Never Kiss A Stranger (13 page)

Alys was gone.

Piers whipped his head around, then turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the river below, the ravine sides. His hair lay cold and dripping on his shoulders, but the chill he felt was not from the frigid water he’d washed with. He threw the bundle of monk’s robe and his filthy shirt to the ground.

Alys was gone, and she’d taken his pack with her.

The Mallory signet ring—the tentative evidence of his birthright—hidden deep inside.

He wanted to shout her name through the trees. He wanted to take off at a run to the road. He stood there, turning in circles, his mind racing with the possible explanations.

She’d grown tired of him and left. No—where would she go but back to Fallstowe? And Piers knew she’d rather drown herself in the river than marry Clement Cobb, or worse, face her sister, Sybilla, in defeat.

At that thought, he looked down at the rushing water once more. No body. And Piers had been downstream. He would have seen her tumble past him as he washed.

Perhaps after a certain amount of time, she’d decided to follow him after all, and become lost in the wood. Perhaps even now, she was walking, searching, deeper into the forest.

Then he did almost shout her name. Alone, she was certain to die. But then he thought of who may be in the vicinity of the road, the sounds of their travel undecipherable to Piers over the crash of the water.

Or mayhap Judith Angwedd and Bevan had found her, found his pack, and taken her. Piers thought of Bevan, bringing him into clear focus in his mind’s eye, along with all of the terrible things Piers knew the bastard capable of. He looked down: the sandy floor of the overhang was plowed with footsteps, but Piers could not decipher them.

Then he was out of the cave, charging up the steep bank itself, falling, slipping, scrambling upright, fighting his way to the road. He gained the shoulder of the ravine and sprinted and dodged through the trees to the road where he came to a skidding halt, his head swiveling in either direction.

Empty.

Piers walked to the center of the track, where fresh hoof prints churned and tilled the cold, hard dirt. He looked both ways again. Riders had passed through here, mayhap only moments ago. And now, Alys was gone.

He took a deep breath, and roared to the treetops.
“Alys!”

Within the echo of his shout, Piers heard a crunching through the wood. He spun around toward the sound and she emerged casually from the trees as if his command of her name had summoned her. Her bag was crossed over her body, her cloakless shoulders supporting his pack. She carried a bundle under one arm, and it was upon that
same shoulder which Layla rode. Alys was chewing, and passed a bit of whatever was in her hand up to the monkey. The youngest lady of the house of Fallstowe looked as though she had been in a brawl with a midden heap, and lost badly.

“You really shouldn’t shout, Piers. That’s a poor way of keeping our whereabouts secret.” She turned her gaze to him fully then, and stopped at the edge of the road. Her jaws paused for a moment, and then she swallowed forcefully. She looked him up and down. “You took a bath!”

“Where in fucking hell have you been?” he growled even as he marched toward her. She did not shirk at his approach. Piers’s heart, however, pounded and tripped at the sight of her, safe, and uninjured, and alone.

“You look … ah, much better, I must say. Quite … well”—she cleared her throat and swallowed again—“Quite an improvement, Piers.”

Layla screamed indignantly as Piers reached out to spin Alys around. He grabbed the flap of his pack and began to pull it from her back. “Give me my goddamn bag!
And where have you been?
A band of riders has just come through, and by the size of the party, I do doubt they were simple travelers. They could have seen you, you little fool!”

It was either that, or kiss her for the fright she’d given him.

“My, you do curse a lot when you’re surprised. Wait a moment, and I’ll take the pack off and give it to you—if you rip both my arms off, I’ll drop my apple!”

He let go of her. “You were supposed to wait for me. Where did you get an apple?” He jerked the pack from her hand when she held it to him.

“You didn’t tell me to wait for you. And besides, you’re not responsible for me, are you?” She took a crunching bite of the small blushing fruit in her hand.

“You stole my bag,” he growled and then stormed past her toward the ravine again. His heart still pounded so that he could no longer look at her.

“Since I’m here and have returned your bag, you can hardly say I stole it. You told me not to let anything happen to it, so I took it to Pilings with me. My cloak is in there, by the way, and I’d like it back—I’m freezing.”

