Never Kiss A Stranger (10 page)

She’d
wanted
Piers to kiss her, and so in hindsight she thought that perhaps she should not have commented that he smelled like a farm animal. But Alys had been honest when she’d said his scent was nice. She spent much of her free time in the company of Fallstowe’s beasts and so the fragrances of barn and stable were comfortable friends to her. Cows and horses did not stare at you coldly like Sybilla, or lecture you on brazen behavior like Cecily. They were warm and calm and happy just to have someone nearby for company. They didn’t mock you for wishing for adventure and variety outside of the stifling gray stones of Fallstowe, where the sad, empty space left by your mother’s death screamed at you. They didn’t care that you were a Foxe. They didn’t care that you were a girl. All they cared about was the stiff brush in your hand, or the oats in your apron pocket.

So now Alys knew that Piers worked a dairy. He was “mostly” common—whatever that could mean—and he was running away from Judith Angwedd of Gillwick Manor to see the king on a highly secretive mission.

Alys was completely charmed by her new husband.

And, with each tripping step, Layla bobbing along contentedly on her shoulder, Alys moved farther away from
Sybilla, from Fallstowe, and from Clement Cobb. She could not have been happier.

Ahead of her, Piers stopped abruptly, and seemed to scrutinize the small clearing they had passed into. A thick, naturally curved wall of briars footed by two large stones shielded the clearing from the north. The ground sloped gently to the south, eventually rolling off in a shoulder into a black nothing. Alys assumed it was a ravine.

“This will do,” he said, and shrugged out of his pack.

“Thanks be to God,” Alys sighed and dropped her own bag. Layla hopped down gamely and began worrying at the ties of the sack. “I know, love. You’ll eat in just a moment.” Alys took the time to stretch her arms above her head with a groan. Her back was in knots. “Will we have a fire?” she asked Piers.

“No,” he said curtly. He pulled a long piece of cloth from his pack and wound it around his forearm to fashion a pillow of sorts, which he tossed against the seam of the boulders and ground. He sat, and began digging through his bag.

“Of course not.” Alys sighed and dropped to her knees, rescuing her own sack from Layla before the monkey had the drawstring in a hopeless snarl.

She reached inside and withdrew the last piece of fruit, an only slightly bruised pomegranate. She held it for a long moment, thinking wistfully of the figs she’d handed up one at a time to the monkey while they had been on their way back to Fallstowe. Her stomach gurgled and twisted around its emptiness, and Alys considered digging her thumbs into the fruit and dividing it in half. But in the end she surrendered the juicy treat over to Layla, who sat back on her haunches and began to turn the fruit rapidly against her teeth. Alys’s mouth watered at the slurping sounds, and so she moved her attention once
more to Piers, who was tearing into a piece of foodstuffs of his own. By the way his fist jerked away from his mouth, it was quite possibly saddle leather he was eating.

“Are you going to tell me why you are frightened of Judith Angwedd?” she asked.

“I’m not frightened of Judith Angwedd,” he said while he chewed. He fished a jug from his bag, released the cork with his teeth, and took a long, noisy drink.

“Then why are you running from her?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I simply need to reach London before she or Bevan does.”

“Why?”

He stopped chewing and stared hard at her, likely thinking to intimidate her into silence. Little did he know that Alys was well accustomed to hard stares, and they no longer affected her in the least.

She stared back, making her eyes wide and pulling her mouth down at the corners—a silly attempt to disrupt his solemnity. It failed, and she gave a frustrated huff. “If we are to be in this together, I would know exactly the danger we face.”

“We don’t face it. They’re behind us, for the time being.”

“Piers …”

“I don’t wish to talk about it tonight, Alys. I’m beyond tired and my head pains me, as does my hand, thanks to your idiotic monkey.”

“Must you be such a boor about the whole thing?” she exclaimed. He offered neither comment nor apology. “Alright then. Fine. I won’t ask you again.”

There was silence between them for several moments.

“You’d better eat if you’re going to,” he said at last, his tone carrying a bit of unease, as if he was not used to making conversation.

“I’m not very hungry,” she lied. “I had quite a large meal last night, remember?” Alys would have rather married Clement Cobb on the spot than remind Piers that the pomegranate Layla was now polishing off was the last piece of food she had. He had already made it clear that he thought her a stupid girl and that he would not take responsibility for her. Alys would not ask him for food.

