The Woman Inside (3 page)

“He seemed to like it.” Calisto broke into peals of laughter at Ceylon’s
expression of shock.

“Be still! It isn’t funny.”

Calisto collapsed against the wall and leered. “I couldn’t quite see ... was
that a diamond winking in his ear?”

Ceylon crossed her arms and looked out the window, determined to ignore her.
She knew exactly what Calisto was up to.

Sly now, Calisto added, “And such broad shoulders! He carried you up
here—wearing full armor, mind you—and wasn’t even winded.”

“I’m not that big.”

“Nor is he quite as tall as some knights, but that should be more comfortable
for you when he kisses you.”

“What!” Ceylon’s body steamed at the very idea. The man had been the
embodiment of her every midnight fantasy. Only masking her reaction with temper
had saved her from drooling on the poor soul. “Don’t be foolish, Calisto. He’s a
knight; probably has an exalted opinion of himself and a bad case of the pox. If
he comes to me at all it will likely be for a cure.”

Calisto choked.

“Don’t laugh. You’d be surprised how many handsome men stick their wicket
everywhere and then come to me for a cure when it starts itching.”

Calisto’s eyes bugged. “Like who?”

Ceylon crossed her arms and looked smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Just do
me a favor and consult me before you choose a husband, would you? It might save
you a great deal of grief.”

Poxed or not, Ceylon’s knight was in the great hall that evening as Ceylon
made her way to the table. He stood by the fire, outlined by its flames. There
was nothing warlike about the blue tunic and pants he wore, but with a man like
that it didn’t matter. His very stance told you who he was.

Lady Tennyson’s daughter Annette stood at his side, a trifle too close. Her
breathy laughter carried all the way across the hall.

Eville was there, too.

“Healer Ceylon.” Lady Tennyson greeted her warmly enough, though she looked a
little less than pleased by Ceylon’s improved appearance. Perhaps because her
daughter was still unattached and flirting madly with her handsome guest? “Your
dress is very lovely, my dear.”

“A birthday gift from Calisto the Seamstress.” Ceylon leaned slightly forward
and confided, “She feared I might wear my boots to the table if she didn’t
prevent it.”

“She might have been right.” Eville appeared at his mother’s side, a drink in
hand. Judging by his red eyes, it was not his first. Clad all in scarlet, his
favorite color, he looked Ceylon over boldly and with even less restraint than
usual. The expression leached all the beauty out of a face that had none to
spare. “I wonder how the queen will take our little Ceylon?”

Ceylon frowned at him, uncertain what the queen had to do with her.

“Oh, so you haven’t heard?” Eville’s crooked teeth flashed in a nasty smile.
“Baron Uric here has stopped here on his quest to find a noble bride. The queen
told him to fetch you to her while he’s at it.” The smile became a sneer as he
visually raked her up and down. “Seems the queen is in need of a witch to brew
her sisters beauty potions.” His gaze on the approaching Uric, he continued in
mock dismay, “What a pity that the queen’s command is law. I was looking forward
to retaining your exclusive, personal services, sweet Ceylon.”

The ladies gasped. Lady Annette’s hand flew to her mouth as she began to
titter.

Ceylon felt the blood drain out of her face. Shock at the queen’s command was
bad enough. She was not a beauty consultant, blast it! What was with these
spoiled women? Even now Lady Tennyson said nothing to chide her son for his
outrageous insult. Even worse, by the chilling of their expressions, the
strangers—she now noticed that there were two, Uric and another man she vaguely
remembered from that afternoon—didn’t know whether to believe his insinuation or
not.

She looked at the blond knight and a mental gong sounded. Uric! She went
rigid, all of her silly fantasies of him instantly burned to ashes. Uric the
Berserker? The man who was rumored to have traveled a thousand days in search of
a bride to please his beastly mother? The mother that was said to have shaved
one maiden bald when she refused to clean her chamber? That Uric?

She wanted to hide. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he would be
looking for a bride, a woman far above Ceylon’s station. Some blue-blooded lady
with more hair than brains. The most he would ever offer a woman like Ceylon was
the position of mistress, a station she would rather die than have.

Into the brittle moment of silence, Ceylon heard herself say with detached
calm, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Sir Eville. I’m quite certain that another healer
will have the herbs to cure your particular affliction. Have the sores burst
yet?”

