Rebel

by Linda Windsor

  “Look for someone with their hood drawn,” he advised upon mounting his own steed. And if not for a drawn hood, a bound head of wheat-gold hair.

  But most of the lads wore hats, and several of them had wisps of fair hair poking out from under them.

  “You’re here,” Alyn murmured to the sea of activity surrounding him. “I know you are. And when I find you, dear sister, you will pay.”

  It wasn’t the first time Kella had disregarded his wishes … his plea. But this time the single-minded young woman had gone too far. Kella had disobeyed her queen.

  Chapter Six

  Men were a vulgar lot, whether common or noble born. Lips thinned in disgust, Kella walked away from the stables at Lockwoodie tavern, wondering how long it would take for her companions to settle in sleep. In the tavern or stable, warrior or groomsman, they bragged about their exploits with women in detestable detail. Kella had chewed her tongue bloody to keep from reminding them that their mothers and sisters would be mortified to hear their words.

  And, without the slightest warning, not one of them, the Dux Bellorum included, had any compunction about exposing himself to his fellows for nature’s call. There had been a contest, for heaven’s sake! At least Cassian and his priests had shown some decorum in remaining apart from the worst, but Kella avoided their company—and Alyn’s—for fear of being recognized.

  Truth was, she was exhausted. And filthy. She smelled like the horses she’d rubbed down after Arthur and his warriors went into the tavern. Muscles she didn’t know existed ached mercilessly. The queen had been right in pointing out that Kella was not accustomed to riding sunup to sundown.

  But Kella had done it, the same as Maeve, a warrior queen of legend who not only rode with her army while with child but fought as well. Kella had ridden with the servants on shaggy ponies following the warhorses in their dust, although the resulting grit had nearly been jarred from her teeth at times. Claiming to be assigned to tend to the supply ponies attached to Cassian’s flock, she had blended in with the lads who had been hastily assembled for that service.

  Only two more days, she consoled herself, making her way around the rear of the tavern to the kitchen a short distance away. A concoction of oak bark tea would do wonders to relieve the aches plaguing her body. And, mayhap, she might get an idea if the revelry inside was winding down.

  Father, please make the High King as weary and sore as I. Aside from the cook and a young, greasy-haired helper, there were two other women in the back. Likely the innkeeper’s wife and daughter, if Kella judged rightly. This authoritative twosome continually ran platters of food from the smoky kitchen to the great room inside where Arthur and his battle companions dined. As fast as the women disappeared, they reappeared with empty dishes.

  “Here now,” the cook shouted when Kella knocked timidly at the open door. A stout and intimidating soul, she was almost as wide as she was tall. “We sent plenty food to the stables for the servants. Plenty.”

  Kella took in the filthy apron stretched across the cook’s belly. Though the scent of roasting meat over a fire had almost tempted her, second thought demanded tea and only tea for her distress. Shelves of jars and boxes, as well as dried herbs hanging from the beams overhead, held promise. “Beggin’ your pardon, mistress, but I’ve a copper piece for a cup of oak bark tea. If you have it, that is, mistress.”

  The cook’s dark eyes gleamed over round, heat-ruddied cheeks. She snatched the coin from Kella’s hand. “Yer head plaguin’ ye, laddie?”

  “Aye.” And every other part of me, Kella thought. “I’d be much obliged to you.”

  The cook cut a sidewise glance at her soot-smeared helper and sniffed. “Seein’s how ’e’s such a mannerly laddie, see to it,” she ordered. The copper piece she stuck down in her bosom.

  “Looks like the king and his company know how to revel proper,” Kella observed while the helper pulled an iron kettle of water, which hung from a swing-arm bracket mounted in the stone hearth, out from over the fire.

  “The mistress says she’s lookin’ for an early night once’t their bellies are filled,” the cook replied.

  Kella sank against the jamb in relief. A moment later the helper came with the water and tea. “Here ye go,” the girl said, dropping a clump of tea leaves into Kella’s tin cup. Once Kella wrapped the cup in the excess of her sleeves, the girl carefully filled it with the steaming water.

