Allegra's Dream (Avador Book 4, a Books We Love Fantasy Romance)

by Shirley Martin

  The story about the danger that threatened the widow didn’t make sense. He’d find out all he could about the woman who lived in this fancy place. She was very pretty, that much he knew. Ah, if only he were rich . . .

  For some time now, he’d become friends with one of the maids at the palace, and he’d like to carry that friendship a bit farther. Even now, his loins tightened at the thought of getting into Doreen’s bed. He’d had enough experience in charming the girls. So the next time he saw–

  “Doreen!” Talk about coincidences. He watched as she closed the heavy door behind her and strolled his way. “What are you doing here?”

  She swung her hips and thrust out her full breasts. “Lady who lives here needs medicine from the apothecary, said she has a headache. She asked me to go to the village and purchase medicine for her.”

  Morfran glanced around and lowered his voice. “Say, what do you know about her?”

  She shrugged. “A wealthy widow, is all I was told.” She snickered. “Her husband must have been buried in gold dust, for her to buy a place like this. One-hundred rooms just for her and a personal maid. Why, I can’t even count the number of cleaning women this palace has, all for one woman and a maid who live in just a few rooms.” She shook her head. “It don’t make no sense.”

  “Nah, it don’t for me, neither. Just because she’s rich, why would she want such a palace?”

  Doreen smirked. “Why should I care, as long as I get paid?”

  He waited a few moments as the other guard strode by, looking both of them up and down. Making sure he was out of earshot, he spoke again. “How would you like to earn a bit more money?”

  “Sure, but how?”

  He moved closer. “Find out all you can about this widow. Listen in whenever she and her maid are together.”

  She stepped back. “You mean spy?”

  “Shh,” he said, putting his finger to his mouth. “I wouldn’t call it that. Let’s just say you’re gettin’ to know more about this so-called wealthy widow.”

  She frowned. “Morfran, I don’t like this idea. It sounds dishonest.”

  “What’s dishonest about it? You’re not breakin’ no laws or cheatin’ no one.” He jingled the coins in his pocket. “I’d make it worth your while.”

  “Let me think on it,” she said, turning and sauntering away.

  He watched her swing her hips as she walked away, certain he had her in the palm of his hand.

  Chapter Eight

  Moaning, Rowan forced himself to sit up. Slouched over, he held his head in his hands. He swallowed again and again. He had failed the princess and the Minister of State, but just as important, he had failed himself. How could he face the princess again? How could he return to the Minister of State, disgraced and doubtless losing his position there? And he’d wanted to advance there, obtain the job when Donat Fand retired. Not a chance, not now!

  Complete darkness had fallen over the forest; he couldn’t even see his hand in front of him. Aching all over, he felt his bones from his neck to his shoulders, on to his ribs and legs, grateful nothing was broken. Also thankful for his money belt, he realized he’d have to buy another horse for the return trip to Avador. He thought back over the accident, aware that the mother bear was only protecting her cubs. Still, that was no consolation, he thought as he forced himself to stand.

  The temperature had fallen, the night air cold and damp with a fog cloaking the forest. No point in going on, not when he couldn’t see anything. He was stuck here in the woods for the remainder of the night, desperately hoping the fog would lift by morning. A fit of coughing seized him as he paced back and forth on the hard ground, slapping his arms for warmth. Time and again, he berated himself for his plight. For one wild moment, he considered staying in Fomoria, never to return to Avador. Just as quickly, he rejected the thought. He’d never run away from a problem before, and he wouldn’t do it now. Talmora’s tits, how it hurt.

  The long night stretched on, the temperature dropping further. Often it seemed as if the fog would lift, but then the haze would thicken again. Night sounds reverberated around him, rustling and clucking, the scream of a panther, the howl of a wolf. Continually pacing, he fingered the sword at his side, praying he’d have no need of it.

  After an eternity of near unbearable waiting, the fog began to lift, and a hesitant sun lit the land. A semi-darkness still hung over the forest, but the sun burned most of the fog away. He coughed and rubbed his arms for warmth, anxious to get moving again. Plagued by thirst, he recalled a river that flowed nearby. Now that he could see a few feet in front of him, he made his slow way down a steep hill, hearing the rushing water in the distance. Gradually, the fog lifted, the air warmer.

  Leaving the depths of the forest behind, he emerged out into a clearing, grassy and verdant with wildflowers. Sunk in misery, he dismissed the beauty of the forest. He looked toward the riverbank and–

  “Thank you, Goddess, thank you!” His horse stood by the riverbank, placidly snacking on the grass. She turned and looked at him, as if to say, “Where have you been?” Then she turned back and continued her feeding.

  A tide of joy consumed him, energizing him, erasing last night’s gloom.

  First removing his boots and socks, he waded out into the water, wincing at the chill. He sat on a boulder and cupped water in his hands over and again to ease his thirst. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but he pushed that discomfort aside. He had a task to complete, one that would require much riding.

