Dragonswood (10 page)

I was jumpy our first day out, unused to the saddle and wary to be back on the road. The witch hunter still looked for me, so I went hooded, riding sidesaddle like a lady. I refrained from looking up or speaking when we met folk traveling on Kingsway. Once we were alone again, I began to ride astraddle so we could progress more quickly. Garth agreed.

On the road Garth treated me with the same chivalry alone as he did when riders passed us by, as if he did not care to shed the hoax, not even for a moment. This made me glad and uneasy in turns. From childhood I’d learned never to trust a man. He’d been kind thus far, but he was a man and his temper could flare. A part of me waited for this, the moment I would see his darker side.

Midday we heard thundering hooves from around the next bend. Garth signaled, and I steered Seagull behind him to a high hedge, where we dismounted and stroked the horses’ necks to keep them quiet. Garth was stiff-backed as the troop passed with clanking armor and shields glinting in the sunlight. At least the men were riding north, while we were heading south.

When Kingsway was clear we mounted and left our hiding place. A biting wind hit us, stripping red maple leaves from the trees. I was glad for Aisling’s cloak. “How long do you think it will take them to find the Pendragon treasure?” I asked.

“Lord Sackmoore’s men look diligently enough,” he said, which was no real answer.

I remembered rumors I’d heard back in Harrowton. “Some folk say it must have been taken by magic, that the fey folk stole it in league with the dragons.”

Garth glanced back sharply. “Is that what you think?” he snapped.

I swallowed and gripped Seagull’s reins a little tighter.

Anon Garth shook his head. “Sorry, Tess. I shouldn’t have barked at you.”

“If you want to know,” I said, bringing Seagull up to ride alongside Goodfellow, “I think it was only gossip. People couldn’t understand how thieves took it from the strong room, so they started saying it was done with fairy magic.”

Garth’s head was bowed, lost in some troubling thought. He guarded Dragonswood. With rumors that dragons or fey took the treasure… “Do you worry about the sanctuary?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. I adjusted my position in the saddle. Rain pricked my skin. It was not raining in earnest yet, only spitting drops from passing clouds. But the clouds were gathering and the wind was still strong.

“You said Lord Sackmoore searches. What about Prince Bion? I heard he’s anxious to find it.” I’d wondered why our younger prince would leave Pendragon Castle even if it was to search for the treasure. Wouldn’t he want to oversee some of the affairs of state till his older brother took over?

“Prince Bion will see the treasure’s back in the strong room once his brother’s crowned.”

“How do you know that?”

Silence again from Garth. He’d met both the princes. Maybe he didn’t like me questioning the younger prince’s ability to locate the treasure in time. We’d only just started our ride south. Would he treat me to so many moods and silences all the way down to Harrowton?

I patted Seagull’s neck. “Some think Prince Arden’s nobler for going on crusade. But I like it well that the younger prince chose to stay home with us. Only I wonder why he lets Lord Sackmoore rule when he could rule in his brother’s stead until Prince Arden’s home. He’s old enough.”

“You want to know why?” Garth asked.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Garth kept his head straight, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If Prince Bion tried to rule Wilde Island even for a day, Tess, he’d be accused of wanting to usurp his brother’s throne. King Kadmi appointed Sackmoore king’s regent to take temporary rule until Prince Arden returned to ensure peace between his sons.”

Grandfather had taught me some history. I knew thrones were often gained through bloodshed. “Two brothers and one throne,” I said.

Garth’s face hardened. “I can’t blame the dying king for his decision. I’m sure he didn’t know how dangerous Sackmoore could be.” Goodfellow clopped along, his head held high.

I said, “Even King Richard the Lionheart has been challenged by his younger brother, John.”

“Where did you learn this?”

“English traders down at Harrowton Harbor said so.”

“It’s true Prince John’s been acting as if he were the rightful English king while King Richard’s on crusade, turning on the men still loyal to his brother and treating them as outlaws.” Garth flicked his reins. “It will not go that way here on Wilde Island,” he said. “As to Prince Arden’s return, I say Godspeed.” With that he kicked Goodfellow to a trot and rode ahead.

Clouds amassed all day, some gray, some dark as char. At dusk a thundershower drenched us. When the storm did not subside, we were forced to sup at a tavern in Margaretton, the very place where I’d seen the sheriff’s riders cut men down in Dragonswood.

“Is it safe?” I’d asked.

“As safe as anywhere these days. I’d planned to stop here anyway, Tess.”

Garth was careful to choose a corner table where we both might sit in shadow. He raised his hand, calling for meat and ale, and I saw the stitches where he’d mended his sleeve: a man’s needlework, all crooked and clumsy. He caught me considering his sleeve. I raised my mug to hide my face till the beef tray arrived.

The room we were shown had a goodsome hearth. Garth placed our saddlebags that were full of our travel gear in the corner, and added logs to the fire. Golden light illumined his face, his neck and chest. I could not take my eyes from him, but I was agitated, seeing the single bed against the wall.

