The Crimson Lady (9 page)

W
ill led them the remaining distance to the outlaws’ settlement in less than an hour’s time. The man who’d been wounded during the feigned attack on Braedan rode close behind him, with Fiona and Braedan following. The remaining men, only slightly injured, had been sent to retrieve Fiona’s trunks and herb pots from the inn, a boon for which she was immensely grateful. She only hoped they would hurry in their return—and that Will had chosen a spot for his latest settlement near a stream, as had always been his habit in the past—for she couldn’t wait to bathe and exchange the dusty, sticky bliaud she was wearing for one of the fresh gowns in her trunk.

She deliberately avoided looking at Braedan as they plodded along behind Will, not trusting herself to meet his gaze yet. She remembered how difficult it had been to keep her feelings hidden to him back in the glen, be
fore she’d excused herself to get their horses; she’d been completely unprepared for the sensations he had sent coursing through her when he’d jumped so heartily into acting out their pretended marriage. But worse still than the feigned physical closeness had been the gently murmured phrases and affectionate glances. He’d led her astray with those unexpected endearments, and she had yet to completely regain her sense of calm and control.

Of course, it didn’t seem that she’d have much to fret about in that area again anytime soon; Braedan appeared to be in a black mood now, with his shoulders tight and his face rigid. He’d looked so since they’d rode from the glen, and though she had no idea what had sent him into such a dark temper, she was nonetheless grateful, as it likely meant he’d be keeping those sweet words of his to himself for now.

Her thoughts were curtailed in the next moment as their group emerged from the thick, cool protection of the primeval forest into a less densely wooded area. A half score enormous oaks of the kind Will favored for his people’s shelter ringed the clearing; they served his purpose well, with hollowed trunks wider than two horses standing tail to nose. They were perfect for keeping everyone concealed by nature in a way that would have been impossible had they actually constructed a village of huts. Much of the other foliage had been trimmed back to make a pleasant encampment for his band of outlaws, though the whole effect was still one that allowed for successful hiding from the law.

As they rode fully into the area, Fiona saw that a few cook fires were scattered about, burnt to coals that were then piled beneath steaming pots, while a larger fire at
the center of the area glowed under a rudimentary spit, roasting a large, sizzling piece of venison that had been undoubtedly poached from the king’s own stock of deer in this forest.

Surprise tingled up her neck; it was a change from years past, to be sure, and a dangerous one at that. Everyone knew the penalty for poaching the king’s meat was at least the loss of a hand, and at worst, death. That someone had risked it now was a sign that all was not well with Will’s band of outlaws—at least not as well as it had been when she left them three years earlier.

Pulling her horse to a halt behind Will, she dismounted, taking measure of some of those who rose from the fires or emerged from the tree shelters to greet them. Someone came up to help the wounded man into one of the tree shelters, and a few others who recognized her called out greetings. But the rest hung back, uncharacteristically reticent from her recollections of the rollicking welcome that had always greeted their leader’s return. They were a motley assortment of men and women, many of whom were strangers to her, and these new faces especially turned toward her and Braedan, studying them with unabashed interest.

Will took one blond-haired woman’s arm and led her over to where Fiona stood with Braedan. “I have a few surprises of my own to tell you about, sister,” he murmured, “and this is one of them. Joan Prentice is my intended. She joined us shortly after you left, taking up your old role in our arrangement—though with your return, it will be a boon to be able to divide the duties and perhaps send out two groups at once, on different roadways.”

Fiona met Joan’s gaze, and Joan smiled, her expres
sion tentative as she looked from Fiona to Braedan and back again.

“Will has told me much about you,” Joan said, her voice soft as she glanced at Braedan before fixing her eyes on Fiona again. “He wondered why you’d be travelin’ with a king’s man—and I did, too. But since you’re here, he must be satisfied with your reasonin’ on it.”

“We’ve discussed it,” Fiona answered, still struggling to conceal her surprise at Will’s news.