Eville puffed up and turned red. Before he could say a word Sir Uric stepped
forward, effectively blocking Eville’s path of retaliation. “Healer Ceylon.” He
gave her a slight bow, his eyes never leaving hers. The appreciation that had
been there earlier had been replaced by cool readiness. Ceylon had the feeling
that half his attention was on his back, in case Eville should attack. “I’ve
been hearing a lot about you.”

Ceylon’s jaw locked. She could just imagine what Eville had been telling him.
By now he probably thought her the biggest slut ever birthed. “Have you?”

Instead of elaborating he continued as if by rote, “The queen is very eager
to make your acquaintance. She promises to make the journey worth your
while.”

“Winter is coming, my lord,” she said icily, her anger at Eville coming out
in her tone. “And I despise being cold. Even the gift of an entire castle would
not entice me outdoors in such weather.”

His eyes narrowed. “You would refuse the queen’s command?”

Ceylon looked away, sorely tempted, knowing she had no choice. It was several
tense moments before she could unlock her jaw enough to say, “No.”

The single, tight word broke some of the tension in hall. “Shall we?” Lady
Tennyson said with a weak smile. “It seems that dinner is ready.”

Since Lord Tennyson was away at the moment, Eville took his place at the head
of the table, leaving Ceylon seated between his two brothers.

Uric was stuck between Lady Tennyson and her coquettish daughter.

“Tell me about life at court, my lord.” Annette placed her hand lightly on
his arm and stared deep into his eyes. “I want to know all about it.”

Beautiful, Uric thought, already regretting his journey here. Another one of
them. He was growing tired of women who could think of nothing but wearing silks
and jewels and being presented to the queen. “Why don’t you tell me about
yourself first?” he asked with a hopeful smile. It was the right question, for
she immediately launched into a discussion of herself, freeing him to subtly
watch the healer.

Eville had filled his ears with a great many things about her, most of them
centering on her prowess in bed and general bitchiness when she didn’t get her
way. Although Uric had his doubts that the obnoxious stripling had ever touched
her, he couldn’t help but wonder. It wasn’t an uncommon arrangement, and both
times he’d seen her she had been in foul mood. What did he know about the girl,
anyway?

Pity, he thought as he watched her over the rim of his goblet. She was a
pretty thing, and there was a straightness to her spine he hadn’t seen in a long
time.

Suddenly Ceylon’s eyes widened. Clearly outraged, she shot a swift look
downward. Her hand disappeared beneath the table and her shoulder jerked. The
young man next to her—Boyd, Uric thought—smirked over her head to the brother on
her opposite side.

Uric’s eyes narrowed as Ceylon stabbed a piece of chicken and chewed
viciously. He had a good idea of the brother’s game and didn’t like it. No
matter what she had or hadn’t done with their brother, the girl clearly didn’t
enjoy being pawed.

Ceylon stiffened again, and this time her fork disappeared underneath the
table. The fat man on her other side, Amherst, gave a sudden squawk.

“Are you all right, Amherst?” his mother called.

He gave her a tight smile. “Perfectly. Just had a piece of chicken go down
wrong.” As soon as his mother looked away he gave Ceylon a killing glare.

All was quiet for a moment until Ceylon’s eyes skewed around to fix the
weasel-faced Boyd with a poisonous scowl.

“Quite the weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Boyd asked innocently.

Ceylon gave him a fierce smile and dumped her wine in his lap.

He howled and jumped up, his chair falling to the floor behind him.
“Witch!”

Uric didn’t wait for Boyd to draw back his fist. He was up and over the table
with Ceylon thrust behind him before it could fall. Roland was at his side bare
moments later. “Hold, Boyd! She’s under the queen’s protection.”

Boyd kicked aside his chair. “I don’t care if God himself has sainted her!
I’ll have her hide!” he charged.

He found himself with his arm twisted around his back and Uric’s knife at his
throat. “Then maybe you’ll care about this?” Uric asked as he calmly pressed the
razors edge into Boyd’s neck. A bright bead of red slowly trickled from the
slight cut.

Nobody moved.

Uric waited a moment more, then released him. What he really wanted to do was
finish what he’d started, but no man deserved to die just for being obnoxious.

