The Woman Inside (7 page)

“It’ll mean another night in that place, won’t it?” she asked Uric as he
helped her mount his tall horse.

“Yes, but at least you’ll be warm. I doubt you’d enjoy camping out in this
weather.” The saddle creaked as he mounted behind her, molding his strong thighs
around her chilly legs. When he took hold of the reins she became intimately
aware of the strength in his chest, the breadth of it. Warm clouds of breath
brushed past her cheek, mingling with her own on the chill air.

Privately she thought Uric’s body held more than enough heat to keep any
woman warm.

For his benefit, she said, “Yes, I’m sure it will be, though ‘the queen’ has
probably made the carriage more comfortable than some houses.”

“Um.”

A little frustrated that her dig for information had come up empty--for she
more than suspected that the queen had little to do with her present
comfort--Ceylon sighed and looked around. For the first time she noticed that
Raven wasn’t with them. Only Roland and two of Uric’s twelve man escort had
followed them. “Where is Raven?”

Roland looked too innocent. “You’re not likely to need him for this trip. As
far as I can tell he serves no useful purpose anyway.”

“Annoying you is a useful purpose, Roland.” Uric grinned.

Ceylon twisted around to look at him. “You might have asked me.”

“Next time.”

She faced forward. “It’s too bad there are no extra horses. I ought to be
teaching him to ride, and it would be good for him to get out of the carriage.
For that matter it would be nice to ride now and then.” She grimaced. “My
backside is growing numb with all this sitting.”

“If you think you’re numb now, try riding a horse for a day. I doubt you’d
think it was so wonderful after your bottom became raw and blistered.” There was
an unmistakable smile in his voice.

“You’re likely right.” Keen to find another subject other than her backside,
which she regretted bringing up, Ceylon said, “So tell me, is your mother really
as awful as they say?”

“Worse,” Roland replied immediately.

Uric’s answer was slower in coming, the words carefully weighed. “She is a
hard woman to please.”

Guilt pricked her for the subtle tension that stiffened his body. Ceylon
hadn’t meant to upset him. Meaning to fix her mistake, she said lightly, “Well,
so am I at times.”

Roland snorted. “You? You’re a kitten. If mistress Maude were here she’d show
you a thing or two about difficult.” He smirked. “Maude would have you for
breakfast.”

Ceylon straightened, her pride goading her. “I’m not a spineless booby, thank
you very much. I think I can handle one difficult woman. She can’t possibly be
worse than some of the ladies I’ve served.”

“’Thank you very much?’” Roland shook his head in mock sorrow. “Oh, kitten.”
The way he said the words made her sound like a hopeless case.

Since she knew so little about Uric’s mother, Ceylon remained silent, though
she disliked Roland’s patronizing. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d ever meet
her.

They arrived at the village, found someone to work on the axle and returned
to the inn. Since she didn’t care to wait in the cold, Ceylon left the men as
they cared for their horses and entered the inn alone.

The door had barely creaked shut behind her when a familiar shout made her
hair stand on end.

“It’s her!”

She didn’t wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Amidst the sound of fast
scraping chairs and running boots, she dashed out the door, screaming,
“Uric!”

Two steps off the porch a body slammed into her, half-knocking her down. An
arm came around her waist, lifting her kicking body off the ground. “Got her!”
Boyd shouted.

Frantic to get away, Ceylon twisted and clawed for his eyes. Cursing, he
dropped her to the ground, grabbed her by her shirt front and drew back his
fist.

It never fell.

A whirring sound was the only warning before a knife buried itself in Boyd’s
neck.

Ceylon stifled a scream as Boyd’s eyes rolled up. His body fell heavily on
her as she scrambled to get out of the way, pinning her to the frozen mud.

Amherst jerked her to her feet, but had no time to drag her away before a
flashing silver star buried itself in his eye. Then Roland grabbed her arm and
fought at a run to get them clear of the mob of men suddenly milling in the
yard.

“Stay there!” he shouted as he thrust her against the log wall and turned
defend them.

Dazed with shock, Ceylon flattened herself against the wall and watched as
Uric became the Berserker. Roland was incredibly fierce, but Uric....

