Wren (The Romany Epistles) (16 page)

“What do you mean ‘for Kat’s sake’?” Hiller grabbed my arm
before I reached the door.

“He loves her.” That caused Hiller to pause long enough for
me to pull away and push through the gathered men outside the kitchen door.

~~~~~

Before my eyes fell on Arthus’ dark head, I heard the cough.
Ripping from chest to throat, it sounded as though his lungs were going to
emerge from his mouth. He straightened into sight above the small gathering of
men in the kitchen doorway, face white and thin.

“Clear a way,” I ordered.

“Now I told you all already.” The cook raised a wooden
spoon. “Leave off. He needs air, not you bunch gawking at him like he is a
prize hare.”

A murmur rippled through the men, but no one left.

“Move,” Hiller boomed from behind me. “Now.”

The room went from overflowing to empty except the four of
us in a matter of seconds. Once the stampede retreated, I crossed to Arthus’
side. The cook immediately fed the fire another log and moved a second large
kettle over the leaping flames muttering about needing more steam.

“What happened?” I asked, pulling the table’s bench close to
Arthus’ chair.

“Saw Wren.” He paused to hack. “She rescued me. Svhen in
danger.” Another spasm of hoarse barks followed. “Price on his head dead or….”
He struggled to catch his breath.

The cook unceremoniously grabbed Arthus’ shoulders and swung
his head around to face the fire. Lifting the first already boiling kettle from
the fire, he placed it at Arthus’ feet. Arthus meekly pulled the towel draping
his shoulders so it covered his head and captured the steam misting out of the
kettle.

“He shouldn’t talk,” the cook stated flatly.

I nodded. We had all struggled through last winter battling
a particularly nasty sickness. Steam treatments, honey-laced tea, and a throat
tincture became staples.

“Kat keeps the tincture behind the flour in the larder,” I
informed him.

“Svhen went with the lumber party headed up the mountain.”
Hiller lowered himself onto the other end of my bench. “He should be safe
enough until they return. We are all avoiding the press gangs as it is.”

“There is paper and ink in the top drawer over there.” I
gestured toward the heavy chest along the far wall. “We need to know more.”

“Why Svhen?” Hiller laid the necessary items on the table
behind me while Arthus continued to inhale moist air. “He did no more or less
than the rest of us in the wars.”

“Speak for yourself,” the cook muttered.

“Why not me or Tourth?”

Arthus shrugged.

“I bet it is connected to that unarmed man he cut down,”
Hiller mused. “Some noble’s son or something.”

Arthus lifted his head to speak, but I stopped him with a
glare. Gesturing to the paper, quill, and ink, I said, “Write it.”

A few scribbles later, he handed the scrap to me. “Don’t
know reason for ransom. Wren made deal with Keilvey for my life.”

I passed the note to Hiller. “What kind of deal?”

Arthus shrugged.

“She promised to return in a week at the latest. She has
been gone three days now. Did she indicate anything when you spoke with her?”

Arthus wrote for a moment while Hiller and I watched. I was
surprised at Hiller’s silence. He usually asked more questions.

Arthus’ scrawl took up the whole page. “She traded my
freedom for his. Keilvey intends to collect.”

“You mean he might not let her leave?”

“Out for blood,” Arthus croaked and broke into a coughing
fit.

“Bed.” The cook heaved Arthus to his feet, and shot Hiller a
loaded look. “Bring the kettle.” To my surprise, Hiller obeyed. They
disappeared through the door into the front room.

“Be back in a moment,” Hiller called right before the door
closed behind them.

I sat among my thoughts, attempting to not focus on the dark
worries looming on the edges. The outside door into the front room opened with
a crash, voices erupted, and a moment later Dardon burst into the kitchen. A
waft of freezing air slipped past in his wake, cutting through the heavy moist
air.

“Where is Arthus? Is he well?”

“He is here and just went to bed. He needs his rest.”

Taking in the roaring fire, madly boiling kettle and
implements on the table, he stepped over the bench across from me and sat down.
“Sick, is he?”

“Nasty cough.”

“Wren?”

“Traded his life for Keilvey’s freedom.”

Dardon’s eyes rose. “That….” He mumbled something explicit.