  Standing on the cold hard ground, he waited for his feet to dry and rummaged through the saddle bag to check on the princess’s letters. She had addressed each letter to its intended recipient, adding the name of the nearest village. He knew Fomoria virtually as well as he knew his own country of Avador. A number of villages ringed the capital city of Maligigi, the only city in Fomoria. The rest of the country consisted of villages and forests.

  He sat to slip on his socks and pull on his boots, then mounted the horse, relieved to be back in the saddle.

  At the nearest village, he found a small stone building with a sign out in front, “Messenger Service.” He left the letter and a silver coin with the messenger boy and headed for the next village.

  Over rolling hills and dense forests, he covered many miles the first few days, stopping at inns at midday and at night to rest and feed the horse and himself.

  As he rode through the villages, images of Princess Allegra paraded in his mind’s eye. He recalled everything about her that endeared her to him, her soft voice, those exotic violet eyes, her womanly body that he longed to hold in his arms. He imagined kissing her, her body pressed to his. His heart beat faster, his body warming at the thought of holding her in his arms. No, such joy could never be his. She was a princess and would return to her own country if peace prevailed there. Most likely, she would marry the prince who also claimed the throne, if ever they found each other. And if he wanted to advance at the Ministry of State, he must marry one of his own countrywomen. Above all, the princess stood far above him. There could never be any love between them. How it hurt. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck him that he loved her, something he’d been fighting for a long time. But she had her own destiny, and he had his.

  A slow darkness descended on Fomoria, and once again, he sought a tavern where he and his horse could rest and find sustenance. As he searched among the isolated villages for a reputable place, another fit of coughing overcame him, a weakness that consumed his body.

  A long time passed before he found rest for himself and the mare. Leaving his horse at the stable, he tossed a coin to the stableboy and headed for the inn, a short walk away. When he reached the dining room, he sank into a chair, feeling as if he had aged twenty years. After a meal of mutton stew and rye bread, he plodded up the stairs. Upon reaching his room, he flopped onto the bed, reluctant to rise again and remove his boots. Countless minutes passed before he could summon the energy to sit up and pull his boots off. Falling back on the bed, he f
ell asleep immediately.

  Coughing during the night, he suffered a restless sleep. In the morning, he forced himself to rise, too well aware he still had several letters to deliver. He felt a bit warm but disregarded that infirmity; best he get going.

  At the end of the day, he found another tavern, all letters delivered, his task completed. He sighed with a chore well done, wishing only that he felt better. He left his horse at the stable and headed for his room, his appetite gone. His teeth chattered, his skin burning. A terrible fit of coughing seized him; his chest hurt like fury. Every breath became an effort.

  The following morning, he heard a knock on the door. Too sick to answer, he turned over and drew his covers around him. The knock sounded again. Wanting to blot out the sound, he hoped the person would go away.

  “Sir?”

  If only he could talk, tell her to go away! Leave me alone, he wanted to tell her. Just let me sleep.

  The door opened and a young woman stepped inside. “Sir, I came to make your bed and leave you a fresh pitcher of water.”

  He turned over and stared at her, his skin on fire, the room spinning.

  “Sir, are you sick?”

  Unable to speak, he waved his hand dismissively. Silent moments passed before she left the fresh pitcher of water and exited the room.

  Days passed, days in which one of the maids brought him thick, creamy chicken soup and ale, keeping her distance from him, setting his meal on a table beside his bed.

  Aware he needed to eat, he forced himself to sit up and take a few bites. Then he sank back down, exhausted. He lost track of the time, noting only the sun rising in the morning, the sky darkening at night.

  One day, a doctor came to his room and gave him willow bark tea for his fever, a so-called remedy that had no effect. His illness worsened. The doctor came in succeeding days, strengthening his dosage of willow bark tea. Talmora’s tits, he wished he were back in Avador, with its skilled doctors who combined medicine with magic.

  On the fifth day, or was it the sixth? the doctor helped him sit up in bed, a movement so agonizingly painful he gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t he done that the first day? Rowan agonized. Wearing an expression of concern, the doctor tapped his back several times, then his chest. “Sir, you have an illness of the lungs. Rest is most important, but time will tell when you recover.” Or if you will recover, Rowan silently added. “There’s no more I can do,” the doctor said as he left the room.

  He drifted in and out of consciousness, while ephemeral dreams floated through his head.

  He held his arms out to Allegra. As she ran to him, he enfolded her in his arms, delighting in her womanly curves. Traveling to the Otherworld, he saw his wife. “Fenella!” But as he approached her, she held him off. “Rowan, it is not your time. Go to Allegra!’

  For days without count, he lay in bed, lingering between life and death.

  Chapter Nine

  “He’s not coming back.” Allegra stood by the window, looking in the direction from which Rowan always rode to the palace. She twisted her hands together and prayed to Arridano, the god of travelers, as she had never prayed before. She tapped the windowsill, as if she could hasten Rowan’s return. Please, please bring him back to me.

  Elsa set her book on a table and looked in the princess’s direction. “My lady, any number of things could have detained him. Possibly his horse had an accident.” The maid, unaware of Rowan’s purpose in riding to Fomoria, knew only that he had traveled on a mission.

