The Woman Inside (16 page)

“You could stay here, find a nice lass and live a dream,” she said sensibly.
“Chasing about after rainbows rarely lands one a pot of gold.”

There was little humor in his chuckle now. “Marriage isn’t a winning gambit
for me, I assure you. More like a nightmare. No, I’m quite certain a lover would
be more to my liking.”

“Sir!” Anne rebuked.

He only smiled.

By now Ceylon was thoroughly curious, but she bit her tongue. She’d made a
few guesses about the close-mouthed bard, and it took all her will not to ask.
Surely he knew she was curious, and if he wished to talk he would.

As if reading her mind, Odell glanced her way. He held her gaze for a moment,
then closed his eyes and resumed his nap.

* * * *

They rode into Queenstown by noon the next day. Huge statues of lions guarded
the massive iron gates of the main city. Even more magnificent was the intricate
ice palace a stone’s throw from the walls. It was surrounded by huge ice
sculptures on every side, too many to count.

“I’d heard of this,” Anne said eagerly from the sleigh. “The Queen sponsors a
contest every year. People travel from hundreds of miles around—even from other
countries--just to see it and participate.”

“You’ll have more time for it later,” Uric promised. “Just now I’m sure you
would like to get warm.”

“Please.” Ceylon shivered against him and he tucked his cloak around her.

“It’s not far now.” He was ever aware of how easily she chilled. Anne didn’t
seem to suffer as much from the cold, but Anne was sturdy stock.

Messengers had been sent ahead, and Uric’s staff was waiting to greet them.
The ladies were fussed over, Odell was given a room to rest and the lot of them
and they were served a hot meal with liberal amounts of spiced mulled wine. By
the time they were finished Ceylon was sleepy eyed, so he wished her a good rest
while he turned his attention to business.

The first thing needed was to inform the queen of their arrival. A messenger
was dispatched to see to it. The queen would arrange an appointment at her
leisure. Possibly within the week.

He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous about it. Possibly because Callion might
offer to let Ceylon stay? He hoped she wasn’t tempted, for it would play havoc
with his plans to woo her. And woo her he would, for he’d finally given in to
the inevitable. Ceylon was going to get the courtship she’d hinted of, and hang
his insecurities.

Uric called for his butler. He had plans to make.

* * * *

“You’re a woman of means now,” Anne insisted the next day as she practically
dragged Ceylon out shopping. “Besides, you’ll be making several appearances at
court, and you must look your best.”

“I have enough clothes.” Part of Ceylon’s feet dragging came from her
constant twisting to stare at the many round windows and doors. She’d never seen
the like. And so much colored glass ... Glassworks were something this city
specialized in, and the multitude of rainbows around her from the many glass
prisms proclaimed it. It was quite the loveliest thing she’d ever seen, and
surprisingly clean for a city. Queen Callion and her father before her were
renowned for their refuse management programs and educational programs. The city
glowed.

The one track Anne kept her pace steady and her arm looped through Ceylon’s.
“Not for court, you don’t. Trust in my good sense, my dear. It’s vital that we
start on your wardrobe. It’s a pity that you didn’t start the seamstress at
Shardsvale start on your dresses immediately. They could have shipped them here.
Besides, once you are lady of Shardsvale--”

Ceylon started. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“What great nonsense. You’re going to marry that rich, sweet, handsome man
and don’t pretend otherwise. I know what it is you’re crocheting, even if he
doesn’t.”

Ceylon pinkened. “Um.” She hadn’t realized that Anne was familiar with the
lace bridal gowns common to her area. The women of her station might be poor,
but they were also talented. It was amazing what a bit of string, a hook and
some patience could accomplish.

Brows raised in a knowing expression, Anne swept into a dressmaker’s shop,
the first of several. By the time they were finished, hours later, Ceylon was
just about ready to let the two servants escorting them carry her home. Never
had she spent so much money, or had such a dizzying amount of attention paid to
her. It was enough to make one long for quiet backwater villages and comforting
anonymity.

It was good to go home.

