PARADOX III

by Paradox III (anthology) (lit)

  She was clean, fed, and rested...and her money was safe back on her person. Worrying her bags had been pilfered from while she slept, Alys inspected them, but all was well and undisturbed. The strange books were still hidden, and the broken stone medallion safe deep in a side pocket. She rubbed the polished stone with her fingers and wondered where it came from, and why her mother had kept it all these years. Questions she would never have answered now. What matter, she was on her way to a new life. And now...

  A knock came on the door.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was the host who'd tried to turn her away a few hours ago.

  Alys stood and squared her shoulders. What a difference having a patron made! The man smiled and bowed.

  "Lady, Lord Ranald sends his compliments, and would ask that you dine with him within the hour."

  "Lord Ranald" gave her pause. It was likely no more than a courtesy title. Still, if the host addressed her as "lady," then "lord" was not unfitting for the tall dark-haired man. "Tell Lord Ranald I would be honored. But first, I must see to my pony." Who knew what had happened while she slept?

  "Indeed, lady. If you would care to come now, I will direct you."

  Why not? She had little to do here but wonder and worry. Her bags were safely fastened. Lord Ranald had trusted her with his luggage; she could surely do the same. She followed the host down the stairs and across the grounds to the stable yard.

  Thanking the host for his attention, Alys crossed the paved yard. By the look of things, Braniv had nothing to complain about. Someone had groomed him until his coat shone and the loose box stall would no doubt spoil him for sleeping in the open. As she ran her hands over his sides and legs, she noted he was new-shod.

  When she called the stable lad's attention to it, he replied with a shrug. "'Twas the lord's orders. We took his mare to be reshod and he asked we take your pony too. 'Twas a wise move, lady. The roads to the west are no place to have a mount go lame."

  It seemed she was falling deeper and deeper in debt to this tall lord with the dark eyes and striking smile.

  Who was standing across the stable yard, watching her.

  Cold prickles slithered down her back, as blood rushed to her face and neck. What did this man want? And why had she not taken Braniv and set off the moment she'd awakened? Why had she let herself linger among the luxuries of warm water and hot food?

  Linger she had, and now her mysterious, and not necessarily welcome benefactor was coming her way.

  Refusing to avoid him, she crossed the cobbled stable yard to meet Ranald ven Strad.

  "Lady." He inclined his head.

  "Sir." She bobbed the smallest of curtsies.

  Alys would not admit to fear--not even to herself. Not after all she'd left behind her. But something about this man sent shivers over her skin.

  "I hope all is well, lady."

  She should remind him she was not a lady--just Alys the mason's daughter. "I thank you for your consideration and kindness, sir, and your attention to Braniv."

  "Lady, the pleasure was mine."

  "I fear it is a debt I cannot repay." And would not if he wished more than--

  "There is no debt, lady." For an instant, she believed him. "You were in need of rest, and I had an unused room."

  Dear Goddesses, yes. She had slept in this man's bed, and now...

  "I fear mine host and hostess are less hospitable than their occupation should dictate. Has all been well?"

  "Indeed, yes, lord." How could she tell him she'd soaked naked in warm water and scrubbed every inch of her skin with soft soap? "I thank you, and for reshoeing Braniv. I must soon be on my way." The sooner, the better. If he stayed the night she could get well ahead, far away from the improper thoughts that plagued her.

  "I hoped, lady, to persuade you to travel with me."

  Alarm tightened her throat. What about his promises not to importune? "Why?"

  "Would it be too much of an imposition? You are going west to join your kinsfolk. I travel in the same direction. The way is not easy and the road and inns along the way can be inhospitable to a lone woman."

  The latter she'd learned for herself this morning--as he well knew. In truth, she dreaded making her way along the road, risking theft and worse. "Your protection and sword would bring me advantage and safety, but what can I offer in return?" Best get this out in the light. What he wanted, she, no doubt, was not prepared to give.

  "You know the way, lady. I do not."

  "I know not the way."

  His wide mouth dropped in surprise. "But you said you travel to rejoin your kinsfolk."

  "I travel to my mother's kin, sir. I had never been beyond Wenmere until two nights ago."

  Ranald knew he was staring--gaping too, most like. It seemed her journey had even less direction than his. How had she traveled from Wenmere in Eastland in that time? It was two days hard ride on a good mount--three for comfort. No wonder she'd arrived on the point of collapse. "Lady, if you do not know the road, then perhaps together we can find the way."

  She looked straight at him, her clear green eyes seeming to search his mind. If she knew the half of what he was thinking, she'd call for aid, or fly back to the forest. Dear Goddesses! Alys of Wenmere was beautiful and ready to refuse him!

