Faerie (16 page)

She pulled the spits from the fire and used her knife to push them onto the trenchers she had made.

“Save some of it for morning, and we’ll have it with the last of the cheese before setting out.”

She nodded and set aside two chunks, which she wrapped in a cloth.

If he was evil, what good could there be in this world?

Yet—could he be telling the truth? What if he was right, and it was the injury to her head that caused her to disbelieve him? Was she imagining all these things? Like the creature she had dug up, but then when she returned, found nothing there, not even a disturbed leaf?

Yet she remembered—

“You cannot remember.” No, don’t remember. It hurts.

The door to memory slammed shut in her mind. Shut out the pain.

They ate in silence. For once, she had no trouble keeping her usually wayward gaze properly downcast. Everything was wrong now. What had happened to her Fae skills? Was she merely human now?

She had never minded that Rufus would choose her husband to suit his own purposes. That was the way of the world. It was her duty to accept the king’s choice. But a man who, despite his denials, was secretly determined to rid himself of her—to kill her.

Her jaw clenched. She would escape. If she lived long enough. But she must appear to be compliant until then. Could she? True, she had been good at hiding her Fae heritage, but she was not so good at hiding her true feelings.

“What was it, do you think?” he asked.

“What? The snake?”

“Nay, there was no snake. The pain, the fainting. Is it the injury? Surely it must be.”

She clenched her teeth. It was a snake. She knew it was. Yet it was so impossible. “It’s nothing.”

His brow arched. “Blows to the head can do strange things. I have seen big men develop the falling sickness from a blow, although it usually gets better. You will be better in a few days, I think.”

“If it was not a snake, what could it have been?”

He sighed the sound of patience that was not patient. “The gloom of dusk can be deceiving. Things seem to move when it is only the fading light.”

“It moved. It hissed. It rose up half its length off the ground, and it stood as tall as my shoulder.”

His brow furrowed with a pained look. “I have heard tales from pilgrims that there are some enormous snakes in the Holy Land, but not here. Haps it was a dragon?”

She winced. Was he actually trying to be conciliatory? “I don’t know what a dragon looks like. I’ve never seen one. Have you?”

“Some say they have seen them, but I haven’t. There are many tales. Some say they have legs and wings, and breathe fire, or they are strange colors. I have seen drawings in the holy books. There are huge worms that are sometimes seen at sea. But I have never heard of their like on land.”

“But it looked like a snake. It had no legs or wings. It had red eyes and long fangs.”

And the look on his face told her he thought her daft. She sighed. She had said too much. But she knew whatever that creature was, it was evil. It had stalked her. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Something in her remembered feeling that way before. That day in the forest, she had been stalked.

By Philippe.

And now? Did the snake lurk beyond the stockade? Could it get beneath the poles that were buried into the earth? She glanced around the inside perimeter, noting heavy rocks that had been placed around it, meant to drop on wolves that tried to dig beneath it to reach their prey. But would that stop a snake? Could the snake squeeze between the occasional gaps between the poles?

If only she were really Faerie, she would know how to deal with creatures like that. If she were Faerie, like Herzeloyde, she could walk away from this enemy of hers, or fade against whatever was behind her, and he would never find her. She would raise her bow and kill whatever foe attacked her.

If she were Faerie. She was but a halfling, belonging in neither world. Perhaps her mother had left her behind because she was ashamed of a child so imperfect. Certainly her father had not wanted her.

Seeing that Philippe busied himself with the packs, she quietly unwound the bandage on her ankle and ran her fingers over the stitched wound. She placed her fingers on each side of the wound and squeezed her eyes closed to concentrate all her thoughts and power on the healing. She pictured the wound knitting together beneath her fingers, felt the warmth of healing flowing through her fingers and draining her of strength.

Hopefully, she lifted away her hand and looked.

Nothing. Her shoulders sagged. She had nothing to make her safe. A sudden terror surged through her.

