The Woman Inside (9 page)

After all, he thought smugly, he was being gallant.

When no one raised a fuss she settled down a bit, though she refused to relax
into his embrace.

That would come with time, he assured himself.

* * * *

Ceylon wasn’t sure about anything. Not his strange behavior this morning or
why she allowed him to embrace her. Sure, he was warm, and it was sweet of him
to....

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, he was being sweet, wasn’t he? Too sweet.

Which meant he was angling for forgiveness or that he’d given up on making
her his bride and was trying simple seduction. Neither goal endeared him to
her.

It still stung. At least the men in the village had wanted her for her face.
As far as she could tell Uric was simply tired of searching for a wife and
thought she’d do as well as anyone. Had her friend Callion or the village idiot
come along he’d likely have done the same thing.

The icy river breeze caressed her face, its touch as impersonal as Uric’s
offer. She wasn’t special. He didn’t care for her.

He didn’t love her.

She left the fan on the crate when they disembarked.

The instant Uric saw it hurt lashed his heart. Fierce, slashing pain. And
memory.

“You’ll never be good enough!”

His cheek still stung where she’d smacked him, throwing him to the wall, but
that wasn’t good enough for his mother.

She kicked him. “Worthless, just like your father. I could have married a
rich man! I could have had a son who’d amount to something; who could take care
of me. Instead I had you!” She threw a chair at him and stomped away.

The remains of the flowers her small boy had brought her lay crushed under
her feet.

Roland took one look at Uric’s face and retrieved the fan. He stopped Ceylon
before she descended the gangway. “You don’t want to lose this, mistress. Take
better care.” His expression was both a warning and a message.

Very slowly, her gaze locked on Roland’s, she took the fan.

It was only as the pressure in his chest relaxed that Uric realized he’d been
holding his breath.

* * * *

Ceylon lay in her room, a tiny loft curtained off by drying laundry. The
moisture made the room cool and damp, and she remained fully dressed under the
covers.

She kept replaying Roland’s expression in her mind. He’d been so stern and
disapproving, as if she’d done something inexcusable. She felt angry and
chastised at the same time. So now she wasn’t allowed to refuse Uric’s suit?
Worse, she felt guilty beyond measure. It had seemed a subtle enough refusal of
Uric’s attentions by leaving the fan behind, but Roland had treated it like a
much greater crime. Maybe it was where they came from.

A groan rose from her chest, and she rolled over. What did she know about
men, especially men like these? The more she learned, the less it seemed she
knew. In any realm but romance she did just fine, but in this situation she was
in way over her head.

Why couldn’t people just be like sheep, she thought, only half serious. Come
together once a year, do their business and then live peacefully side-by-side
for the rest of the time? Sure, they weren’t the brightest animals, but as far
as she could see, her intelligence wasn’t doing much for her.

“It’s all so difficult,” she muttered to the ceiling. “Why can’t you take it
out of my hands? Men are confusing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ll gladly let
you drive this cart if you’ll do it.” She laughed at her own foolishness. Surely
God had better things to do than arrange her love life. Still.... “Consider it
an invitation, if you’re interested. Amen.”

* * * *

A cloaked figure stared at the log home where Ceylon slept, then turned to
study the noisy tavern. Shadows flickered against the oiled paper windows, and
the shadow smiled. Throwing back its shoulders, the tall youth turned to the
tavern with a confident stride, seeking a means to an end.

* * * *

A breath of fresh cool air stirred the atmospheric pool of human sweat and
spilled beer. Uric looked up, startled out of his conversation with a local
guide. A lanky young man with queued dark hair and rather fine clothes tossed
back his cloak. His gaze locked unerringly on Uric, he presented a dazzling
smile.

“My lord Baron,” he swept a dramatic bow, sweeping off his hat. The long
feather dragged on the floor.

“Word of your heroic presence has traveled around this poor shire, drawing my
humble self hither. Have you a moment, my lord, to hear a poor traveler’s tale
of woe?”

The lad’s face was so expectant, and the night so dull, that Uric couldn’t
help a reluctant grin. “Why not?”