There was a gift basket hanging on her doorknob when she came in. Charmed,
for it had been a long time since she’d received a gift, Ceylon looked inside.
“Oh, look! Honeycomb candles! And scented soap, and ... oh....” She inhaled
deeply of the small bottle of scented oil, then passed it to Anne.

“Lovely,” Anne agreed with a smile.

“It was so sweet of him to—” she broke off as she opened her bedroom door. A
cheval mirror, prettily wrapped with a ribbon, stood in the center of the room.
A sealed letter dangled from the ribbon. It read, “To the loveliest lady in the
land. Your devoted knight, Uric.”

Feeling slightly faint, Ceylon collapsed onto her bed as Anne let herself
out. Still clasping the letter to her chest, she felt a silly smile sweep across
her face. Uric was courting her!

She did not see him all that night, but the next morning when she got up and
stepped into the hall, something crunched underfoot. Afraid she’d crushed
something fragile, she jumped back. Someone had strewn a trail of dried flower
petals across the floor. The trail led to a wrapped parcel tilted against the
opposite wall, circling it once.

Fragrant flower scent rose around her as she stepped over and pulled the
string on the package. It was a book. A beautiful, leather bound, gold leafed
tome on medicinal flowers. Mouth open, she carefully leafed through the pages.
Inside were some of the most beautiful illustrations she’d ever seen or hoped to
own. A slip of paper fell out. It simply said, “Your knight.”

It was the cramps in her legs that made her realize she’d been kneeling a
long time, marveling over her book. Still dazed, she picked it up and took it
with her to the breakfast table.

“Wonderful,” Anne pronounced it, and Odell agreed. The men were absent. As
usual.

“He’s occupied with business, mistress,” the butler told her apologetically
when she asked. “But he left instructions that anything you require is to be
yours.”

What she desperately wanted was to see him, she thought, biting her lip. She
wanted to thank him, and ... she missed him. Where was he?

Uric was hiding. There was no dignified way to put it. He quite simply
couldn’t face her. The very thought gave him the cold sweats.

“It’s going well,” Roland reported with glee as he took the chair at Uric’s
table. The small pub was quite at this early hour, and conversation flowed
freely. “Anne says that Ceylon hasn’t moved from her reading chair in the parlor
since she found your book.”

Relieved, Uric nodded. His mother would have sneered at a book for a gift, no
matter how rare. By all reports Ceylon had loved the toilet things and the
mirror, too.

It was hard not to simply find the most expensive things he could and throw
them at her. It was what he was trained to do. The soaps had seemed like the
worst foolishness to him, but Anne had insisted. The mirror had been a back up.
Women loved to look at themselves, so he’d felt pretty safe there. Each correct
guess was boosting his confidence.

“You’re a clever man.” Roland grinned and took a swig of ale. “This hiding
yourself is only whetting her appetite. She was disappointed not to find you
this morning.”

“Great.” How nice to know there was an up side to his cowardliness.

“So what’s next? Have you an idea for her next gift?”

Not a clue.

Because if you don’t, I have some ideas....”

* * * *

This time the trail of potpourri led to a door. A key on a ribbon hung on the
doorknob. Ceylon opened it, holding her breath. Inside was a sunny room with
multiple cupboards, a work table, writing desk and jars and jars of labeled
herbs and oils. More books were stacked on the bench.

“I thought you might enjoy a workroom,” Uric said uncertainly from behind
her. One hand was on the jam and he didn’t quite enter, as if unsure of his
welcome.

Ceylon ignored the moisture in her eyes and launched herself at him,
enfolding him in a ferocious hug. She couldn’t speak.

One tentative hand came up to stroke her back. “You like it?”

She nodded against his chest. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done
for me.”

“Then why are you crying?” He sounded bewildered. And worried.

“I’m happy.” She gave him a dazzling smile and drew away to apply her
handkerchief. “How did you think of it?”

“It came to me,” he said evasively. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s wonderful. And oh! I have something for you, too.” She rummaged in the
satchel she carried and withdrew her latest project.

“You made this for me?” Uric examined the socks, knitted in shades of blue
and black. They had all manner of checks, diamonds and stripes. “Thank you. I’ve
never had such a colorful pair before.”

She beamed. “I’d heard the ones you had were full of holes.”

