The Woman Inside (14 page)

Not that she could tell him such. What was she to say? It’s her or me, man.
Pick one. How could she be so callous? Besides, from what she knew of him such a
proclamation wouldn’t go over well. The man was too loyal for his own good.

Tension made her rub the area between her brows. Loyalty was good, wasn’t it?
Well, yes, when given with discretion. She suspected that guilt played a hand in
his actions, too. Heaven knew his mother wielded that weapon with a practiced
hand.

Maude. It all came back to Maude. And then there was this tangle about Anne
going to Queenstown. Maude was behaving like a spoiled child. She rolled her
eyes. At least Uric was holding firm to his promise that she might go. It
couldn’t be easy for him, and in the last two days Maude had become more and
more cold, while he had withdraw to the point of missing several meals. Four
days they’d been here, and already Ceylon longed to leave.

Besides, she was worried about Odell. The bard received her visits, but was
becoming more and more withdrawn. Nothing seemed to draw him out of his shell.
She suspected that he would ride out the minute the ice bridge was confirmed
safe, with or without company. His rashness would put him in danger, but what
could she do? She could scarcely force him to wait on them.

Afternoon found her staring out of a solar window, frowning at the incoming
storm. The light had gone all hazy-white, and in the window she caught the
shadow of a man.

“Longing for sunshine?” Uric asked.

“Restless. I’m unused to being idle so long.” She circled the room and eased
into a chair, keeping him in her peripheral vision. She took up her crochet.

He took the couch opposite her. “That looks like doing something. Or would
you prefer to read?”

She smiled wryly. “Busy work. Quells the nerves. And yes, I’ve explored your
library. It’s magnificent, but I can’t spend all my time with books.”

“I’ve heard that Anne has been teaching you her arts.” His eyes moved
hungrily over her face. “It seems you’re a fast learner.”

Shy color pinked her cheeks as she carefully avoided his eyes. “Hm. But not a
master. I still need her.”

“You have her.” He propped an arm across the low couch back. “But what of
your Raven? He must be even more restless with this waiting. Getting into
trouble?”

“Ah....” She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase her concerns about Raven without
betraying the lad.

“Perhaps I could offer him an alternative? I’ve been without a squire for
some time--never had one, actually. Maybe he could fill the position. As a trial
thing, you know,” he hastened to say. No doubt he was leery of promising too
much to a lad who might prove hard-headed and difficult. “Unless you are too
attached to him ... why are your eyes welling up?”

He looked so concerned that she choked up even more. How could he know how
much this meant to her? Would mean to Raven? “I’m fine. Really.” She offered him
a watery smile. “You know women. We choke up at the silliest things.”

He frowned. “Not you. Should I get you something?”

The utter helplessness of his gesture made her smile. Even if she hadn’t
known that he hadn’t been raised in the most nurturing environment, it wouldn’t
have taken long to figure it out. “No. I’m fine, really. It’s just ... you’re
very sweet to offer Raven such a position. It will mean a great deal to
him.”

“And to you?”

His expression was so hopeful, so guarded, she just couldn’t resist.
Needlework abandoned, she moved to kneel by his side. With all the gratitude she
felt in her eyes, she cupped his face in one hand. “And to me.” Her kiss was
soft, a brush of lips as fleeting as a butterfly’s wing. He groaned and tried to
deepen it, but she eased away.

“Are you torturing me?” He sounded both sulky and perplexed.

One hand on the doorframe, she tossed him a coy smile. “I’m still thinking
over your proposal. Until then a kiss is all I can offer in good conscience.”
Even if she had nearly given him everything the other day.

Very serious, he said, “What do you want, Ceylon? A room full of silks and
furs? I’ll have one prepared. A carriage and six white horses? They are yours.
Anything you desire that is in my power to give you, I will give it. Name
it.”

She smiled softly. “More of what you just did will win my heart, knight
earnest. It will warm me better than any fur or flash of diamonds.” Since he
still looked doubtful, she added mischievously, “It might warm me so much that I
might be forced to disrobe and share my heat with your cold, poor self.” It was
worth her blush to see the sudden intensity in his expression. By all
appearances he was a man convinced.