“That business I mentioned,” he said. “I’ll take care of it tonight. You’ll be safe enough here at the inn while I’m gone.”

I’d not asked what his business was about before we left the lodge; now I was both curious and frightened. Who was he meeting in Margaretton? Why leave me alone here on this stormy night?

He saw the way I held my cloak around myself, but misread my thoughts.

“Have no fear.” He nodded at the bed. “The bed is yours, Tess. I will sleep in the chair.”

He changed his clothes behind the screen. I watched his shadow moving, the broadness of his back and his strong arms. I should not have looked, but it was only shadow. Tossing his riding shirt across the back of the chair, he straightened his woodward’s tunic. Wherever he was going, he was going as himself. Smiling, he said, “Sleep well,” and left me in the room.

I took the chair by the fire. The man was on business. What sort of business? He traveled quite a bit, hadn’t he left us in the lodge for days at a time? And he’d never said where he’d gone or what he’d been up to, nor had we felt it proper to ask.

I’d confronted him only once.

You were there in Harrowton that day I saw you. What were you doing so far south?

I spoke to Sheriff Bollard about your woodward, asked that he be replaced with another man more watchful at his post.
Who watched the wood near Margaretton? Did Garth plan to speak to his fellow woodward about the riot I’d seen? Maybe, maybe not. I could not hope to guess, the man came and went so much. I should be used to it, but I wasn’t. I leaned my head back against the chair, felt Garth’s rumpled shirt against my neck.

Since I could not yet sleep, I went downstairs, and borrowed a needle from the innkeeper’s wife.

Back in the room, I tore out Garth’s man-stitches and mended the tear. A womanly duty, but I did not mind it. He’d not cuffed my jaw, shouting,
Mend my shirt, wench!
the way Father did.

The mending didn’t take long. The shirt smelled of Garth and Goodfellow and the damp green of the woods. I rubbed my aching legs. It had been a long ride today.

I must have slept. Next thing I felt was a soft wind blowing across my face warm as a summer breeze. A voice came on the wind.
Tessss
.

I opened my eyes. Garth was kneeling by the chair; the fire at his back cast a halo round his head like Saint Peter’s stained-glass halo in our church back at home. I blinked, hardly breathing.

“You need not sleep in the chair,” Garth said. “I told you earlier the bed is yours.”

He lifted the mended shirt I was still clutching. I scurried to the bed.

Draping the shirt back over the chair, he poked the fire. “You can change behind the screen,” he said. “Or shall I leave the room?”

“N-no,” I sputtered. “I’m fine.” I lay on top of the bed in Aisling’s gown, the only one I had with me. Garth did not know this. He’d not been privy to the things I’d packed or did not pack for the journey. Garth took the chair and heaved a contented sigh. He slept soon, and heavily. I lay on my side on the bed a long while looking at his sleeping form, his hand dangling loosely from the armrest. Something glinted there. The sewing needle was much too close to his wrist. Move and he might jab himself. I rose, crept toward him, and reached slowly for the needle. I’d nearly got it when he caught my arm in a tight grip. The movement of a man under attack. I caught my breath.

Seeing who I was, he let go.

I leaped back.

“Tess? I’m sorry. You startled me. I didn’t mean to—”

I pointed at the needle. “I thought it might jab you in your sleep.”

“I see,” he said, picking it up. “Such a small weapon, but sharp. Here.” He handed it to me. I carried it back across the room in my open palm as if it were a living thing and set it on the bedside table. “A blanket,” I said. “Do you need one?”

He eyed me carefully. “If you have one to spare.”

Heart pounding, I stripped the top one off my bed and gave it to him.

I quickly got into the bed. Garth was quiet across the room. Sleeping? Awake? I decided not to look. Under the covers at last, I found the bed truly welcome. Shadows played across the ceiling. I’d been raised the daughter of a lowly blacksmith. Garth Huntsman knew the royal family, had served them personally. What was I doing here, pretending to be his wife? It would not be such a sham to wear the wife’s guise if I were nobly born.

The bed was welcome and the dreams that came even more so. I dreamed of DunGarrow, a place I’d never seen but hoped to see. My hope painted it for me, the castle set against Mount Morgesh, the rushing waterfall at its side.

I walked or floated across the bridge spanning the river (indeed it felt like floating) and just like in the tale of “The Whistler” I arrived at the high meadow where the fey folk danced. Hovering at meadow’s edge I wept in my dream, seeing my mother dancing with a fey man in the crowd. Like the girl in the tale, she danced freely. The man spun Mother round, her loose hair flying out without scarf or braids to bind it, and she wore a fine green gown with gold trim like the one I’d seen on the first fairy maiden I’d spied riding a dragon. How beautiful she looked.

“Mother,” I called. “It’s you!” The words
it’s you
made me cry all the more. I was seeing her joyful as I’d never seen her in my life. She’d exchanged her threadbare kirtle for the dazzling gown, freed herself from my father’s hold, unbound her hair, let go her cares, and danced.

My eyes were damp when I awoke. Garth had left the room. I put on my cloak and went to look for him.

