The Woman Inside (26 page)

“It’s beautiful,” she said in awe.

“You would love to view the gardens of some of the monasteries I’ve seen,”
Tennyson told her. “The mazes and knot gardens are beyond belief, and some of
the monks have the skill to carve magnificent beasts and angels out of
hedges.”

Fascinated by his tales, she listened for long minutes. She didn’t know that
he was so interested in horticulture. Odd, she’d always wondered where she’d
gained her interest, since neither the squire nor her mother had cared to garden
much.

Perhaps they had more in common than she’d thought.

Finally she smiled at Uric, who was shifting impatiently. “Very well. Let’s
see the next one.”

“This is my favorite,” Raven said as he dashed up the gravel strewn ice steps
to climb aboard a pirate ship complete with canons and canvas sails. Above a
black flag flew merrily in the breeze.

“Someday I’ll own a ship like this,” he vowed.

“I thought you wanted to be a knight,” she said.

He gestured grandly. “What law says I can’t be and do it all?”

She smiled. Having seen him rise from a beggar lad to the squire of the most
powerful warrior in the land, she would have to say there were none. The lad was
living a fairy tale, and recklessly at that.

Her opinion was strengthened when she saw him in his ice boat. They had
dallied too long among the sculptures and too close to race time, so she missed
out on her ride. After she saw him on his run she couldn’t say she was
sorry.

Six skiffs unfurled their sails at the official’s shout. As if it had waited
for the moment, a stiff breeze filled the canvases with a crisp snap. In moments
the light crafts where racing across the swept ice, gaining momentum as they
moved on waxed skis.

“Go, Raven!” she shouted with the rest. She was so excited she hopped up and
down, tugging on Uric’s sleeve.

His hard arm wrapped around her and drew her to his side. He grinned and
shouted above the noise, “Easy, pet. You’ll stomp a hole in the ice.”

Ceylon laughed and started to joke back when her attention was caught by
Raven’s boat. It slowed, foundered, tilted in the breeze and dropped sideways.
The skiff behind him was going too fast to tack away and rammed into the side of
his boat. Raven went flying.

“Stay here!” Uric shouted above the crowd as he pushed her into Tennyson’s
hands. He took off running, a dangerous proposition on the slick ice. In moments
he was forced to slow to a sliding fast walk.

“I should be out there--I’m a healer,” Ceylon said as she struggled against
Tennyson’s hold. Nightmare visions of Raven’s broken body assailed her.

“No! Uric knows what he is doing. We’d be better off to send for the
carriage. We’ll need something to transport him in.”

He was right, and she knew why they were doing this. It was one thing to heal
with herbs, another to deal with the broken, bloody body of someone she cared
about.

Blood always made her feel faint. Almost anyone could set a broken arm better
than she when she felt like that.

Uric had probably set a lot of broken bones.

Pacing beside the carriage didn’t do much to calm her, and when they finally
carried a moaning Raven in on a stretcher she did grow faint. What she could see
of his hair was matted with blood. Scarlet soaked a cloth someone had pressed
over his brow to keep the blood from running into his eyes.

Ceylon did the worst thing she could have possibly done at that moment. She
blacked out.

* * * *

“You’re pregnant. It’s to be expected,” Anne soothed as she handed Ceylon a
cup of tea.

She had to balance it on her lap, for she was lying on a couch at Uric’s
insistence. He’d barked at her to sit there when he brought her in the house.
Now he was upstairs, helping to repair Raven.

So much had to be done, and she knew he didn’t have time to be gentle with
her. Still, it hurt to be growled at. She sniffed, unable to stifle her pesky
emotions.

Anne knelt beside her and patted her hand. “There, there. It will all
right.”

“I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ceylon quavered as she burst into
tears.

“How I remember those days,” Anne said soothingly as she drew her into a hug.
“Go ahead and cry. You can’t help it when you’ve got a babe in you. I told
Darjeng when I married him that I was glad I was too old to give him a babe.
Lucky for us we both have grown children from our last marriages.”

It was so humiliating. “B-but I fainted! Right when they needed me most.”