The low rumble of his voice confirmed it. “Now that is a quest worth
winning.”

Had she said he was cold? The heat in his eyes belied it. Ceylon retreated
before the flame could leap out and consume her.

The temperature dropped all day and continued into the night. By dinner time
Ceylon had put an extra shift under her dress and added a shawl. Her own dress
wasn’t nearly as fine as the one Uric had lent her, but she could hardly wear it
every day.

His mother didn’t fail to comment on it. “Rather rustic for dinner, isn’t it,
girl?” she said, eyeing the serviceable woolen.

“Is it?” Ceylon blinked innocently.

Maude scowled over her wine at Uric. “The least you could do is buy the girl
some decent gowns for her ... troubles, boy. The thing she’s wearing is little
better than a rag.”

“Enough, Maude.” Uric was getting visibly annoyed with her constant
picking.

“Surely you’re not going make her beg for every scrap as you do me?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Perhaps you would be happier in a house of your
own?”

Aghast, she stared at him. “A dower house? You’re threatening to send me to a
drafty old dower house?”

“The thought is crossing my mind.”

Her eyes narrowed, first on him, then on Ceylon. “You. You’re the reason
behind this.”

Uric stopped sawing at his steak. “You know, Maude, I’ve become very tired of
dining on a sour stomach. So unless you wish to take your meals in your room,
kindly desist from torturing us, won’t you? Thanks so much.”

Maude inhaled, her eyes round with horror. She looked from Uric to Ceylon,
who watched with unabashed interest. Without a word, she left the table.

Back teeth clamped, Ceylon kept her attention on her plate and suppressed the
urge to laugh in triumph. Her man was making it. Uric just might turn out all
right.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Ceylon went in search of Uric, only to be told that
he and Roland had gone hunting for a pack of scavenging wolves. Disappointed,
she thanked the servant and wondered what she could possibly do to pass the
time. As it happened, Maude had plans for her.

“There you are,” Maude said as she spotted Ceylon alone in the solar. Eyes
glittering with triumph, she said, “I’d wondered where the castle slut had been
hiding herself.”

Ceylon refused to dignify that with a response, though it cost her dearly to
hold her tongue. Still, Maude was pushing it.

Most likely thinking that Ceylon was too cowed to fight back, Maude attacked.
“My son tells me you’re the by blow of a country lord and his squire’s wife.”
She paused a heartbeat to enjoy herself. “I only wonder how long it will be
before he tires of you.”

Eyes hard with fury, Ceylon said, “Your son said no such thing.”

Maude smiled. “You will address me as Lady Maude. I will have nothing less
from a base born bastard such as yourself.”

For the first time Ceylon felt a shiver of dread kiss her spine. The light of
madness glittered in Maude’s eyes. Still, what could she do? Uric would be
furious if Maude did anything foolish. Besides, it was time someone stood up to
the ogress. She quirked a brow. “Kind of haughty for a farmer’s wife, aren’t
you?”

Maude slapped her. A sliver of blood opened up on her split lip.

Having never been struck in her life, Ceylon was too shocked to react at
first.

Cold as frosted steel, Maude watched impassively as scarlet trickled down
Ceylon’s chin. “You will address me as Mistress Wormhurst. Guards!” she threw
over her shoulder. She smiled as men poured in the door at her command. “Take
this one to the cellars and lock her away. A few years in the dungeon should
teach you some respect.”

The corner of Ceylon’s lips twisted in snarl as rough hands seized her arms.
Furious at her own stupidity and Maude’s gall, she snarled as she was dragged
out, “Evil hag! How’d you like to drink poison?” For the first time in her life
she felt like the witch she’d been accused of being.

The cellars were a long way from the solar, and Ceylon had plenty of time to
steam. Hot with fury, she muttered on the way down, “If I were a witch I’d turn
her into and old bat! Wait, she already is one.” The air was clammy and dank in
the windowless sub-level, and three cells, all empty, waited for her in gloomy
silence.

“No worries,” one of her guards said cheerfully. “The baron will come for you
in a few hours. If not, I’ll keep you warm.” He winked and shut the cell door
with a squeal of hinges, locking her in.