“Does she know what a slimy sneak he is?”

I didn’t know, but I wondered. Wren gave every indication
that she knew how to protect herself. However, Keilvey wasn’t exactly your
common menace. He didn’t have an honorable fingernail, let alone a bone. Even
Steward Farley learned to avoid dealing with Keilvey. It was easier to deal with
the enforcer himself if you could.

“I pray that she does.”

Keilvey watched me eat my breakfast like a dog hoping for
droppings. “Where are you going to go?”

“You don’t need to know.” I sopped up the last of the
pottage with a crust of black bread. The enforcer’s cook needed cooking
lessons, but even this rough fare was an improvement on the meals at Iselyn
since Kat left. Maybe things improved now that Hiller’s cook ran the kitchen. I
planned on finding out by nightfall.

“I could have you followed.”

I made a show of restraining a laugh while my stomach sank.
No, it would have to be breakfast tomorrow. Disguising my trail would take a
couple hours travel in the opposite direction and laying a false trail, doable
but time consuming. “You are welcome to waste your man’s time.”

“How do I know you won’t skip out on the deal?”

I met his gaze. “You don’t know. You have to trust me, just
like I trusted you.” His eyes slid away from mine. The man couldn’t even act
trustworthy. I was thankful Arthus’ life was no longer in his control. All he
had to do now was keep his mouth shut. I could trust him to do it because his
own best interest depended on it. Once benefit shifted, I would have no
guarantee. “Besides, I need to gather some resources before maneuvering your
freedom.”

“Resources?” His eyes glittered. “My slave price is high.”

“Not money.” I punctured that idea.

“But Stewart Farley said he paid you one hundred gold for a
bounty only a month or so ago.”

“He lies.”

Keilvey shook his head. “Farley swears.”

“He lies. He paid me twenty and complained about every
coin.” I set down my empty bowl. “He was hoping you would arrest me for
extortion, am I right?” Again, he wouldn’t meet my scrutiny. “Twenty was the
price he set and the price I demanded upon delivery. Ask the innkeeper.”

His reaction said he had, probably seeking a catch to
influence me with. Always the manipulator, I knew his usual technique well.

“I will not let you walk out those gates without fulfilling
our bargain first.”

“Then I will inform Hawthorne of your role in the charade
yesterday.” His face blanched a satisfying shade.

“You wouldn’t.”

I lifted an eyebrow. He studied me a moment and then walked
away.

Returning to my quarters to gather my saddlebags, I kept my eyes
open. He most likely wouldn’t have me followed with that threat over his head,
but just to be sure I would spend an extra hour or two laying a false trail.
With Keilvey’s breed, one could never be completely sure.

Snow muted the valley in hazy white. Large lazy lumps of
lace drifted to earth in a net of silence.
Thank you, Deus.
The heavy
fall, the size and concentration of the flakes, promised thick ground cover in
a matter of hours. Even if a possible tail did manage to follow my trail, he
would lose it shortly after he found it.

I lifted my face and closed my eyes, drawing Brone to a
stop. I drank in the hush. Breath-like brushes of cold bristles feathered my
upturned face. I loved the pause of snowfall, especially this kind. The world
held its breath in anticipation of splendor. Dawn would reveal a world bathed
in white, clean with newfound beauty, like a soul after the touch of the
Savior’s blood.

Brone snuffed and shook his head free of white stuff. He
didn’t share my wonder. I suspected his thoughts were of a warm stable and
mush. Leaning forward to rub his shoulder, I loosened my grip on the reins and
let him ease into a walk. He knew the way. His heart was leading him to Iselyn.

The pressing question on my mind was whether or not my heart
anchored there also. Being away for a hand’s span of days, I discovered that I
longed for the company of Dardon, Svhen, Kat, and Arthus. Tourth haunted my
consciousness in a different way. Though I yearned for the others as friends,
Tourth drew a different reaction from my center, a strange, strong new emotion,
barely born. A sensation that begged consideration, I intended to observe him
and study how we interacted before coming to any conclusions.