“You’re not the only healer in town, dear. There’s other who do better at
this sort of thing, anyway.”

Tennyson entered the room just in time to hear the last remark. “She’s right.
Raven will be fine. The healer says it’s just a deep cut to the head, a few
cracked ribs and bruises. It could have been much worse.”

“But how did it happen? What went wrong?”

He frowned. “Raven said that someone handed him a shot of whiskey just before
he boarded. It’s a common practice, for luck.” He frowned.

There was something he wasn’t saying. “What else?”

“He says that that he got foggy after the race began. He doesn’t remember how
he crashed.”

A cold feeling swept her. “Did anyone else have a drink?”

“Yes, but no one else had any problems.”

“Sabotage, do you think? Someone who desperately wanted to win?” The chill
got worse. She pulled her blanket higher.

“A young man’s boat race? At the risk of harming himself? Raven wasn’t the
only one injured.”

“How badly were the others hurt?”

“A broken arm. Scrapes and bruises.”

But Raven had been hurt the worst. Someone had drugged him in hopes of seeing
him get hurt. There was only one person knew who hated her that badly. Agonized,
she met Tennyson’s grim stare. “Eville strikes again.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.” She tossed off the blanket and stood up. Slowly she paced before
the sitting room parlor. “I don’t care if he’s your son. I want him dead.”

“He’s not my son.” But it was clear from his tense tone that Tennyson felt
strain over the whole affair. Eville might not be his by blood, but one didn’t
acknowledge a child for twenty-some years and then suddenly cut them off without
a thought.

She whirled to face him. “Would he come to you if he knew that you were here?
That you planned to disinherit him?”

“He won’t know until the deed is done. I won’t risk otherwise. And he must
know I’m here by now, that I’ve come to see you. He won’t show his face except
to harm you.”

“And in the meantime he’s free to move about and hurt any of our friends he
likes, since we can’t protect them all.”

That was it. She had put up with Eville’s petty vengeance too long. Perhaps
her mistake lay in trying to let others take care of her problems for her. Uric
was a formidable man, but his strength lay in direct confrontations, not this
sneaky sport of Eville’s.

What she needed was a woman. Preferably one as cunning as Eville was ugly.
Someone able to blend in anywhere, able to slither in the chinks where pacing
lions couldn’t go.

Ceylon smiled with hard satisfaction. She knew just the woman.

* * * *

Two days later she looked in on her nameless palace patient. The swelling was
shrinking on his face, the threat of blood poisoning had passed and his appetite
had increased.

“I hate this sorry fare,” he complained as he ate his dinner of sautéed
chicken, wild rice and vegetables.

“Be glad you’re alive to eat it, “ she told him absently as she checked his
feet. The color was good.

“A man needs to eat heartily once he’s regained his strength.”

“By all means return to eating that which put you in this bed to start with.”
She raised a brow, but he didn’t respond.

“Feel free to start walking around once your feet feel up to it. You need the
exercise.”

He glared at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid to tell me that.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she said with widened eyes. She’d taken to calling him
that in preference to “hey, you”. The nickname suited his cantankerous self.
Besides, she still wondered if he weren’t really some close relative of the
queen’s. He certainly behaved like a spoiled royal.

“He hasn’t had the strength to walk in a long time,” Lady Winifred said
quietly. She’d been much more cooperative as “his Majesty’s” tumors had visibly
began to shrink.

“Would you like to discuss how I piss in a pan, too?” he asked nastily.

Pity was detestable to the man, so Ceylon hid hers. “No. Besides, you’ll soon
be able to p--er, relieve yourself by yourself. All you have to do is practice
walking.”

“I bloody well know how to walk!"

“All that and charm, too,” she murmured. She took a few notes and then stared
at him absently. No matter how much he complained, the man followed her
instructions to the letter. It told her a lot. “Are you still in pain?”

His tone became less combative. “Less. Less everyday.”

She smiled. “Good. Let me know when it leaves you. I might be able to let up
on those medicinal teas you hate so much.”

He expressed his opinion of those in seaworthy terms.