She chose not to think about what would become of her resolve in a day or more.

“How could I forget?” Piers said snidely. “It is beyond me still why you would choose to run away from a home and inheritance such as Fallstowe.”

“Of course it is beyond you, because you don’t know what it is like there,” Alys said, rummaging through her bag now for some sort of pillow of her own. The only thing large enough to give her any comfort was the blue perse gown. She wound it around her arm with a vengeful smile, thinking of the extravagant amount of money Sybilla had paid for it. “The castle is horrid; Sybilla, worse.”

“Oh, come now,” Piers scoffed, re-corking his jug and shoving it down in his bag. Alys wondered briefly if it contained wine. “What was it? Too much money? You couldn’t walk the corridors without tripping over a pile of it?”

Alys went still. “Don’t mock me, Piers. Everyone envies Fallstowe, and they think Sybilla the epitome of beauty, power, wealth, charm. But my sister cares for no one save herself, her own advancement. The retainment of her station as ruler of Fallstowe. She would do anything, crush anyone, to keep hold of all she now has. She would even deny our king. You can’t possibly know how vicious she is.” She was horrified to hear her words thickening. “I consider myself lucky to have escaped.”

He was quiet for a moment, and when next he spoke, his voice had changed, gentled. “It was bad for you?”

She nodded. “She … Sybilla tried to smother me.”

“My God,” Piers breathed. He was intent on her now, and Alys felt his appraisal like a warm wash of water. Gooseflesh sprang on her arms as he continued. “It was the same with me, with … with my stepbrother.”

Her eyes widened, and hope burst into her chest. “Is that why you work a dairy? Why you say you are only mostly common? Did you leave to escape your family?”

“No. My father sent me there,” he admitted.

“Oh!” Alys gasped. “That’s outrageous!”

“It was the best thing,” Piers assured her. “It likely saved my life. But what of you? I had no idea the Foxe family was such a den of treachery.”

He was not mocking her now, and so Alys was happy to continue the conversation. “Sybilla has always been cool natured, from what I can remember of my earliest memories of her. But when mother fell ill some four years ago—stricken so that her right side was completely without use—Sybilla began receiving instruction to take our mother’s place. ‘Twas then that her evil found its head.”

“Power?” Piers guessed, sounding more interested in Alys than he had the entire time of their strange acquaintance.

“Indeed. Power and status. And she exercises both well.” Alys dropped her eyes to her lap, picking at the folds of her gown. “After Mother died … Sybilla became less than human. Bitter. Demanding. I was a trouble to her, and so she sought a way to put end to me disrupting her cool order of things.”

“Jesus. Little wonder you were so eager to escape.” He leaned forward a bit. “What did she use?”

Alys opened her mouth but then quickly closed it again, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Was it a cushion? A rope?
Her bare hands?”
He sat up fully now, engaged and animated. “Bevan tried to hang me from the loft once when we were young, but the rope was too thin—old and rotted—and it snapped before I passed out.”

Alys was horrified. “What
are
you talking about?”

“Your sister smothering you,” Piers said.

“I don’t mean she actually tried to
kill me!”
Alys cried. “My God, what kind of—” Alys stopped abruptly. “Wait! You said Bevan. Bevan Mal—you work a
dairy! Bevan Mallory is your stepbrother?”

“You
said
she tried to
smother
you!” Piers accused. “You meant only that your sister wouldn’t give over to your every whim, didn’t you?”

“No! Well, perhaps I should have used ‘stifle’ rather than ‘smother,’ but—Bevan Mallory tried to kill you? More than once?”

“This conversation is over,” Piers growled. He turned away from her and lay down.

“I disagree,” Alys said, scrambling to his side. “Is Bevan the one who gave you the marks you now bear?”

“Go to sleep, Alys.”

“How can I? Is Judith Angwedd your mother?”

He whipped around so quickly that Alys jumped. “Don’t ever dare to compare Judith Angwedd to my mother!”

“I wasn’t comparing them—I don’t know!”

Piers flopped back onto his side.

Alys’s eyes narrowed and her mind whirred. “If Judith Angwedd isn’t your mother, then your father would be Warin Mallory.” She frowned. “But, no, you said ‘stepbrother,’ and Bevan is Warin Mallory’s only son, so—”

“Don’t be so certain,” Piers growled.