Brone’s ears rotated, flicking forward and back. I smiled as
his pace picked up. Through the white fall of flakes, the ruined crossroads
sign marking the turn off to Iselyn emerged. It leaned precariously beneath the
growing blanket; the signs barely managing to mark the proper directions. Out
of habit, I pulled Brone to a stop and listened. Only the muted flutter of
falling snow greeted my ears. I barely moved the reins and turned eagerly onto
the overgrown track. Within a half hour the outer wall of Iselyn rose out of
the white haze, the mismatched gates closed firmly, young wood, golden yellow,
contrasting with the weathered gray of the older door.

“Greetings,” I called, peering up at the wall.

A dark blob appeared briefly above. “Who goes there?” a
weary voice asked.

I was sorely tempted to answer “the enemy” but that would
have just been foolish. I knew for a fact over forty armed and skilled men
rested just yards away.

“Wren Romany.”

“Sorry, Miz Romany, I didn’t recognize you in the snow.” The
head disappeared while I frowned. Hiller wouldn’t keep an incompetent soldier
sitting watch at the gate.

The gate swung open and Dardon appeared. “Welcome home,
Wren.”

“What was all that about?” I jutted upward with my chin.

“We are trying to keep a low presence if someone happens
along.”

“In the early morning hours midst a snowstorm?”

“There is always a chance. We are simply acting on your
warning. The rounds were doubled, the gates kept locked, and Svhen doesn’t show
his face beyond the walls. He isn’t happy about it, but we all do what we
must.”

I nodded. Swinging down from Brone, I asked, “So, is
everyone still abed?”

“Tourth hasn’t been sleeping well for a while. I would
suspect he is haunting the main room or staring at the ceiling above his bed.
Should we wake him?”

I passed through the gate, leading Brone. Four men greeted
me on the other side, arms at ready should I prove to be the enemy.

“At ease,” Dardon ordered. “Make fast the gate and cover my
watch. I will escort Wren.”

One of the men nodded and then they all hastened to obey,
the sounds of their movements dampened by the snow.

“Yes, Tourth needs to hear my news. Hiller and Iscarus
should be there as well.”

“We need a change in plan?”

“Definitely.”

I led Brone toward the stables. Dardon disappeared in the
direction of the barracks.
Please give us all wisdom, especially me.
I
didn’t know if Tourth had taken my advice and bared his soul to the Lord. If he
hadn’t and he was still losing sleep, I was on shaky ground. He might not
listen to what I needed to say. We hadn’t exactly left on peaceful terms.
Make
him listen,
I pleaded.
Open his ears, Lord, please, for all of our
sakes, but especially for his.

After settling Brone, I returned to the barracks. A tense
silence greeted me as I stepped into the main room. Hiller, bleary eyed from
just waking, sat at the long table holding his head. Iscarus sat across from
him downing a steaming bowl of porridge. The smell of food made my gut growl. I
hadn’t eaten since yester morn, and my stomach bore a hole of emptiness in my
middle.

“Come and sit,” Iscarus admonished around his mouthful.
“Tourth is bringing out more food.”

On cue, the kitchen door swung open. Tourth backed through
with hands laden. The aroma of honey, cinnamon, and oats filled my senses. My
mouth watered in response.

“Welcome back.” Tourth’s tousled brown hair, obviously just
finger straightened moments before, and wrinkled clothes indicated he also rose
from bed moments before. “Cook rose earlier. It is an hour before the watch
change. The men will want their breakfast and the news of your arrival will be
traveling the ranks.” He slid a wooden bowl across the table in my direction.
“Eat up and speak up.”

I caught the dish and sat down. My spoon paused midair as a
barking cough announced Arthus’ arrival. “Sorry,” he rasped. “Ran out of tea.”
He shuffled through to the kitchen with a large mug in hand and a small smile
of greeting for me.

I waited until he was out of sight before speaking.

“He sounds worse than when I saw him last.”

“He is improving.” Hiller rubbed his face. “Give him time.”

Turning my attention to my food, I shoveled in three
spoonfuls before Iscarus spoke up.

“Dardon said something about needing a change in plan.”

I swallowed. Pleasantly warm pottage slid down my throat and
filled the void beneath my ribs. The honey sweetness lingered in the crevices
of my mouth, counteracting the bitterness of the words that must come.
“Marching openly through the gates is no longer an option.”

“Why?” Iscarus demanded. Arthus shambled in and settled on
the bench next to him nursing a steaming mug.