“Who said that?”

“Your servants are very protective of their master’s honor. Darjeng was happy
to tell me of your need for socks when I asked.” She hooked her arm through his
and allowed him to escort her toward breakfast.

“You’re on first name basis with my butler?” he asked with mock jealousy.

“Only so I can dazzle him into spoiling me. Actually I think he has his eye
on Anne.” She winked.

Not quite willing to relinquish their privacy, Uric danced her around until
her back was to a wall. “You know it’s good manners to say thank you with a
kiss.” His smile was pure invitation.

Slightly breathless, she said mischievously, “To everyone?”

“Only to me.” He lowered his head.

“Well—um ... .” His kiss was sweet, and very, very persuasive. It had been a
long time. Ceylon melted. And when he drew his knee up between her thighs she
moaned and clutched him tighter. She was very near to dragging him off and
having her wicked way with him when she suddenly remembered her wedding dress.
It wasn’t done.

“Wait!” she gasped as she broke away.

His lips trailed down her temple and caressed her neck, sparking fires.

“Uric!” She grasped his head with both hands, desperate to make him stop
before she lost all sense. “My dress isn’t finished,” she blurted out before she
could think.

He frowned at her. “Your dress?” He must have drawn his own conclusions from
her pink cheeks, for his face lit with joy. “Your wedding dress?”

Suddenly shy, she looked down and bit her lip. It didn’t stop her smile.
Still, she couldn’t quite say it out loud. It was too scary. Instead she
nodded.

“We’re getting married!” he shouted, and spun her around. In the middle of
the whirl he stopped and kissed her dizzy. “Married,” he whispered with wonder.

The servants and Anne came running. “Is something wrong, my lord?” the butler
asked uncertainly.

“We’re to be married!” Amongst their congratulations, he grabbed Ceylon’s
hands. “Where is it? Where’s your dress?”

She led him to the parlor and pulled a scrap of lace about a foot square from
her work basket.

He stared at it in dismay. “These things take a long time to do, don’t
they?”

She nodded. “Months.”

Even more disappointed, he held it against her chest. It barely covered the
essentials. “You could make it short sleeved.”

“I could.”

“And what if,” he looked around somewhat desperately. “Anne could help.”

She smiled. “Yes, if she likes.”

Uric fixed Anne with a look of stern command. “She likes. In fact, we could
hire others—”

Ceylon shook her head. “It’s traditional for the bride herself to work on it,
and maybe her family or one close friend. I wouldn’t feel right if others made
it.” He looked so crestfallen that she had to smile. “Don’t worry,” she said as
she patted his cheek. “With Anne’s help I might have it done in a month, perhaps
six weeks.”

“Six weeks.” He nodded, grimly. “I can wait six weeks.” He glanced at her
body. “Maybe. Why don’t you get started?” Conscious of their chaperones, he
kissed her hand. “Until later.”

The moment the parlor door closed behind him, Anne squealed and hugged her.
“You minx! Six weeks indeed. You’re bound to make the man suffer, aren’t
you?”

“What do you mean?”

Anne snorted and pulled the real, nearly completed wedding dress from the
bottom of the basket. “I peeked.”

Ceylon took the gown and held it lovingly against her body. She could hardly
wait to see herself in the cheval glass. “I wanted to give him time. To be
sure.”

“That man was sure a minute after he saw you, I’m certain.” Anne sat down and
took up her own needlework. “The only one uncertain about this match is
you.”

“A woman should be careful,” she said defensively as she carefully folded the
gown and wrapped it in paper. “Marry once, but slowly,” she quoted the old
proverb.

“Scratch not with chickens when you can fly with eagles,” Anne countered.
“Fate has handed you a dream, child. Don’t play with it.”

Sound advice. If only she had the courage to stop thinking and start leaping.

* * * *

Uric changed overnight. Now that he was sure of her he was much more relaxed.
Even playful. The atmosphere around him was charged with joy and energy.
Affectionate to the point of earning Anne’s censorious looks, he was in constant
contact with Ceylon, either touching her shoulder, her hair and occasionally
putting his arm around her—usually when Anne wasn’t looking.