  Allegra turned back to her maid, her eyes filling with tears. She pressed her hand to her heart. “No, I feel it here. Something tells me–I know!–he won’t return.” She scrubbed at her face as the tears fell. Only now did she realize how much she loved him. Of course, there could never be any lasting happiness between them, but she couldn’t deny the ache in her heart. She looked out the window again, as if she expected Rowan to come riding to the palace any minute. She blamed herself for entrusting him with all her missives. What if someone had caught him and discovered the letters? His life would be forfeit, her plan exposed. She pictured a member of the war party capturing him and reading the letters. Torturing him to force him to betray her whereabouts! She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. He must not suffer harm!

  No, her imagination was running away from her. This kind of thinking won’t get you anywhere.

  An idea came to her, and her mood brightened. “I’m going to ride to Moytura, see if the Minister of State has any information.”

  “My lady! You can’t just ride off to the capital! What if someone recognizes you?”

  She faced her maid. “Who in the world would recognize me? Very few people know who I am or why I’m here.” She nodded with assurance. “This is what I intend to do. Even the Minister of State has never seen me, doesn’t know what I look like.”

  “Then why would he tell you anything?” she countered. “This trip that may well endanger you, no matter what you say, will surely be a waste of time.”

  Allegra stamped her foot. “Anything is better than waiting around, not knowing what has happened to Rowan,” she said, heading for her bedroom. And if the footman tried to stop her this time, she’d push him out of the way.

  Elsa followed her. “My lady, what are you doing?”

  She turned around. “I’m going to change into a more suitable dress, then go to the stable and have the boy saddle a horse for me. It’s not far to the capital.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Elsa said, apparently giving up.

  “Elsa! You can barely stay in the saddle. Remember when we had to leave Elegia.”

  “We were galloping then. Let’s hope we ride at a more leisurely pace this time.”

  “And we’ll ride side saddle this time,” Allegra added. She raised her hands, then dropped them in surrender. “Very well, then. We’ll ride together.”

  Shortly after, they set out on the road to Moytura, the day warm with a slight breeze. Allegra smiled at her good fortune, for the footman had been nowhere in sight as they left the palace. They kept the horses at a canter past farm fields, the rich soil burgeoning with late spring growth. A few wispy clouds drifted by on a day bright with sunshine. Allegra continually looked from one side of the road to the other, taking in all the sights. She’d never seen so much farmland, acres and acres full of crops, so different from her own country, with all its forests.

  When they reached Moytura, she gazed about in surprise. Just look at all the people! She hadn’t expected such a large city with its many shops and other buildings, so full of men, women, and children, going here, going there, on what business she had no idea. Sounds and aromas filled the air, vendors hawking meat patties, sweet cakes, and fruits. Wide-eyed, she watched a pet monkey perform tricks, but her fascination soon turned to pity for the helpless animal.

  She didn’t know where the Ministry of State was located, but Elsa’s inquiry of a bystander sent them in the right direction, and it took but a few minutes to reach the Hall of State. The building was truly impressive, its sarsen stone gleaming in the bright sunshine. Other buildings that looked just as important flanked the Hall of State in this part of the city, profuse with trees, bushes, and spacious lawns. They dismounted and tied the horses’ reins to the low branch of an oak, then followed the stone walkway to the building’s entrance.

  Once inside, Allegra realized she was just as lost as when she’d entered the city. Several doors led off from a wide marble floor, with officious looking people entering or leaving the rooms. As a man left a room and walked across the hall, Allegra approached him. “Sir, tell me where to find the Minister of State.”

  He frowned. “Madam, do you have an appointment?”

  Her heart sank, but she rallied. “No, but it’s very important that I talk to him.”

  A cynical look captured his face. “That’s what they all say.” He sighed. “Very well. Wait and I’ll check with him.”

  Chairs lined the hall, and Allegra and Elsa sat, Allegra�
��s gaze covering the vast hall. Bright sunlight poured in through the tall wide windows. But for overcast days, she noted the many iron sconces along the wall, the candles appearing to be finely made, and no doubt, sweet smelling.

  To her surprise, the man returned shortly. “Madam, Donat Fand will see you in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Fearing a long wait, despite his encouraging words, Allegra was gratefully surprised to see a man approach them soon after. “Come this way, madam.”

  “You wait here,” she said to Elsa, then followed the man down a side hallway. He opened a door for her, and she stepped inside.

  The Minister stood at her entrance and indicated a chair, then sat back down. “Madam, how can I help you?” Tall and thin, with graying hair, he looked to be in his fifties. Clad in a green tunic and brown trousers, he wore a gold pendant, similar to Rowan’s. Ah, Rowan, I miss you so very much.

  Allegra sat, mentally forming her question and deciding that the direct approach was best.

  She fought for composure, an agony of worry about Rowan. Would the minister believe her? “Sir, what can you tell me about Rowan Leinster? When will he return?”

  He gasped and drew back. “Madam, what do you know about Rowan Leinster? And what do you mean in reference to his returning?”

  She leaned closer and spoke to him in low tones, even though she and the minister were the only ones present. “Sir, I am Princess Allegra of Fomoria and–“