Blue eyes cold with unearthly flame, her berserker disemboweled one man and
took the leg of another with a quick reverse of his sword. A silent snarl curled
his lip as he impaled another and lifted him, tossing his body to the side like
so much trash.

Ceylon turned her face to the wall, afraid she would faint when he cleaved a
man’s skull completely in two.

Roland raised his blade and something warm and wet splattered her face and
hair.

Gorge rose in her throat, but Ceylon swallowed it and stiffened her knees.
They had enough problems without adding a fainting woman to the pot.

Uric ripped his sword out of his last opponent’s chest and searched for
another foe, his chest heaving. His men stood nearby, panting and bloody but
alive. Ceylon was just a small figure sheltered by a log wall and the
gore-smeared Roland.

Anger speared him as he saw the cautious townspeople peering out of windows
and doors, well away from the fray. Was every man here a coward?

“Roland!” he snapped, the fire battle still sizzling through his veins. His
body was beginning to shake with the familiar aftereffects of battle lust. “Take
Ceylon inside and get some rum into her. Eville limped off and I need to find
him.”

“You.” He pointed one ominous finger at the innkeeper, who was standing by,
gaping. “Heat water. Lots of it. I’ll be back.” He didn’t like the glassy look
in Ceylon’s eyes, or her choppy breathing, but Roland would have to take care of
her. Just now he needed to track a wounded wolf.

“But my lord ... what about the bodies?” the innkeeper stammered.

Uric’s gaze was frigid. “What? You’re unable to take out the trash?” Dividing
his men, he sent one after Ceylon and Roland and took the other with him.

An hour later he returned to the inn, frustrated. They’d lost the trail and
concern for Ceylon had persuaded him to leave it for now.

He would find Eville later.

The noise level dropped as he entered the inn but at a glance from him the
patrons looked away. Conversations resumed at a muted level.

Roland sat by the fire, near the stairs. His back was to the wall, and he
rose immediately when Uric came in.

Uric shook his head, answering the unspoken question as he drew off his
gloves. “Ceylon?”

“Safe in her room. A good washing and a cup of liquor brought the color back
to her face. Last I knew she was trying to rest.”

Relief made his shoulders relax. Uric nodded. “Good.”

It had been terribly hard to keep his mind off Ceylon as he stalked her
attacker. Every time he thought about how small and helpless she’d looked he’d
become furious. Only the need to get Eville before he attacked again had allowed
him to leave. Even if she feared him now, despised him for the blood he’d shed,
even if it was in her defense ... He didn’t care. He was used to that reaction
from women, and he wanted to make certain she was all right.

It didn’t take long to bathe, and his hair still curled with dampness as he
knocked on Ceylon’s door.

“Come in,” her subdued voice called. “Uric!” She sat up as she saw him,
curling her legs under her. “Are you all right? I was worried about you.”

Warmth uncurled in his heart at her eager greeting. Another woman might have
shrank from him.

But then Ceylon wasn’t another woman.

“I wanted make sure you were well.” He remained in the door, leaving it open
for the sake of her reputation.

“Thank you. I am.” She drew her hair away from her face, her eyes on the bed.
“I’m just not used to--”

“There’s no reason you would be,” he said quickly, wishing to spare her
reliving it. “If I have my way, you’ll never see it again.”

“Thank you for protecting me.”

“My pleasure.” An awkward silence fell. “Can you ride? The axle is finished,
and though it will mean a long night’s travel to the next town, I’d rather
rejoin my men than spend another night here.”

“Of course. I’ll be fine.” She jumped up and thrust her feet into her boots.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He picked up her cloak before she could reach for it and placed it on her
shoulders, fastening the frogs.

“Uric?” Her eyes were soft as she looked up at him. “I....” Whatever she was
going to say was lost with her courage. She dropped her eyes, whispered, “Thank
you.”

They rode back in silence and fixed the carriage with all speed. Night was
falling, but Uric decided to press on rather than return to the false shelter of
the town.

“I can’t believe I missed it!” Raven mourned when he found out what happened.
He’d hung on every word the soldier telling the tale had said, and now he
continued to lament his bad luck.