“You’ve missed your calling. Should have been a sailor instead of a king,”
she mocked back, unable to hide her smile. Somehow she couldn’t help liking the
crusty old gent.

He eyed her. “I’ve heard you’ve some trouble of late.”

Surprised, she looked up.

A short, annoyed wave of his hand expressed his displeasure. “Yes, I hear
things, even here. What else have I got to do but muck about in intrigue? Tell
me your troubles.”

She did.

A grunt came from the bed. “Nasty business, that one. What do you intend to
do about it?”

“Uric is doing his best.” She left out her own plans.

He shook his head. “A broad sword is more that one’s style. What you need is
a sneak. Someone crafty to spy out information.”

“Uric has spies.”

“Not good enough! You need a master, and I have just the fellow.” He gave
orders to a servant. Five minutes later the servant returned with a man.

Her patient smiled with satisfaction. “Meet Dun, master spy for the
crown.”

Ceylon eyed the man askance. He was short, balding, wore spectacles. He
looked like a clerk.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” His Majesty advised. “Dun could learn all
your secrets and slice out your liver before dinner if he felt like it.” He
looked at Dun. “Go find out where this worm Eville is hiding. Lady Ceylon and I
both want to know.” He grimaced. “Eville. What was his mother thinking?”

Dun bowed and left.

Uncertain how much faith to put in this “master spy”--for all she knew he was
an old drinking buddy of His Majesty--she said carefully, “We’ve been seeking
Eville for some time now. I’m not certain how quickly your Dun can find
information about him.”

“Count a week off,” he said confidently. “Dun never fails.”

Be that as it may, Ceylon was reluctant to take the word of sick old man on
this matter. Still determined to take care of things her own way, she kept her
meeting with Lady Riverdell, who was in town on business.

Allyson looked tense, and perhaps a bit thinner, but her greeting was
cheerful.

“That’s a bad bit of luck with your Raven,” she said as she poured water for
the special tea blend Ceylon always kept in her pocket. “Only a gutless coward
would strike at you that way.”

“I know. What I don’t know is how to root him out. We’ve tried
everything.”

Bright eyes studied her over the rim of a wineglass. “Everything?”

Ceylon shrugged. “So far as I know. I’m concerned for our child.” She placed
a hand on her stomach.

Allyson’s eyes widened and she sat forward. “You didn’t tell me that! We’ve
got to stop this fool before he does real harm.”

“The men are trying.”

A snort expressed Allyson’s opinion of their efforts. “Yes, well, they are
men. They can’t help but falter, and often. A smart woman learns how to do these
things for herself. I’ll wager cold gold that I can find Eville a great deal
faster than they possibly could.”

Hope soared in Ceylon’s heart. “Do you think?”

“I know it.” She slapped her thigh decisively. “Give me a week.”

Chapter 10

“I want to talk about the way your mother died.”

Jerked out of her pleasant contemplation of her summer garden, Ceylon looked
up at Tennyson. He’d laid his book on the sitting room table and was looking at
her expectantly. Nobody else was about.

The announcement caught her by surprise. She’d thought they’d long ago agreed
to dance around the subject. It seemed the best way to keep the peace.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her voice came out in a croak. A hasty sip
of goat milk didn’t help to clear it much. “My, but this new nanny is working
out very well. I’ve never tasted such fine milk. Care for a sip?” She offered it
to him, desperate to change the subject.

He shook his head. “Thank you, I prefer my wine--and my subject.”

Unable to dissuade him, she sighed. “Why this sudden need to raise the
dead?”

“Because it’s not dead, not to me. I need you to know why I didn’t come.”

She averted her eyes. “You were with your wife. We got your message.”

“No, you heard from my wife’s messenger. I was not there to receive it.” He
wouldn’t look away. “I tried to tell you as much afterward, but you walked
away.”

Guilty as charged. She hadn’t wanted to look at him, had blamed him for her
mother’s death, for every rotten thing in her life. At the time he’d embodied
everything she hated in a person.

“It was my son she died bearing,” he said. Aching regret laced his voice. “We
wanted him so much.”

She grit her teeth. “Had he lived he would have been labeled a bastard like
me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”