“So you good of you, my lord!” The beardless youth grinned and leapt atop a
table, drawing gasps and a chuckle or two. Men hurriedly cleared their tankards
out of harm’s way.

“It was a dark and moonless night.” He paused to make certain he had
everyone’s attention. Someone passed wind, but other than that all was
quiet.

“I had just finished performing at a wedding and was heading home. It was
late, true, but that place was known as a peaceful shire.” He swept his arm in a
slow arc, the picture of relaxation, while excitement hummed in his voice.

“When all of a sudden, there arose this awful sound....” His volume dropped
to a near whisper and built to a crescendo, ending in a blood-curdling cry.

“Oh!” a woman squealed, startled.

His voice grew staccato and fast. “My horse panicked. I fought to hold on,
but alas, to no avail. My steed ran, and I haven’t seen him since.” He paused
until someone called, “What happened?”

“Ah, well.” The youth’s voice returned to normal as he gracefully waved his
hand and sat down on the tabletop. “I fell on me bum and limped the rest of the
way here.”

The crowd laughed. Someone handed him a pint.

Uric and Roland exchanged glances. The bard was good. “Bring the boy a
dinner,” Uric called to the tavern master. “He’s earned it.” He studied the
green-eyed boy with interest. Dressed the way he was, he looked more like a
lord’s son than a bard. “What’s your name, boy, and where are you from?”

“Odell the Silver, named for my tongue,” he said with another small bow. “Of
late I’ve come from everywhere, but once hailed from a cabin in the woods like
many of these folk.”

“You dress awfully well for a peasant,” Roland observed with suspicion.

“My patrons are most kind. In fact I was on my way to visit a lady I’d hoped
to entertain, a woman said to be most kind and beautiful; the lady Allyson of
River Dell. Would you be going that way, my lords?”

Roland grunted. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Ah.” For a second the Odell’s face flashed brittle, but a blink dismissed
the fleeting shadow. “No matter, for half way there I changed my mind. There is
this small matter I must attend to in Queenstown, and I’ve put it off for much
too long. My mother resides there,” he explained as if anyone had asked, “and
it’s been many months since last I looked upon her smiling face.” His expression
grew wistful and slightly distant. “A man should not neglect his mother.”

Uric eyed the pretty lad skeptically. On his own, the boy would likely be
robbed, or worse. The odds were high he’d never see Queenstown or his mother on
his by himself. No doubt, it was the reason he’d sought them out to begin with.

A glance told him that Roland had reached the same conclusion. “Then travel
with us, Odell the Silver.” Uric smiled crookedly. “If nothing else you’ll
provide entertainment for our lady.”

“It would be an honor, my lord.”

Chapter 4

Odell and Raven mixed like a bottle of rum and a lighted match. Their very
nature guaranteed some explosions.

“Fairest damsel,” Odell said as they were introduced. He bowed over her hand.
“I am honored to travel with such a vision of loveliness. Truly you shame the
dawn.”

Part of Ceylon’s smile was for Raven, who rolled his eyes in disgust. Odell
was a little overdone, but she was willing to enjoy his poetry.

She curtsied. “How kind you are, sir.”

“How very much time he wastes,” Raven muttered as he steadied her stirrup.
“If you’re ready, mistress?”

Ceylon mounted the sturdy speckled gray, relieved to find he only stirred a
little as she mounted. The last thing she’d needed was a spirited mount, and
she’d been worried about what Uric could find on such short notice.

Apparently he was resourceful.

Uric finished his conversation with his men and walked toward her. He smiled
up at her and gently grasped her booted ankle. “Let me know if you get too cold
or need to stop. The road will gradually get rougher as we climb toward the
pass. We need to make good time, but not at your expense, understood?”

The warmth of his hand was hard to ignore, but Ceylon gave it her best
effort. If only his concern were so easy to forget.

She nodded. “I won’t slow you down.”

Everyone knew the hazards of the sudden storms that swept the bare mountains.
Snow could fall so fast and so thick that a man could be blinded and snowed
over. But she trusted Uric. He’d been on top of things every step of the way,
and he’d never take this risk if he didn’t.

“And you’ll tell me if you’re chilled?”

“Of course.”

