The Woman Inside (4 page)

Uric spread his fingers, palm up. “What’s the alternative? That she gives it
away for the occasional coin? I’ll spend the entire journey fighting to keep her
from impregnating herself before she’s presented to the queen.”

“Hm.” Roland stuck his hand in his pocket and withdrew a coin, walking it
through his fingers. “My gold says she’s never gone near Eville’s bed. How about
yours?”

“Only oafs bet on a lady’s virtue.”

“Speaking of which, if we’re leaving in two days I guess that means that
we’ll not be having a wedding first?”

Uric frowned at him.

“The fair Annette? The woman you came to see? Were you planning to offer for
her before we leave, or was this another wasted trip?”

Uric looked aside as two of their soldiers entered the stables. “We had to
come for the witch, anyway.” He sent his men to go guard the healer’s house.

Roland’s eyes narrowed on the back of Uric’s head. He was getting bloody
tired of tramping around the countryside just so Uric could reject bride after
bride. Uric swore it didn’t matter, but Roland thought Uric was holding out for
love.

Who could blame him? He certainly wouldn’t care for a woman who worshipped
his looks, title and money and cared nothing for his heart. Still, at this rate
both of them would be bent and gray before Uric’s choosy heart decided on a
match.

Very well, Roland decided. It was time he took a more active hand in this
romance business. He’d be home by spring, toasting his feet by his fire and
drinking ale even if he had to sink to playing matchmaker to do it.

Cupid was about to shoot straight for Uric’s heart, even if he had to stab
him in the back to do it.

* * * *

“Healer Ceylon? Are you daft?” The sooty blacksmith wrinkled his brow and
spat on the ground. The heat from the forge warmed all but the drafty floor of
his work shed. Little bits of daylight shown around the door. “That girl
wouldn’t cozy up to Eville if he offered her the castle itself. Never could
stand him, what with their history.”

Roland polished an apple on his doublet and Uric tried not to look too
interested. “What history?”

The blacksmith looked both ways, then crooked his finger.

They obligingly leaned forward.

“It’s rumored he’s her half-brother, and a cruel one at that. Used to delight
in tormenting her. Even held her down once and smeared dung in her face.”

Roland and Uric exchanged glances.

Anticipating their next question, the blacksmith went on, “No one knows if
the squire or Lord Tennyson fathered her, but the entire village knew that
Ceylon’s mother was bedding his lordship. Wasn’t even subtle about it. Used to
flaunt the gifts he gave her, right under the squire’s nose. There were those
who called the squire a coward for doing nothing about it, but never to his
face. No one dared, ‘cause he was a mean fighter. But he loved little Ceylon,
kept her happy with books after her mother died.”

“Does Eville know who Ceylon might be?” Uric was sickened by the thought.

The blacksmith abruptly turned away and picked up his hammer. “If he knows,
he don’t care.” The grim set to his face announced his feelings on that.

Much enlightened, and very disturbed, the men left his shed.

“It seems you’ll be doing the woman a favor by taking her out of here.”
Roland squinted at the gloomy sky. “Can’t imagine why she hasn’t left
already.”

“Her friends are here. It’s not that easy for a woman alone to give up
everything she knows to go to a strange place.”

Roland smiled. “Ah, but she’s not alone anymore, is she?”

Uric sent him a sharp glance. “Don’t be matchmaking, Roland. I don’t need
your help.”

“Who said I was planning to help you?” Roland raised his brows and swaggered
away.

As the meaning behind his words sank in, Uric hurried to catch up. “Wait a
minute! Since when do you want her?”

Roland batted playfully at an awning. “What do you care? I won’t get her
pregnant.”

Uric’s brows snapped together. Something ugly stirred in his chest. “That’s
not the point.”

“What is?”

“A woman like that will demand marriage.”

“So? With a little taming I think she’ll make a fine wife. Cuddly, too,”
Roland added as an afterthought.

“I didn’t see her fawning over you last night,” Uric snapped.

“I wasn’t at my best. I’ll have to put forth greater effort.” Roland surveyed
the merchant’s shops. “I wonder what sort of gift she might fancy?” He started
to veer toward a jeweler’s sign.