He stopped and spun around. “You went into the village?”

“Yes, but your bag was with me the entire time, so don’t worry—your ring is safe.” She took another bite.

“Did anyone see y—” he broke off as he realized what she said. “You went through my bag?”

She swallowed her mouthful of apple. “Yes. I did. And the only one in Pilings who saw me”—she held her arms out from her body and turned her face to the side, her nose loftily in the air—“thought me a mad, wandering woman of the wood people. I came upon no band of bloodthirsty riders. Only a simple village matron.”

“You had no right,” he said through his teeth and turned toward the ravine again.

“Would it help if I apologized?” she called from behind him, obviously around a mouthful of fruit.

“No,” he threw back. He reached the steep path to the river bank and hopped down. Turning, he held up a hand to Alys, who took it as she made her own way onto the narrow track. Her fingers were impossibly cool and smooth, slender and frail feeling, as if her bones were the tiniest dried twigs, liable to snap off in his palms with the slightest squeeze of his own clumsy, farmhand digits.

“Thank you. You needn’t worry that I’ve outed us,” she continued when he released her and they made their way down the bank. “There was but one woman who saw me, and as I’ve said, she thought me an insignificant
beggar. Did you not notice my costume? I was brilliant as a madwoman, I tell you. You should have seen me, Piers.”

“You’re mad, alright,” he growled, and started up the incline once more at the bottom of the overhang. “You have no idea the jeopardy in which you’ve placed us, Alys. We don’t know who the riders are—they may return to search for us.”

“You worry overmuch.” In a moment, she was at his side. She dropped her bag to the dirt and her monkey scrambled down to sit at her feet, its eyes locked on the bundle under Alys’s arm. She sank into a cross-legged seat, her gown falling naturally over her knees. She began opening the bundle, chattering, chattering all the while.

“Even should someone inquire of the woman about me, and even should she call me to mind with suspicion, they would not expect you or me to be
behind
the village.” She withdrew her hand and tossed him an apple with a grin. He caught it, and the sweet tangy smell of the fruit caused his mouth to water, and a wave of nausea to wash over him. He broke into a sweat.

She continued, “‘Tis early yet—look at the light. They’ll assume we’ve moved through already, as I made it a point to confirm the direction of London before I left. Once away from her, I simply circled the village and”—she spread her arms with a sly smile—“here I am once more. Safe and sound and bearing gifts.”

He took a bite of the apple, half of it disappearing into his mouth. He chewed and forced the hard chunks of food down his constricted throat, giving himself time to think, while she produced yet another of the precious fruits and held it up with a triumphant “hah!” before the monkey. Layla snatched it, jumping up and down with excitement, before scampering to the back of the cave-like shelter and hunkering down to eat.

She could be right. It was unlikely that anyone suspecting Alys would think her to still be in the area. He would not praise her, however.

He gestured to her roughly with the half eaten apple. “‘Twas still foolish.” I was worried when I couldn’t find you, he said, but only to himself.

Alys held up her forefinger. “Or brilliant.” She began digging through the bundle again, her blond hair a snarl of leaves and dirt. The fluffy tangles quivered with her every movement, and the sight of her, now that the imminent danger was past, was nearly enough to force a grin to Piers’s mouth.

She did look quite mad. Nothing like a lady of one of the richest houses in England. He polished off the apple, core and all, in one bite. Perhaps it was only food that his body needed. His stomach did feel more settled now.

Alys gasped, and then looked up at him suddenly. “Could we have a fire tonight, Piers?”

He shook his head. “We’re too close to the road.”

She huffed and her fists jerked at the bundle on her lap in frustration. “Please? Perhaps later? Once it’s fully dark?”

He frowned “I don’t know. You’ve already taken enough risks for one day, I’d wager.” He paused. “Why?”

“Well, because I’m cold, for one—I’ve been cold for
days,
and I’m sick of it.
And
you’re not the only one in need of washing up.
And
we have apples”—she reached into the bag then withdrew her hands one at a time
—“and
an onion. And … a
pig!”

Piers felt his eyebrows raise. In her hands were a small, blocky onion and a hunk of striped, cured sidemeat. In that instant, Piers could taste the salty pork on his tongue, the tang of the onion in the juice of the fruit. His stomach clenched. It was a feast she presented to him.