“She is married to him if you can believe it,” Will admitted with a laugh, his words loud enough for everyone in the little settlement to hear him; the onlookers’ murmurs were punctuated with the sound of him thumping Braedan hard on the back. Fiona glanced over at Braedan, wondering how he would take this ribbing on top of the insult of having to pretend their union, but other than grimacing in response to Will’s blows, he didn’t react in any way.

“My sister, wed to a de Cantor,” Will continued under his breath, shaking his head and flashing that mocking half smile again. As he spoke, he ambled away from them toward one of the cook pots, bending to lift the ladle from it and blowing on the contents before taking a taste. Then, making a grunting sound of approval, he straightened and tossed the ladle back in, spreading his arms to call out, “Ah, well, Christ knows stranger things have happened, eh? I propose a feast to celebrate my sister’s return to the fold, with a husband at her side! Bring on the food!”

A cheer rose from the company, men and women alike joining in the happy din. At the call for victuals, a number of bedraggled-looking children tumbled out of the tree shelters and found places around one of the fires.
There were eleven of them, all seeming under the age of ten.
Six more babes since she’d left, then
. The entire outlaw group was a good deal increased, and from their pinched faces, and the grasping, thin hands reaching for the bread trenchers being passed round to share, they weren’t always getting enough food.

Another change from years past.

But her troubling thoughts wavered to more immediate concerns, as Braedan sat next to her on the mossy pad she’d chosen by the nearest fire. Without a word he handed her the dry trencher she realized they were to share; as a married couple, it was only right, and yet the strange familiarity of it caught her by surprise. Pursing her lips, she scooped some of the stewed vegetables into the curved, hard bread, berating herself for her lack of foresight concerning this and many other aspects of her life that were going to have to change for the time being. Peculiar as it all felt, she knew she had no one to blame but herself for coming up with the idea.

Silently, she handed the trencher back to him, by her action inviting him to sup first while she cut their portion from the roasted venison that was making its way around the fires. She was surprised to see that he disregarded her offer, choosing instead to wait until she’d sliced off a few small hunks of the sizzling meat. It was another bewildering courtesy, she thought, daring a glance at him as he sat—especially considering that he still looked as brooding as a storm cloud about to rain. She decided it would be best not to attempt a conversation, settling instead into a rhythm of eating with him, taking a bite of the vegetables and venison, and then blowing on her fingers to cool them.

A pouch of ale made the rounds of each fire as well; conversation swelled and ebbed around them, punctuated by laughter and the occasional cough. Will and Joan were sitting at another fire, and those with Fiona and Braedan seemed reluctant to talk, even sitting a bit removed from them. Fiona tried to make eye contact with one of the children sharing their fire—a young girl of no more than four or five, whose eyes sparkled in the firelight. The girl ducked her head shyly, leaning into the shoulder of a woman who must have been her mother, from the similar hue of her sandy blond hair.

Fiona smiled at the child. “What’s your name, lass?”

“Rosalind,” she lisped, before tucking her head again behind her mother’s arm. After a moment, she apparently worked up enough courage to peep out with half her face, adding in a whisper, “Is it true that you’re the Crimson Lady, mistress? The one who makes men fall in love with naught but a look at you out of your smock?”

Rosalind’s mother hissed a scolding, and Fiona felt Braedan stiffen beside her. Her own heart seemed to skip a beat, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d had to face such a question from a child—so long that she’d almost forgotten the emptiness that always filled her when it happened. The lump that formed in her throat now prevented her from answering at first, and her eyes stung, making the firelight suddenly waver behind the glaze of tears.

“Some have called me the Crimson Lady, it’s true, Rosalind,” she managed, forcing herself to blink them away. Swallowing against the thick feeling in her throat, she tried to muster a smile, wanting to set the girl and
her mother at ease. “Here in the forest with Will, and people like you and your mum, I’ve always been known just as Giselle.”

“But you don’t look crimson—you look light blue.”

That brought another smile, this one less forced than the last, even though the truth behind the subject was another painful memory for her. “Aye, I am wearing light blue today, Rosalind. As it happens, I rarely wear crimson anymore if I can help it.”

“Why not?”