Ceylon was nearly ready to boot him from the carriage. Either that or gag
him. Eville was still out there, and now that she knew how badly he wanted her,
she knew she would see him again. If he’d come this far, he’d go farther. Added
to that would be a desire to avenge his dead brothers. Next time Uric might not
be there. Next time he might be hurt, and how could she possibly fight off
Eville by herself?

And Raven treated the entire frightening episode like some epic
adventure.

If he said one more word....

“I’ve got to get my own horse. That way I won’t be left behind the next time
you go seeking adventure--”

Ceylon flung open the window and roared, “Uric!”

Torchlight shadowed his features with alarm as he dropped back to see what
she needed. “What is it?”

The carriage pulled to a stop and Ceylon opened the door, pointing her finger
at it. “OUT! Go! Ride!” She turned desperate eyes to Uric. “If you love me, man,
you’ll find a horse for this chatterbox and teach him to ride. I need some
peace.”

Uric cocked his head, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. “If I love you?”

Her face heated. “A figure of speech. I beg you, find this boy a pony.”

He bowed slightly, no mean feat on horseback. It was hard to tell in the
flickering light, but she thought he smiled. “You’ll never have to beg, mistress
Ceylon.”

Ceylon’s heart squeezed painfully at his tone, and she sat back as Raven
scooted out of the carriage and slammed the door. Moments later the carriage was
moving.

Eyes closed, she sank against the seat and let her breath out in slow hiss.
No. She would not develop feelings for him. No doubt every maiden who clapped
eyes on him imagined herself in love, but she knew better. Uric would deliver
her to the queen and walk away, never looking back.

A wise woman would do the same.

They arrived at River Town after dawn the following morning, having traveled
with only brief stops for the horses. Though she’d slept more than the others,
Ceylon’s eyes still felt gritty as she opened the window and peered at the early
morning light on the snow dusted log buildings. It must not have been fresh
snow, though, for smoke marks darkened the white on the rooftops.

As she looked closer, she noticed that some of the buildings were actually
stone and wattle, materials more familiar to her. The horse’s hooves clattered
on stone pavement as the coach rocked to a stop before a two story inn,
signaling that the main road, at least, was paved.

Ceylon sighed in relief as the coachman helped her down from the carriage,
pleased to be out of the rig. The owner of the inn—a short fellow with a
handlebar mustache-- hurried to open the wide oak door for her. “Good morning,
my lady! Watch your step, the stone is often slippery. My wife is in the kitchen
right now, fixing a lively breakfast to take away the chill.”

“Thank you.” Ceylon smiled at him, heartened by his greeting. She definitely
liked this inn better than the last.

Uric and Roland joined her in the private parlor not long after, trailed by
Raven. He sat with a grimace.

“What’s the matter?” She sat down her teacup, concerned. “You’re
limping.”

Roland grinned as he poured himself some mulled wine. “Too many hours in the
saddle, no doubt.”

“I’m fine.” Raven shifted and helped himself to some wine, doing his best to
look dignified.

Certain his bottom felt like raw meat, and equally sure he’d rather not
discuss it, Ceylon resolved to hand him some salve in private and say no more
about it.

Over a breakfast of salted fish, cheesy onion bread and wine sauced
vegetables over poached eggs, Uric discussed his further travel plans.

“It will be faster to leave the carriage behind here and take a barge down
river. It will mean riding a horse for you,” he said to Ceylon, “but we need to
get to the pass before winter sinks her teeth in. Once through it you’ll be able
to travel more comfortably.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve ridden before.” She had, but not much. No doubt
she’d make a fool of herself and fall out of the saddle, but some things
couldn’t be helped.

Besides, if they made the pass before Eville and it snowed in behind him, so
much the better.

It was thoughts of Eville that drove her out of her room later, while Uric
and Roland slept. She had some errands to run and didn’t wish to disturb them.
Very quietly she opened her door ... and stumbled over Raven, who slept in front
of it.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, scrambling to her feet.

He blinked in annoyance. “Guarding you, of course. It’s my job.”