“Not likely,” she retorted, referring to his offer to join her. She surely
hoped that Uric would get home soon. The moment he let her out she planned to
steal a horse and keep on riding. Nothing was worth putting up with this
madwoman and her delusions.

If Maude had done nothing else, she’d given Ceylon plenty of time to think.
Much as she cared for Uric, his mother was crazier than a three-sided coin.
There was no way she would consent to live in the same house as that bitter
madwoman. Uric had said at their last dinner that he was thinking of sending the
woman away. Fine. Let this be the test. If he couldn’t pass it then this
relationship was never going to gel. The dragon had to go.

Hours passed. Weariness set in, and gradually her pacing slowed. It hadn’t
been doing much to keep her warm, anyway. Too cold to ignore the guard any
longer, she said, “What will it cost me to get a clean blanket in here?”

“Use what’s there. It ain’t worth my head,” he said in a bored tone.

She looked at the ragged, dirty blanket and shuddered. Ugh. It was probably
full of lice, and certainly full of mouse droppings. “I’m g-good for the gold,”
she chattered, doing a little dance to keep warm.

He yawned and tilted back in his chair, absently scratching an armpit. “Only
thing keeping you from being warm is you.”

Inevitably, she was forced to use the blanket. As she sat there shivering her
fury turned on Uric. He might have asked her if she’d have liked to ride in his
hunt for the ravenous wolves, but no. He had to go and leaving her there. For
that matter she’d still have been safe at home if he hadn’t made it his business
to escort her to the queen. Had she been given the choice she would have put off
the trip indefinitely, perhaps long enough to for the queen to forget her
entirely. No doubt she already had. Wouldn’t surprise her a bit if the queen
frowned in confusion when Ceylon was introduced and ordered her thrown out of
court.

Somehow that was all Uric’s fault.

* * * *

They rode back to Shardsvale at a steady clip, fresh wolf skins tied behind
their saddles. Hunting dogs and men on foot followed behind. Raven, who’d
accompanied them, beamed for all he was worth. It had been a good hunt.

Uric eyed the boy and considered Ceylon’s words. Was it really possible to
win a woman’s heart with good deeds? The idea seemed far-fetched, but his lady
was no ordinary woman. Perhaps she truly preferred all that romantic drivel to
coins in her pocket and silk dresses. Since Raven had known her the longest, he
asked him about it.

The boy shrugged. “If she says she wants romance, then that’s what she wants.
She’s not like to beat around the mulberry.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Though I
know for a fact she likes flowers and female frippery. Just never had the money
to indulge.”

“I’m trying to change that,” Uric muttered with disgust. If the woman weren’t
so stubborn....

“You’re still trying to buy her, fool,” Roland said impatiently. “Woo the
wench. It’s what she wants. It’s what all but those paper maidens you’ve been
towing home want. I vow I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it.
She’s half yours already; if you’d just give her a little push she’d fall right
into your bed.”

“Hey!” Raven snapped. He still took his job as Ceylon’s protector
seriously.

“Marital bed,” Roland corrected. “Not that Uric looks anywhere near achieving
it on his own.”

A hot glare was Uric’s only reply. He knew why he resisted the romantic
courtship Ceylon craved. It meant opening himself up, risking rejection. The
very thought turned him cold. And why shouldn’t it? As a boy he’d tried to court
his mother’s love and failed miserably. As a man he’d discovered the only way to
satisfy her was to fill her open palm. He knew the rules of that game, yet
Ceylon was asking him to take the losing path again.

He couldn’t bear to fail twice.

Still in a quandary when the reached the castle, at first he didn’t hear his
steward frantically calling his name. It took the man several tries to gain his
full attention.

“My lord!” The man gasped. He’d been watching for Uric and come at a run when
the lookout had spotted riders. “It’s mistress Ceylon. You’re mother had locked
in the dungeon this morning. She’s still down there, my lord, and--” He had to
run to keep up with Uric’s long strides as he advanced on the castle at a near
run. “Your mother has locked herself in her room--”

“Her only smart move this day,” Uric snarled, boiling with white hot fury.
What harpy had possessed his mother that she thought she could get away with
such a thing?

“She threatens to harm herself if Ceylon is released,” the man continued.