  “Best ye take it and be off afore the mistress comes back,” the cook told her.

  Probably because the big woman didn’t want her employer to know she was taking coin on the side.

  Grateful, Kella hastened away with a whispered “Bless ye, mistress.”

  Oh, for a hot bath and a soft bed, she thought as she made her way toward a thicket near the still, sparkling loch. Perhaps there she might drink in peace and wait for the men to bed down. Steam from the cup carried the scent of the brewing tea, warming Kella’s nostrils. She could almost feel the relief it promised. Settling with a clump of birch to her back, she closed her eyes and took a sip.

  It was hot and bitter without honey to make it more palatable, but she hadn’t thought to test her good fortune further and ask for sweetening. Determined, Kella alternately blew on its surface and sipped what was cooled.

  Not for the first time that day, Kella thought about Gwenhyfar. Would the queen ever forgive her for directly disobeying her command? Kella had written a letter pouring out her heart to Gwenhyfar and left it on her bed in the predawn hours. It told how she couldn’t bear the torture of three extra days not knowing if her father and the man she loved were truly gone or, as she felt in her heart, making their way home even as she rode to meet them. Whatever Gwenhyfar decided as punishment for disobedience, no fate was worse than this torture of waiting.

  Father, I know well that I have not been faithful to Your commandments. I know I’ve doubted You and Your love. But I am begging You, if not for mine, for the bairn’s sake, let Lorne live. And Da, she added with a pang of guilt for putting her father last.

  A sob worked its way up in her chest, tearing at her conscience and her heart. She could not choose between the two with love for each so firmly entrenched. They were a part of her, as was Lorne’s child. And just as Lorne had to live for the babe, so she had to be strong for it.

  Kella knocked the tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand and resolutely downed the last sip of the tea. The bark grounds that had settled at the bottom of the cup hung in her throat, the bitterness gagging and racking her with an involuntary shudder. Strangling out an unladylike oath, Kella lurched forward on her knees toward the lake water to wash out her mouth.

  The dead saints’ toes she swore by never tasted so foul, though whether ’twas the bark or the water, Kella couldn’t determined. She cupped water to her lips and spat it out again and again until the grounds were clear of her teeth and tongue. With a miserable groan, she sank back on her calves and wiped water from the front of her tunic. ’Twas hard to say which hurt most now—her head, her heart, or her body.

  She pressed her temples between her fingers. Her hair, which had been tamed in a braid and concealed under her cap, had come unbound. Its wet ends dripped on her shirt. She grabbed at her head in alarm. The hat was gone.

  No! Kella frantically dipped for it at the water’s edge. Surely it had fallen when—

  “Looking for this, milady?”

  Bolting upright on her knees, Kella looked up at the owner of the deep, questioning voice. He stood tall, shoulders squared against the moonlight at his back, too solid to be a ghost and smelling of horse and leather. But she couldn’t make out his face. Ever so easily, she slid her hand toward the dagger in her belt.

  “What in that devilish mind of yours could you possibly be thinking, Kella?” The familiarity of the reprimand was all that saved Alyn O’Byrne from the sting of her blade as he reached down beneath her arms and scooped her to her feet.

  Kella foundered from a wave of dizziness at rising too f
ast and shock at being found out so soon. She’d been so careful to keep to herself. However did he—

  “What do I do with you?” he chided. “You’re too grown to spank, and I was taught not to knock sense into a woman, no matter how much she needs it.”

  Although part of her was panicked, relief took the reins of her emotions. Relief that she was no longer alone in this world of swearing, spitting—and worse—ruffians. Yes, her body ached. Her head throbbed. Her heart had been rent in two. And she was now wet and trembling from cold. But she was no longer alone.

  “H-hold me,” she stammered, stepping into a tentative embrace. She wished away the tears that sprang from her eyes, running salty down her face, but if wishes worked, she would not feel so lost and hopeless. Pressing her face against Alyn’s tunic, she soaked up the warmth and support she so desperately needed.