Uric eyed her and vowed to check her hands and feet himself. Even as he
mounted Behemoth and moved the party out, his thoughts remained on her. It was
well known that a woman chilled easier than a man, and she seemed to be more
fragile in that way than most. The way she was bundled today, and her habit of
nearly hugging the fire when she came in from the cold was enough to worry him.

This trip wouldn’t be easy for her.

She’d bluffed about her skill with a horse, as well. By the stiff way she sat
in the saddle she had little more experience than Raven, who at least had
youthful exuberance on his side. Ceylon’s grim expression and the way she
gripped the saddle horn told him that she was more concerned with falling off
than impressing him with her feats of horsemanship.

“Ease back in the saddle, mistress,” he told her gently. “You’ll find your
balance quicker that way.”

“I feel like I’m falling off,” she muttered, but leaned back a little.

“Don’t worry, Ceylon,” the bare-headed Raven advised her cheerfully as he
bumped along on his own buckskin nag. “You’re wearing so many clothes that it
won’t hurt if you do.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“’Tis a shame, milady,” Odell commiserated with her. “Such a delicate flower
should rest on velvet pillows, sheltered within a carriage and warmed by quilted
blankets.” He seemed to have no trouble with his own well-bred gelding. The
black beast’s white fore stocking and dazzling socks made a high contrast
against its gleaming chocolate coat and fine-boned head. He was very fortunate
to have tracked down the beast after it ran off. Most men who might have found
it would not be eager to let go of such a prize.

Its tack looked suspiciously nice for a wandering bard.

“Been there,” Ceylon sighed. “It has its own hazards.”

Ah, but it had been warm.

At first Ceylon barely noticed the cold. She was dressed warmly and mounted
on a horse that generated great heat. Besides, the snowy forest track was
beautiful in the gray light. Now and then their horses would startle a fat
snowbird, which Uric or Roland brought down with a flashing blade.

“You never miss,” Ceylon said wonderingly as a man ran to collect the birds
for dinner and to return the knives.

Uric shrugged. “It’s good practice.” He didn’t say against what. She
knew.

Once they surprised a fox. Ceylon smiled as it ran off into the woods. “You
didn’t kill it.”

“There was no need. You wouldn’t like fox.”

She blinked. “You’ve eaten it?”

Uric gave her lop-sided smile. “You’ll eat a lot of things when you’re
hungry. On campaign is not the place to be picky.”

“They say your conquests are many, my lord,” Odell said. “Lands, castles,
women....”

“Lands and castles, yes,” Uric agreed, with a glance at Ceylon. “But woman
are much harder to conquer.”

“For you.” Roland smirked.

Odell turned his attention to him. “Ah. So you are the lord of the ladies.
Are your conquests many, my lord?”

“You couldn’t count them,” Uric answered on his behalf. He smiled
mischievously. “Not picky, either. Just before you met up with us Roland seduced
the ugliest wench you ever laid eyes on.”

“Yeah,” Raven jumped in. “She had breasts like a ship’s figurehead and a face
like the tree it was carved from.”

“Raven!” Uric said sternly. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady.”

Instantly, the boy sobered. “I’m sorry, Ceylon. I got carried away.”

Ceylon rolled her eyes and looked away.

Just in time to see Odell’s eyes darken.

* * * *

“They were joking, you know.”

Odell raised his brows politely. “Beg pardon?”

Ceylon didn’t know why she felt the need to explain, but something in Odell’s
manner compelled her to. She’d waited until they’d stopped for lunch and had
moved away from the others.

“I heard noises coming from what I thought was Roland’s room one night. It
was very loud, and I left my room. Uric had also been disturbed, and we talked
about how annoyed we were. The next day I had words with Roland.” She grinned.
“Turns out it wasn’t him at all, but a very large woman and her gnome of a
lover.”

Odell smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that knightly purity still reigns, or
seems to.” He slanted a glance at Roland, who was occupied with his horse. “Or
does it?”

The boy seemed to be an old fashioned romantic, worshipping the knightly
code. It made sense, given his penchant for gallantry, and Ceylon didn’t want to
burst his bubble. “If it eases your mind, I haven’t seen him seducing any
ladies.”