Fiona could feel the weight of Braedan’s attention on her, waiting to hear her answer, along with that of the little girl’s mother and everyone else seated around their fire. She tried to focus on the little girl’s gaze and think of a way she might make sense of it for her, without getting into the darker aspects.

“Perhaps I could best answer that with a question of my own, Rosalind. How would you like having naught but black bread every day, in the morn, for dinner and then for supper, too, for a whole year—nothing but black bread?”

Rosalind wrinkled her face. “That was all we
did
have this past winter, lady, every day. Naught but foul black bread.”

“Hush, child. You should be grateful for having it at all,” her mother chided.

Fiona’s heart lurched; she hadn’t considered that her analogy might be so apt for the girl. Patting Rosalind’s hand, she continued, “It is not easy to like, is it?” When the girl shook her head, Fiona finished, “That is how it is for me with the color crimson. I wore it so much that I got tired of it and do not like to wear it at all now, unless I have to.”

“Crimson gowns or not, lady, are you going to be helpin’ us in the way the others told me about? The way you used to before you left?” Rosalind’s mother asked, her expression so hopeful it was heartbreaking.

Fiona paused again, looking around at the ragged lot of Will’s people, at a loss for how to respond, knowing as she did the truth of the matter. Much of what she might gain from her renewed activities here would likely be demanded by Braedan to fund his search for his foster sister. But before she could muster a sound, Braedan answered for her, his silky voice slicing her with more precision than if it had been her own blade on her flesh.

“Aye, my dear wife will be getting back into the fray soon, I daresay.” He swung his head to look at her then, his expression bland, but his eyes glittering hard and unyielding. “And though I have never seen her in action myself, I am told she is quite gifted in the chase for gold. I recall hearing of her exploits in years past. It seems the preferred method was to set an elaborate trap, for which she serves as the injured bait. Isn’t that right, darling? In order for your partners to make the steal, you pretend to be a damsel in distress at roadside…a pretense, enacted to perfection?”

“Aye, it was something like that,” she mumbled, pulling her gaze away as the barbs of his words sank deep.

“Clever,” Braedan said with a soft and achingly empty sound of feigned approval. “Very clever.”

It was about all she could bear of his veiled comments, she realized, and she lurched to standing, calming the startled looks of those around them by forcing a serene look, and murmuring, “I’m afraid I’m suddenly
feeling a bit tired. The trip here was long, and the dust of the road clings. I think I’ll go find whatever water is nearby to bathe before settling in to sleep.”

Some of the others reacted with surprise at her intention, likely because they knew that, however hot the weather had been lately, the water would be chilly nonetheless this time of year. Besides, in their minds bathing of any kind was, as always, dangerous to one’s health. But she pretended not to hear their murmurings, having long ago chosen the sensation of being clean over any fears she might have once harbored about catching a dread disease from immersing herself in water. Braedan said nothing, and she was just as glad, for she’d have argued openly with him if he’d tried to stop her, feigned marriage or no.

Will, of course, knew the quirks to her nature better than anyone; he simply smiled and pointed to the north end of the clearing, saying, “The stream we use for drinkin’ water is just over the rise there. It feeds into a pond that is deep enough for bathin’, if you wish.”

She nodded her thanks and turned to go, but he stopped her when he added, “But perhaps you’d better wait. Your trunk hasn’t arrived yet, for you to change your gown afterward.”

Curses
. She’d forgotten about that, and yet she knew that she had to get away from Braedan, and as quickly as possible. “I suppose I’ll just make do with changing garments later, then,” she said, as she took a few steps in the direction of the pond.

“Wait a minute, now. There may be something I can do,” Will interjected, forestalling her flight from the clearing yet again. “Joan has a chest of some fine new bliauds, gowns, and the like in our dwelling. A noble
woman’s garments taken during our last robbery. We’d planned to use them in future thefts, but you’re welcome to take one for yourself. Joan will show you where they are, won’t you, lovey?”

Joan looked startled at the suggestion, but she said nothing. With a nod of consent, she stood and gestured for Fiona to follow her to one of the hollowed-out trees.