She squared her shoulders, and her jaw and fists tightened in tune with her resolve. Then she would have to be human. Because that was what she had left. And with what she had left, she would find a way to change her life.

W
HICH WAS WORSE
, the devil she knew or the devil she didn’t know? Never mind. She could deal with either. Leonie wrapped herself in the two cloaks she had brought and sat by the fire, her knees pulled up near her chin.

“You should sleep,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m not tired.”

“You will be. You got little enough sleep last night, I’ll vow, and this night will be shorter than you think.”

She shook her head again. “I’ll just watch the fire for a while. You may sleep if you wish.”

From the dark night beyond the stockade fence, something barked. She jerked around. “Wolf?” she asked.

“Wolves don’t usually bark. But a dog, perhaps?” Philippe rose to his feet and walked to the fence, his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Leonie dropped off her outer cloak and stood, picking up her bow and stringing it. “What would a dog be doing here?”

“Lost or a stray.” Philippe stretched up so he could peer over a low gap in the fence.

“Or a moor hound. Be careful. They can enthrall you with their eyes.”

“It’s a dog,” he said. “Moor hounds are huge and black and have red eyes. He’s huge, but he’s not black. And his tail is wagging.”

“It could be a trick.”

“Come, take a look.”

Leonie edged closer to the stockade. She was tall, but not tall enough to see over it. Her curiosity forced her to accept Philippe’s touch as he lifted her by the waist. Stretching her neck, she got a glimpse of the biggest dog she had ever seen, with a grey-brown shaggy coat and perked ears that flopped at their tips. Aye, it was a dog.

The dog yapped, leaping. Leonie jerked back. It sat, its long, shaggy tail all but pounding its sides as it wagged, then suddenly jumped up and ran to the fence, barking like a yapping puppy hungry for its dinner.

“It wants in,” she said.

“Aye.” Philippe set her down and watched the big animal as Leonie found a rock that stood high enough to give her a better look. “Sometimes dogs run with wolves. Could be he wants us to open up to let his friends in.”

“Or if we leave him out there, the wolves might get him.”

Philippe reassessed the shaggy creature. “He looks big enough to handle a wolf.”

“He’s big, but there’s only one of him. Wolves roam in packs.”

“Aye.” Philippe’s brown eyes were dusky in the depth of firelight and searched her eyes as if he meant for her to decide.

The big animal leaped against the fence, its deep bark seeming both friendly and menacing. It leaped so high she could see its head over the spiked fence top.

“Let him in,” she said.

She could see the relief in Philippe’s eyes as he hurried to the gate and removed the bar. With a brief glance back at her, he pulled the gate open.

The dog bounded in like a puppy, its great brush of a tail sweeping its hips to and fro. Leonie laughed as it raced up to her, but she let out a yelp as it leaped up on hind legs and swiped
its huge, sloppily wet tongue over her face. She staggered back, averting her face unsuccessfully.

Philippe burst out laughing, but seeing her lose her balance, he glowered at the dog. “Down!” he ordered, pointing to the ground.

Whimpering, the dog dropped to all fours, and as Leonie steadied herself, it sidled up to Philippe and lay down on the ground in front of him.

He laughed again and squatted before the dog. “She’s well mannered. Someone has trained her.” He reached out and scratched behind the dog’s ears. “I wonder if she’s one of de Mowbray’s dogs. I’m told he has a pack of big dogs he’s trained to hunt wolves. She could have been lost when hunting.”

“We could be the first people she’s seen for a while. But she looks well fed.” Leonie chewed on her lip.

“Aye, but hungry.” Both dog and knight looked at her with soulful brown eyes.

“We could eat the cheese in the morning,” she suggested.

“Give her the remains of the trenchers.”

Leonie eyed the monster dog, who barked expectantly and whose tail wagged her body even as she sat. From what she knew about dogs, she suspected this one knew when her feeding was being discussed. She removed the old bread with its drippings and tossed pieces to the dog, who made a game of leaping after each one to catch it before it touched the ground, gobbling faster than Leonie could tear off hunks. With the last of the bread gone, the dog sat back on her haunches and wagged for more.