  “I am undone,” she cried, “and I’ve no one—”

  “You have me, Kella.” Alyn enveloped her in his woolen cloak. The hands that had bruised her arms as he dragged her impatiently to her feet now pressed her against him. She felt the brush of his lips across the top of her head.

  “Hush, ma chroi.”

  My heart. Da used to call her that … and hold her just so when her world turned against her.

  “As much as I want to shake you until your pretty eyes roll in that fey head of yours,” he confessed, “I cannot bear to see you cry.”

  Kella tried to steel herself with a shaky breath against the fatigue and helplessness overwhelming her. Aye, she wanted Alyn’s support, but not because of these dreadful tears. Da had warned her against becoming one of those women who used tears to manipulate men. “Take yer stand and say what ye mean,” Egan had told her.

  But her reinforcing breath emerged as another weak-kneed sob. She fisted Alyn’s tunic in her hands as if that might stem this shameful display of emotion. The muster at resolve didn’t help, but the way he stiffened did.

  “Easy, lassie, I’ve wounds not yet healed.”

  Kella backed away in the loose cocoon of his arms. “W-what?” What was he talking about? “Wounds, you say?” As whole and handsome as her foster brother appeared, never once did it occur to Kella that he might be injured.

  “An accident in the East,” he explained. “Nothing to worry about.” He brushed her hair away from her face with his fingers. “You, on the other hand, are more worry than ten thousand accidents. I shudder to think of the trouble you will face.”

  “But I—” And now she had the hiccups. “I’m n-not sorry.”

  “Hah!” Alyn laughed. “Now that doesn’t come as a surprise. Clearly you intend to vex us all.”

  “You don’t … hic … understand,” Kella blurted. And she dared not tell him. “None of you do.” How oft had he warned her that the frivolous life at court had led many a foolish maid to dire circumstance?

  “Oh, I think I do,” Alyn replied with a tinge of wryness. “Patience was never one of your virtues. You are Egan’s daughter, through and through.”

  At the mention of her father, she almost smiled. “I take that as a compliment—” She hesitated. “S-sir.”

  She’d meant to say brother, but there was something different about Alyn. First, there was that unexpected kiss in the garden, and now the feeling kindled again—something that seemed to sever old ties, yet draw them together at the same time. Just as Kella was about to pull away, Alyn released her.

  “Daniel and I had a devil of a time finding you,” he scolded, not without a hint of admiration. “You blended in well with the servants.”

  Kella crossed her arms over her chest, where the absence of his warmth left her cold and exposed. “I thought I’d done well enough to make Da proud, though not at the moment.” She sniffed. She wiped her eyes again. “I swear, I can’t seem to help myself.” She stomped her foot in frustration and stared ice-hard across the lake, determined to stay the weeping.

  Alyn moved to her side, respecting the distance she’d placed between them. Now she could see his face. The boyishly handsome features that had women, young and old, fawning over him were marked with concern and were sharper now, more rugged. How the ladies had mourned his decision to take up the impoverished life of a priest.

  “You fear having lost the two people who matter most in the world to you. The queen will take that into consideration, I’m sure,” he speculated, handing her the missing cap. “Though the weather may not be so sympathetic,” he added, cocking his head toward the darkness creeping along the northern skirts of the sky.

  “And you?” she asked. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Already done … Babel-Lips.”

  Kella laughed at the nickname she’d borne since childhood. “Who knew I’d be a master of languages when you and your brothers gave me that name?”

  “Given your ceaseless chatter as a babe, we should have been able to guess that one language would not hold enough words for you.” Alyn shrugged off his cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

  “My babbling has served me well, I think,” she shot back, drawing the warm black, gray, and red plaid about her. There was something beyond horse and leather in its scent.

  Alyn gathered up her unraveled braid and tried restoring it. “Best you keep this tucked down your back,” he advised. “Though I don’t see your ribbon.”

  She caught another whiff of his scent. A woodsy spice, most likely in some exotic soap Alyn had brought back from the Holy Land. Manly, to be sure.