Uric grabbed his arm and corrected his course. “Don’t be an ass! If you start
bringing her gifts already she’ll think you’re trying to buy her favors.” On
second thought maybe he shouldn’t have warned him. A quick rejection would get
the idea out of Roland’s head.

Roland eyed him. “You’re probably right,” he said slowly. “I suppose we
should see about supplying our journey.”

All the tension drained out of Uric. Maybe Roland was coming to his senses
after all. He clapped him on the back. Hard. “That’s the first intelligent thing
you’ve said in an hour.”

Roland just smiled.

* * * *

Now that she was actually moving, Ceylon had overcome the initial resistance
and was efficiently settling her affairs. The rector’s daughter, a spinster of
long standing, had agreed to watch over the house. Actually, she was
delighted.

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to spend some time away from my mother and
father,” she confided to Ceylon as she helped her pack her books. “And don’t
worry about your patrons; you know I’ve always had a penchant for physics. With
that copy of your book and what I know about herbs I think we’ll get on just
fine.”

Ceylon sent her a grateful smile as she sorted out a few packets of essential
herbs and medicines for her travel kit. “Thank you, Ermine. I’m very grateful
that you could help on such short notice. It really eases my mind.”

Ermine flipped her hand, dismissive. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re
all so proud of you! Why, it’s not everyone who gets a summons from the queen
herself.”

Ceylon gave her a weak smile. Yes, lucky her. Instead of staying inside her
cozy cottage like everyone else, she got to ride straight into the teeth of
winter with a berserker and his barbarian friend. O joyous day.

She was still in the middle of packing when visitors knocked on the door.

“I just heard,” gasped the balding carpenter. Apparently the news had so
alarmed him that he’d come at a run. “No one can believe it, least of all me.”
Her took her hand looked imploringly into her eyes. “Surely you weren’t planning
on leaving without giving me an answer to my marriage proposal?”

She glanced helplessly to the side, but of course no one was there to lend a
hand. Uric’s guards, stationed at either side of the door, listened with
unabashed interest.

“I’m not sure this is the time,” she began, but stopped in frustration when
her swain sighed mournfully. Obviously her attempts to let him down easy hadn’t
gotten through. Very well then. Time for bluntness. “Oleander, I’m sorry, but I
just can’t.”

“But--”

“I’m truly sorry.” Loath to prolong the spectacle any longer, Ceylon shut the
door in his face. She hadn’t gotten two steps from the panel when another knock
sounded. With a groan, she turned back.

The tailor’s wife, Natty, had brought her new woolen socks. “I know you must
be frightfully busy, but I just couldn’t forget all you did for our little
Timmy,” she said as she pressed the parcel into Ceylon’s hands. God bless you,
miss.”

The door had barely closed behind her when another caller showed up at the
door. This time it was a villager with a feverish baby, and there was no
question of not helping.

Temporarily giving up all ideas of packing, Ceylon prepared herself for a
very long day.

By ten after two o’clock Ceylon simply had to get out the house. One more
caller would be one too many. Tossing a cloak over her shoulders and pulling on
her warmest gloves, she sneaked out the back way for a brisk walk.

A light snow was falling. Flakes the size of bonbons fell along the shingled
roofs and rough-hewn sills, gilding the world with a dusting of finest sugar.
Only the constant traffic in the streets prevented the snow from concealing the
frozen mud; where every foot had fallen a brown track had been left behind.

She hadn’t gone far when the sound of trumpets announced the return of Lord
Tennyson and his company. Ceylon cleared the street with the others and stood at
the side of the street while his party rode through.

“He’s back from another pilgrimage,” she heard one man say.

Another man hawked and spat. “Aye. He’s become quite the holy man, our
lord.”

Ceylon snorted softly. Yes, their lord had become quite the spiritual
wayfarer after Ceylon’s mother had died. Guilt could do that to a man.

She cast her eyes downward as she always did and waited for Tennyson to ride
by.

This time his gelding’s dappled legs moved into view and stopped.

“Ceylon,” Lord Tennyson said quietly. He waited until she was forced to look
at him.