“There’s the boar meat,” Philippe said, frowning.

“I thought you liked the boar meat.”

“I’ll have it again. We won’t go hungry. She shouldn’t either. That old boar did us a favor, you know. We enjoyed its meat. And no doubt the wolves will be enjoying the feast we left behind and
will be too busy to bother with us. The dog ought to have some too.”

Leonie raised her brows at the interesting logic. Well, why not? She unwrapped the meat, which she had cut into smaller chunks, and held one out. The dog leaped, grabbed, and swallowed, then sat again so quickly Leonie almost wondered if she had imagined having the roasted pork in her hand.

She glanced at Philippe, who laughed as he watched. He nodded, and she threw the second piece, which the dog caught in the air and gulped down.

“No more,” Philippe commanded the dog.

The dog whined, sitting and wagging her tail. He frowned and repeated himself. Leonie suspected the dog sensed Philippe’s barely concealed mirth, but with a whimper, she turned and walked over to the fire, where she plopped down, head resting on her paws.

“Brute,” she muttered under her breath, not liking the way his tenderness toward the dog warmed her heart.

“Give the animal your morning meal if you want,” he muttered back. “I suspect you will anyway.” He threw more wood on the fire, then wrapped in his cloak and lay down, his head resting on his saddle. “I’d suggest you sleep, but I doubt not you will do as you please.”

For a moment, she just watched him. He’d had little sleep the night before, too, but men tended to need little. What would happen if she fell asleep? Did she dare?

She spread one cloak on the ground and wrapped in the other, pulling the excess fabric of the first one around her legs, and laid her head on the palfrey’s flat saddle.

The dog made odd whuffing sounds and crawled close. Then when she did nothing to stop her, the dog moved again until she was snuggled up beside Leonie.

“I doubt you’ll be cold tonight,” Philippe said, shifting his weight for comfort.

The dog growled.

“I suspect you have your own watchdog as well. Easy, dog. I have no intention of bothering your new mistress.”

The dog growled again, a low, short growl meant to warn rather than threaten.

“Smart dog,” Leonie said, and laid an arm over the animal.

Philippe made a grunting sound of his own and turned his back to them.

Leonie drifted off, remembering nothing more after the dog snuggled up to her, until a strange tension in the night air roused her. She reached out and the dog was gone. Philippe rose, shouldering his scabbard belt, and picked up his bow. Catching her eye, he made a motion to her of drawing a bowstring.

Leonie rose quietly, strung her bow, and snatched up her quiver. The shaggy dog crouched near the edge of the stockade close to Philippe, low, long growls emanating from her throat.

Leonie tiptoed up to Philippe. “What?” she whispered.

“Don’t know. Something the dog doesn’t like.”

The fire was almost out. “Shall I put some wood on the fire?”

“No. Bring me a burning fagot so I can see.”

The dog suddenly leaped at the fence in a rage of growling and barking. Philippe stood, revealing himself to the outside, his bow aimed.

Leonie straightened, then stood atop a rock, barely able to aim over the top. “Animals?” she asked. “Men?”

“I don’t see anything.”

Something pale showed itself against the darkness of the forest. Leonie drew and aimed, but then slacked the bow. She had hoped her Faerie sight would return. But it was gone, and she saw only darkness. Likely, then, she could not count on her arrows hearing their guiding song.

“Don’t waste the arrows,” he whispered.

She nodded.

Beside her, the dog growled lowly, her agitation mounting, body tensing and twitching. Suddenly, the dog jerked to attention, her growl ferocious. The dog gathered her body, jumped twice at the fence, and then leaped. Leonie gaped as she watched the dog sail upward and clear the stockade’s pointed top without touching it. Barking, growling, and tearing off into the trees, the shaggy hound attacked.