Boyd stepped back, rubbing his throat. His expression was mutinous, but he
didn’t dare attack Uric again.

Uric gave Lady Tennyson a slight nod, ignoring her offspring. “Thank you for
your hospitality, my lady. Dinner was excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll
just escort my charge back to her house before she causes any more trouble.” He
turned and took the healer’s arm in a firm grasp, not surprised to find her
stiff and unresponsive. It didn’t slow him down as he half-dragged her from the
hall.

“I can walk,” she told him coldly the minute they were out of the banquet
hall.

“Then do so.” He released her, ignoring her as best he could while making
certain she kept up. In that she gave him no trouble. She seemed as eager to
leave that place as he was.

“What’s wrong?” A scrawny youth with wild black hair and a scruffy beard
jumped up from a bench in the entryway as they approached. He handed Ceylon a
cloak and eyed the tall warriors beside her with suspicion. “Do you need
assistance, Ceylon?”

“Not from you, pup,” Roland said, barely giving him a glance as he opened one
of the massive double doors.

Ceylon ignored him and gave the suspicious boy a tight smile. “Thank you for
waiting, Raven. Of course I’d like you to walk back with me.”

Roland blocked Raven from following her. “No, Crow, she wouldn’t.”

Ceylon stopped and gave Uric a frosty look. “Are you forbidding me to bring
my servants with me now?”

Uric considered the scruffy lad. If this ragged urchin was her servant than
she didn’t pay very well. “He’s yours then? Very well. Let him come,
Roland.”

Raven eyed the intimidating Roland like a young wolf as he moved to Ceylon’s
side. Instead of moving, Roland stood his ground, forcing the young man to walk
around him as he turned his head to keep Raven in his sights.

“And Calisto wants to know why I never married,” Ceylon muttered as she
extracted her gloves from the pocket of her cloak.

“Let me help you with that.” Raven hurried to take the cloak from her and
settled it around her shoulders.

Surprised, she blinked at him until she remembered that it was the sort of
thing a servant would do for his mistress. “Er, thank you.” She caught Uric
looking at her oddly and averted her eyes, hurrying out into the storm. Soonest
braved, soonest over.

Few people walked the dark streets in the chill. Occasionally a bundled
person would hurry by the wattle and daub houses, only to disappear behind a
door with a slam at the soonest opportunity. Frozen mud made for an uneven
walking surface, and the tiny frozen puddles that had collected in the prints
crunched under her shoes, wetting her feet. “I knew I should have worn my
boots,” she muttered.

“Wear them tomorrow,” Uric suggested. “You’ll be traveling by coach, but it
pays to dress warm.”

“Coach?” Raven said suspiciously.

Ceylon waved a silencing hand at him. “I need at least two days to settle my
affairs here. If I’m not going to be back until spring I need to find a
caretaker for my house and pack my things. Day after tomorrow is the best I can
do.”

“Fine.” Uric stopped at her door. “In the meantime, I’ll have some of my men
keep an eye on your house. I didn’t like the look on Boyd’s face tonight.”

About to protest, Ceylon shut her mouth. The man had a valid point. “Fine.
Raven, there’s a plum tart in the house if you’re hungry. Just take the whole
thing home. Widow Godfrey made me two of them.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Ceylon waited until Raven found the pie and came back outside. The candle
Raven had lit illuminated her unsmiling face as she nodded to the men.
“Goodnight.” She shut her door, leaving them out in the cold.

So much for hospitality.

Chapter 2

Uric walked away from the healer’s house shaking his head. “That has to be
one of the strangest woman I’ve ever met. She dresses like a lady, yet talks
about wearing boots. Her servant wears rags, yet she feeds him like a king.
Eville swears she’s his mistress--”

“Yet she defends her honor with dinnerware,” Roland finished. They’d reached
the stables, and he strode inside, ordering the boy who watched over their
horses to dispatch two of their men to him at once. He watched the boy leave,
then crossed his arms and leaned against a post. “Eville might be lying.”

“He’s the kind.” Uric propped on boot on a bench. “Maybe we should do some
sleuthing before we leave. I’d like to know what kind of woman I’m traveling
with.”

Roland’s grin was sly. “You want her to be a virtuous maiden.”