Ceylon dragged in a sharp breath, every muscle rigid with rebellion. It had
been a year since she had seen his long, light brown hair and neat trimmed,
pointed beard. At least twelve months since she had been forced to acknowledge
the strawberry-sized red mark at his crown, just revealed by the receding
hairline. Sick heat flashed in her cheeks and roiled in her stomach. A year
wasn’t nearly long enough.

“My lord,” she managed through her rusted jaw.

Green eyes such as neither of her parents had possessed studied her solemnly.
“I’ve heard the queen has sent for you.”

Ceylon jerked her head in a short nod.

His hands worked on the reins. “I’m pleased she has acknowledged your skill.
You’re certain to bring Marksheath honor in her service.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Ceylon looked through him.

He hesitated a moment more, then nodded. He spurred his horse and his party
moved on.

Slightly ill and miserably aware of the staring crowd, Ceylon pulled her hood
closer about her face and hurried home.

Her head ached.

Nor did it feel any better the next day after wrestling with the sheets all
night. It didn’t help matters that Raven was determined to follow her to
Queenstown.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he insisted, tossing his feed sack full of belongings
on the table. Dawn had not yet come and the room was still lit by the fire and
oil lamp. “You need me.”

Loath to contradict him, she bit her tongue and tried to think of a way to
reason with him. “It’s cold. You have no horse, so you’ll have to ride in the
carriage. It’s bound to be boring--”

“Hardly,” he was quick to assure her. “You’re going to visit the queen!
You’ll be traveling with real knights.” He said no more, but his gaze
desperately held hers.

Ceylon shut her eyes. Of course. The knights. Raven’s dream. “You can come,”
she said, massaging the bridge of her nose.

Jubilant, Raven swept her up in a crushing hug. “You’ll never regret it,
Ceylon!” He gave her a fierce grin.

“Yes, yes.” She disentangled herself, feeling to see that nothing was broken.
“Just try to remember that when your feet are numb and your nose has frozen
off.” She wasn’t nearly as enthused with him as he was with her. To her mind he
was just one more responsibility, for she’d worry about him the whole way. How
was she supposed to look after a boy that was old enough to begin shaving when
she’d never been a mother? She eyed him, looking for clues, and found them in
his bedraggled appearance. “Well, come on then.” She headed up the stairs. “I’ve
got some old things of my father’s in the attic. Bound to be small on you, but
they’re in good condition and I can modify some of them on the way.”

Small was an understatement. Ceylon hadn’t realized how tall Raven was until
she saw his wrists sticking out of her father’s coat a good three inches. She
stared at the high water pants in equal dismay. Those barely went past his
calves. “I can do something about the shirts, but we’ll simply have to buy more
pants.” And boots, she added silently. The shoes he had on had cracked and were
close to falling apart.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t buy them just yet.”

She waved a hand. “Call it an advance on your wages, but we’d better hurry if
we’re going to buy you anything. It’s almost dawn, and they’re sure to be
annoyed at the delay.”

Sure enough, Uric was already at her door, about to knock when she opened it.
A carriage and his men waited behind him. He smiled. “Glad to see you’re
ready.”

“Not quite.” Ceylon tipped her head at Raven. “My servant will be coming with
us, and I need a few minutes to buy him some warmer clothes. It was a last
minute decision,” she added when he scowled.

Uric looked heavenward in irritation. “Make it quick, then. We have some hard
riding to do.” He looked at two of his men. “Get her bags and put them in the
coach.”

Ceylon gave him a grateful bow of her head and strode off, glad that she wore
long underwear under her pants. Today was no day to be fashion conscious.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride?” he called after her, leading his horse.

“I’ll be riding all day,” she threw over her shoulder. “Besides, it’s only a
few doors down.”

Lights were on in the shoemaker’s house, though doubtless he wasn’t expecting
business so early. “Boots, you say?” he muttered, adjusting his spectacles to
peer at Raven’s feet. “For him?”

“If you have them. We’re rather in a hurry.” Ceylon pushed her way through
the door, pulling off her gloves as she went. “I’ll pay in coin, of course.”

But when it came time to pay Uric handed the old man a coin. He looked at
Ceylon, whose hand was still in her pocket. “The queen is paying your expenses
now.”