“But that’s just it—I’m not certain at all!” Alys slapped her palms onto her thighs, and Layla took it as an invitation. Alys gathered the small animal to her bosom. “It is a long way to London, Piers. Can you not confide in me the tiniest bit?”

He was still and silent for so long, that Alys was nearly resigned to the idea that he would not answer her. When he did speak, his words conveyed no satisfying resolution.

“You may as well try to get some rest. We’ll be off not long after sunrise.”

“But—”

“Good night, Alys.”

She sighed, her lips pressed tightly together. After a moment, she reached over to snag the bundled perse gown, Layla clinging to her front, and stuffed the makeshift pillow against the rock next to Piers’s. She lay down on her side close to him, the monkey snuggled between.

He raised up slightly and turned his face to look at her over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get some rest, as you commanded,” she snapped. “‘Tis cold, Piers. I know you’d likely prefer I freeze to death, but I rather enjoy living.”

He laid back down. “You’re young. Give it time.”

“You are the most cynical person I believe I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

His shoulders jerked, and for an instant, Alys thought he might have chuckled. “I shall take it as one any matter.”

* * * 

Everyone was gone from Fallstowe’s great hall now in the smallest hours of the morning, save for Judith Angwedd and Clement Cobb. The disgustingly lavish hall had been a flurry of grim activity up until several moments ago, with her highness, Sybilla Foxe, organizing a thorough brigade of soldiers to search for the youngest Foxe girl, Alys.

And Piers, Judith Angwedd thought to herself with a smile. The most powerful house in England was now to do Judith Angwedd’s work for her. Lady Sybilla herself—that rich, cold, pompous bitch—had been quite clear that should her men find Piers Mallory in possession of her sister, his life would be forfeit.

Delightful!

The Fallstowe soldiers were on the trail, commanded in no uncertain terms to search every road, every wood, every rough animal path for sign of the little wayward princess. Judith Angwedd hoped the soldiers found two cold, dead, scavenger-gnawed bodies—‘twould serve Sybilla Foxe justice for treating the lady of Gillwick and her fine son so poorly. But that was only the beginning.

With the chore of finding the bastard Piers delegated nicely, Judith and Bevan would soon carry on to London, to pay homage to Edward and once and for all secure their hold on Gillwick Manor, whose lands very soon after would more than double in size. And while they were in audience with the king, Judith Angwedd would be sure to bestow upon Edward any detailed morsel that might aid him in knocking Sybilla Foxe from her lofty, self-appointed throne.

Before they were off though, she would enjoy Fallstowe Castle’s luxuries and have herself a spot of fun, since Phineas had been left behind at Gillwick.

She approached the distraught Clement, sitting at a common table, his fine, white hair falling over his fingers where they grasped his head. His narrow shoulders were hunched, the perfect figure of despair. She placed her palms near his neck and squeezed lightly.

“Sweet, young Clement,” she cooed. “My darling, you must not mourn so. It saddens me to no end to see you in such pain.”

“My Alys, my angel!” he cried in a strangled voice. “She is alone out there, with that … that—”

“Low-born killer, yes,” Judith Angwedd said lightly, and she smiled while she said it because Clement could not see her. She sat down next to him on the bench, facing away from the table and letting her hand trail down his arm to his elbow. “And, as troubling as it is to think, we must all prepare for the very, very worst.”

Clement whimpered.

Judith Angwedd sighed toward the vaulted ceiling. “A young girl such as Alys—innocent, trusting—she stands no chance against a base criminal such as Piers. She is likely already dead.”

There was a muffled cry from the vicinity of Clement’s hands.

Judith Angwedd turned on her hip to wrap her arms around Clement’s shoulders. “Oh, but my darling, you must not mourn your own life away! You are so young yet, Clement—my sweet, comely Clement! You will marry another and put this sadness behind you.” She pressed her lips to his hair, kissed him and then whispered, “Oh Clement, I adore you so—and your kind and gentle mother, my dear, dear friend! How I regret to have played a part in your distress.”

“You have shown great honor, Lady Judith, and courage to
come to Fallstowe with your warning,” Clement whispered. “We are all in your debt.”