  “What?” she asked, when he hefted his brow at her.

  “Have you another ribbon?” he reminded her.

  She grappled for the hat she’d stuffed in her belt, but the strip of leather she’d used to bind her hair wasn’t there. She started to drop to her knees to search the ground, but Alyn caught her.

  “Never mind. You can use this.” He tugged the lacing from his shirt with one hand and bound the haphazardly woven braid before stuffing it down the neck of her tunic. “From now on,” he grumbled, “you travel only with Daniel and me.…”

  “Thank you,” Kella averred in relief. They at least were gentlemen.

  “As our servant, of course.”

  Kella stiffened. “O-of course.”

  “You’ll heed what we say, as a proper servant should?”

  Kella nodded as Alyn put his hand to her back, urging her back toward the warm, inviting inn. Within reason.

  “You’ll sleep with the horses, naturally, but one of us will be there with you, guarding our belongings.”

  “Fine,” she agreed in a flare of disappointment. The vision of sharing a pallet on the floor with her civilized friends, warmed by a hearth fire, vanished. Oh well. At least one of them would keep her company in the cool, damp stable. Someone she trusted. That made her better off than before.

  The tavern showed signs of the royal party settling down for the night. The window had darkened with the dousing of most of its lights. Daniel stood with crossed arms beneath a lantern when Kella and Alyn reached the stables.

  “I see you found our wayward waif,” he drawled, his brow hiked with a smugness that made her feel like a recalcitrant child.

  “Aye, he,” Alyn emphasized for any ears that might lean their way, “wandered off to the lake instead of keeping watch on the horses like we paid him to.” He gave Kella a shove, causing her to stumble, but not so hard that she couldn’t catch herself. “Seems we’ll have to take turns keeping an eye on him as much as on the goods and horses. You take tonight. I’ve had enough nose-wiping.”

  Nose-wiping! Kella cut her gaze at Alyn. Gone was the tender heart and in its place a taste for revenge.

  “Weaned from his mam too soon, eh?” Daniel teased.

  Playful revenge, but just as insulting.

  “Seems so. But he’s all yours now,” Alyn announced. “I’m off to join the king’s company for a toasty night’s sleep near the hearth.”

  With a mischievous wink, Alyn wrapped his cloak around him and headed toward the inn. That Alyn she
knew well. “What goes around, comes around,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Aye,” Daniel agreed, “and your round’s coming. You’re lucky he didn’t strangle ye, the way he fumed on the way here.”

  Daniel tossed a length of wool from off his shoulder at her. Upon catching it, Kella recognized her cloak. Alyn hadn’t been the only one searching for her.

  She gasped. “How did you know it was mine?”

  He pointed to his nose. “Carried the scent of lavender water. And what other man among us would leave all their earthly belongings unattended, except one used to havin’ his things guarded and picked up behind him?”

  Which explained why Daniel remained close to Alyn’s things while Alyn had looked for her. So much for her smugness over how well she’d played the part of a groomsman. Kella hadn’t thought about the lavender scent her clothing was rinsed in, or her perfume. As for leaving her things behind, all she could think of was easing her aches and pains and finding a place away from her coarse traveling companions.

  “Come along. I’ll show you where your bed’s made up.” He led her to a spot in the darkness under the shed roof where their horses were tethered, though how he could see eluded her. In the dark, all the horses along that side of the barn looked the same. “I made us a fine mattress of fresh hay, so go on and settle yourself.”

  Us. Kella’s conscience checked her step. This was entirely inappropriate, though now was hardly the time to start considering such things.

  “Thank you, sir,” she managed. Besides, though she’d only known Daniel for the last eight or so years, she was fond of the rough highlander … though he was more tolerable when he bothered to bathe.

  “Meanwhile, I’ll be havin’ another mug before settlin’ down for the evenin’.” Daniel caught her arm as she started into the niche he’d made. “Stay close and keep your dagger handy,” he warned, “in case someone gets nosy.”