dismaying ease. Avalon heard Elfrieda give a little cry.

The stranger ignored it, silent and musing. Avalon felt for the veil, praying it still covered her hair, and found it in place. She remembered to lower her face again.

Imprinted in her mind was all that she could see of him with the light behind him: black hair tied back, unsmiling lips, pale eyes that reminded her of frost.

“No one,” he repeated softly, almost to himself, and she heard something new in his cultured voice, something wild and alarming. “I think not.”

She tried to brush past him but he stalled her once more.

“What is your name?”

Astonishingly, amazingly, nothing came to mind. She blinked down at his chest, unable to say a single word.

“Rosalind!” squeaked Elfrieda. “We must leave! We will be late!”

The stranger again spared a glance for the girl behind him, then looked back at Avalon. She had abandoned the idea of looking down and met his gaze steadily. His
winter eyes were narrowed; there was a tautness around his mouth, as if what he saw didn’t please him.

“Rosalind.” He seemed almost to taste the word, saying it with cool speculation.

She dipped a little curtsy on the stairs, wondering how to escape this man and this moment, the strangeness surrounding him, that heated sting still lingering on her chin where he had touched her.

“Please, milord,” pleaded Elfrieda now. “Let my sister be. We must return to our father’s house or be punished.”

The man shook his head, just once. The light behind him reflected off the ebony of his hair.

“Rosalind.” Even in the way he repeated it he implied disbelief, as if he could easily see through their thin plot. It unnerved her so much that at last she found the will to move, ducking quickly under his arm and hopping over two stairs to regain her footing. Elfrieda started moving again just as fast, both of them almost running down the remainder of the stairs.

He didn’t follow. Something told Avalon he wouldn’t. And as the two women made their way out of the inn and back into the night, Avalon thought about that delicate moment in time, when she had acted and he had not, though it would have been simple to block her escape and keep her there with him perhaps forever, there with his thick black hair and frost pale eyes, his muscular body almost engulfing her own.

But he had let her leave. Avalon tried to be glad about it.

T
he night had held no peace for her. When morning arrived Avalon shrank from it, burying her head under the blankets of the pallet, wanting to sleep on and on, slumber a shield between her and the looming problems of her life.

The sun was insistent, however, and eventually she sat up and faced the brightness surrounding her.

Directly across the room in front of her was the long row of her trunks, each filled with fine clothing—Maribel’s delight—and Avalon couldn’t help but feel a little sorry that she was going to have to abandon the handiwork of all those seamstresses.

Perhaps she could pay one of the servants to send the trunks back to Maribel in Gatting after everything died down. Perhaps Elfrieda or her lover would do it.

The door opened quietly, and Avalon watched the little maid appear and creep softly into the room, carrying a tray with bowls and a cup on it.

She tried to smile when she saw Avalon sitting up.

“A fine day,” Elfrieda said, and then burst into tears.

Avalon crossed over to her, still standing in the middle of the room with the tray, tears rolling down her face. Taking the tray from her, Avalon led her over to the pallet, then went back and closed the door completely.

The tray held her breakfast, porridge and honey and bread. She sat down beside Elfrieda and settled it carefully on her lap, then tore off a chunk of bread, offering it to the girl. Elfrieda took it, still crying.

Avalon poured a dollop of honey on the porridge, touched the bread to it and took a bite. Very good. She realized she was famished and began to eat in earnest.