Chapter Fifteen

T
HE DAY WAS
chill as we left Margaretton, but the heavy storm had passed in the night. Puddles on Kingsway Road caught clouds and sunlight both. Seagull was fidgety all through the morning ride and kept stopping by the roadside to tear up hunks of grass. Garth saw we’d fallen behind, turned and clicked his tongue. “Now Gull,” he said. “You were fed at the inn stable and you know it.” She shook her head, but minded him like the good mare, coming back up alongside Goodfellow at a trot. I adjusted my grip, caught Garth staring at my discolored thumbs and hid them in Seagull’s mane. At least they were no longer swollen or pussy.

“She wasn’t always like that,” he said.

“Who?”

“The one who did that to you.”

“You speak as if you know her.” The trotting horses made our speech choppy.

“We both dined in the Great Hall at Pendragon Castle, she with her uncle, Lord Sackmoore, who serves as king’s regent now, while I ate nearby at the knight’s table. More than once she watched me joust at the tourneys.”

So the man jousted? I pictured Garth dressed in tourney armor gripping battle shield and lance. If I’d been a noblewoman in the crowd I’d have tied my scarf about his arm, claiming him my champion. I would have liked to see him joust. But I was bound to Harrowton then, engaged in my own demanding sport shielding Mother from my father’s meaty fists.

Garth told me earlier he was a nobleman’s son, a second son who would not inherit land, so he was a castle page as a boy, a knight before he became the king’s huntsman. Of course I should have thought of it before. The knights we’d seen yesterday on the road would have known him from his time at the castle. “So that’s why we hid from the garrison.” The quick retreat wasn’t only for my protection. They might have questioned why he’d abandoned his post at the hunting lodge.

“I’d rather not explain why I’m riding south with a lady,” Garth said.

My mood shifted at the word
lady
. He was a nobleman’s son. I was a lowly blacksmith’s daughter. I made a soundless sigh. No, Aisling’s fine blue gown and riding cloak was a costume as much as the leper’s robe had been, surely Garth knew that?

We rode through a swarm of gnats and when one flew into my mouth, I discreetly spat it out. “I’ll wager Lady Adela liked seeing men bloodied at the tourneys.”

“Would you wager that? With what coin?”

“It is an expression, Garth. She’s a fiend.” I steered Seagull closer. “How can you think her anything but a devil, knowing what she did to me, and worse, what she’s done to other women?” My angry voice startled Seagull, who reared back.

“Easy, Seagull,” Garth said. “Easy now.” From his saddle he reached over and patted her neck to calm her. “You say she’s a fiend, Tess, but I knew her before she was kidnapped. The torture she underwent changed her. They hobbled her ankle, put out her eye, she—”

“I know what they did. Does that excuse what she did to me or to Tom? Or what she is doing, even now, to other girls?” I was breathing hard; the cold air stung my throat.

We rode a while under the boughs, letting only the wind speak for us. It was a long time before I could say, “You knew her before she… before the witches stole her,” I said. “Is that why you are not afraid of her?”

Garth snorted. “Who said I’m not afraid of Lady Adela? She is full of righteous anger. Such women are to be feared.”

He watched me as he said this, a half smile on his face. Was he implying I had righteous anger?

“I’m excused from such company,” I snapped. “God knows I am not righteous!”

“Now you’re angry?” he said with a huff. “How is it you turn everything I say to an insult?”

He raced ahead. Goodfellow’s pounding hooves sent crows flying from the ash grove, peppering the sky before they settled in the trees farther down the road.

Seagull followed at a trot. I did not try to catch up to the man. How could he have the smallest ounce of pity for the witch hunter? His own grandmother was tried for a witch, and worse, made to walk the coals.

We stopped briefly to rest the horses and share dried plums, wine, and cheese. Garth gave me a goodly portion, but no word passed between us. The wine sent fire down my throat.

We mounted again, still silent. As we rode south, my body felt a strange tugging as if invisible hands pulled my skirts, or a rope was about my waist. I’d felt it earlier, but it was stronger now, harder to ignore. Wind twisted my hair, whispered in my ear.

Tess. Turn around. Come north.

I leaned forward in the saddle.
Tessss. You are going the wrong way
.

Seagull’s ears pressed back. She tried to turn about. I gripped her reins. “Stop this,” I whispered. “Obey me.” Looking straight ahead, I pressed Seagull on.

Tall pines graced the edges of the road. We climbed a steep hill. Seagull puffed as we came down the other side. Rolling clouds gusted in from the ocean, thick and white as mounded wool. Then the clouds blushed red as they blew over Dragonswood. It was midday and not yet time for sunset. I tensed, recalling the old saying
Red clouds without the aid of sun. Traveler beware. The dragon comes
. Trees shook. The air about us darkened as if we were riding under a crimson sea.

Seagull whinnied and glanced back at me, the whites of her eyes showing.

“Garth?”

At the sound of my voice he spun Goodfellow about, riding toward me, his black hair flying back as the tempest swept in. I heard the thunderous, beating wings coming from Dragonswood where the treetops bowed.