She winked at him. “Never again doubt me, fair?”

“I’ll think upon it,” was all he said.

Alys sighed and rolled her eyes, replacing the foodstuffs in the bundle. She reached for her own bag and began searching through it. “Very well. But I am going to the river to wash while there is still light.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“I think not,” Alys said with a laugh. “Although we
are
married, I still feel we don’t know each other well enough for you to watch me bathe.”

Piers’s face burned at the thought. “We’re
not
married.”

“Whatever you say, husband.”

His brows lowered even further. “Is that
soap?”

“Yes,” she said mildly, looking at the items in her left hand. “And my hairbrush. How else am I to bathe properly? Would you be so kind as to make use of one of those knives in your pack and cut a towel from my blue gown, please?”

“You’re going to wash with perse.”

“As I imagine it will feel quite smooth against my skin, yes.”

Piers shook his head as he retrieved a knife and cut a long, rectangular strip from the hem of the costly gown. He handed it up to her, and noticed that while he had been mangling her dress, Alys had also retrieved her fine slippers from her bag and exchanged them for the worn leather shoes on her feet.

She was going to wash in a river, with a perse cloth, while standing in silk slippers.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly as she took the rag.

“Don’t go far,” he warned. “Just below us. I won’t watch.”

“Very well,” she conceded, and then pointed to Layla when the monkey scampered over to join her. “No, Layla, you stay with Piers.”

The monkey hunkered down on her haunches as if pouting. Piers felt a bit resentful himself.

Alys turned to leave the ravine, but paused at the edge to look back at him. “And Piers?”

“Yes?”

“You have my complete permission to go through my bag.” She gave him a wide grin and then disappeared down the bank.

“Holy—!” Alys shrieked when she first dipped the wadded up perse in the river. Icy did not even come close to describing the temperature of the water. Her skirts were tied into a knot just below her knees, and she’d already brushed and re-tied her hair back from her face. Unlike Piers, she was unwilling to wash her hair in such cold weather without the assurance of a warm fire to dry it by, but she was pleased to note that the smell of it wasn’t completely unpleasant—rather woodsy, actually.

“Alys?” She heard Piers’s faint call. She looked up and saw him standing at the edge of the shelter, looking wide and wild.

She waved at him, signaling that all was well. Then she turned back to her task grimly, wincing as the frigid water ran over her knuckles when she wrung out the perse rag.

She scrubbed at her face and neck, her skin burning both from the vigorous washing and the cold water. Then she dipped into the bodice of her dress, huffing out her breaths in “ha-ha-ha” as her skin threatened to shiver from her flesh. The spots under her arms and breasts were the worst, by far, but the fresh scent of sandalwood from her soap did ease the discomfort a bit. After her legs and private areas were swiped clean, she rinsed the rag in the
river and laid it on a nearby rock while she loosened her skirts and then attacked them with her hairbrush.

Even the full-body chill that had seized her was not strong enough to shake the image of a freshly-clean Piers from her mind. She had been right at her earlier guess that a bit of washing up would do wonders for his person, but she could never have imagined the sight which would be revealed beneath all that dirt and old robes. The gooseflesh on her arms and legs were only partly due to her damp skin now.

Noble, strong of body …

And he had helped her down the ravine—actually extended his hand and touched her without her request. Alys could not help but think that perhaps he was beginning to soften toward her. She paused for a moment, her hairbrush held mid-stroke over her skirt, as a realization occurred to her. Alys had not known that Piers’s bag contained something as meaningful as the signet ring when he’d left it in her care, but Piers had.

A sudden breeze swept through the ravine over the river at her toes and Alys smelled smoke. She turned her head toward the bank and saw Piers crouched down near the opening of the overhang, a column of smoke fluttering sideways under his hands.

He was making her a fire!

A slow smile crept over her face and she felt a warmth in her chest beneath the field of prickly flesh. Perhaps the risk of a fire was a repayment for the food she had obtained them, or perhaps he was simply weary of bearing the cold, as well. Alys hoped those weren’t the only reasons, though.