  Why he wanted her company along the road, he couldn't say, but some deep instinct drove him to persist. "Shall we sup while we talk this over? I asked mine host if we might be served early, before the inn fills with company. A dining room can get rowdy. But if you will join me now, lady..."

  "Alys," she replied. "I am Alys the stonemason's daughter. I do not think I will ever be 'lady.'"

  She had the courage and bearing of one. Ranald offered her his arm as if she were a lady of the monarch's court. "If you insist on Alys, then may I not be called Ranald?"

  "But you are a lord," she replied, resting her work-worn hand on his arm.

  "I am a sworn envoy of the monarch. My father is a lord."

  Her forehead creased in thought as she walked beside him. "If your father is a lord, does not that mean you will be a lord one day?"

  The question he dreaded. He paused at the threshold of the dining room, standing aside to let her enter. "My father never married my mother."

  Comprehension dawned in her eyes as she turned back to him. "But you are an envoy. That means you stand high in the monarch's favor."

  "It means my father requested the honor for me. Now it is up to me to prove my worth." Why was he telling this to a peasant girl?

  "Lord!" The host bustled up. "As you ordered, I have a table set in a discreet alcove."

  Sweet Goddesses! It sounded as if he were preparing for seduction. Her neck and shoulders stiffened, making it clear she took that meaning too. In another time and place, he would not be averse, but not now. Not with his vows newly upon him. "'Twill suit admirably, mine host. We are ready to eat." As the host hurried off, Ranald smiled at Alys. She did not smile back. "It was this or a private parlor--and that, I feared, might lead to talk you would rather avoid. It seems mine host is convinced I am bent on seduction."

  Her eyebrows rose. "You gave me your word you were not."

  "It is company I ask from you, Alys. Not your honor." If only he could read the thoughts behind those clear green eyes. Did she believe him? Trust him? What matter? But it did matter. The suggestion of a smile and a little nod of acceptance filled him with an utterly disproportionate sense of relief.

  He held her chair for her and seated himself opposite, pouring her cider. She took the treen tankard in both hands and sipped. Looking at him over the rim of the tankard, she asked, "Ranald, why do you travel west? On the monarch's mission?"

  The arrival of the host and minions with bread, plates of roast venison, and bowls of vegetable stew gave Ranald a pause to decide how much to tell her. "Yes, on a mission for the monarch. As were several other envoys, I was sent out to find a man."

  "Just any man?"

  "No, one
known to the monarch and bearing his sigil."

  "An important man, then."

  "Yes."

  "And no one knows where he is?"

  "He parted from the monarch years back, after an argument, and was never seen again."

  "What if he died?"

  "Then that information must be carried back. He may have descendants."

  "And they are to be carried back too?"

  "The monarch grows older and wishes to heal the rift between them."

  She gave him another questioning look, as she reached for the bread and broke off the crusty end. "Who is this man and why did he and the monarch part?"

  Such questions, but the answers were no more than was posted in the metropolis, and would soon be sent to every parish in the realm. "He is the son of the monarch's younger brother. His name is Haran. They quarreled many years past. Prince Haran left the palace, and word has it he went into the western lands."

  She looked up from dipping the bread in the vegetable stew and paused, the morsel poised a few inches from her half-open mouth. "There are many Harans in the realm. Four in our village alone. It was even my father's name. How will you know one from the many?"

  "Only one will carry the sigil."

  She nodded. "What if he does not want to be found?" She popped the bread into her mouth and chewed.

  That thought had crossed Ranald's mind more than once. If half the tales of Haran's leaving were true, he might not care to heal the rift. After all these years, he might even be dead. "Then he will not be found, and the monarch will be unable to make his peace with him before he dies."

  "Ah!" She looked down at her meat, frowning a little as she picked up her knife. "It must have been a harsh parting, if the monarch is so pressed to heal the wounds before his time comes."

  Her words made Ranald look at her with interest. Her perception was sharper than he expected of a village girl. By her dress, she was unmistakably a peasant, but who was she in truth? A fugitive? No, she did not have the air of a criminal about her. "Why did you leave your home to wander alone?"

  She looked up, hesitating a moment or two before replying. "My parents died. Victims of the gray plague. The house we lived in was the property of the quarry where my father was employed, so I had no home."

  "Surely the parish offered a refuge for you?"

  Her laugh came sharp and bitter as aloes. "They offered, but I chose not to become an unpaid drudge to the warden. During my seclusion, I discovered my parents had a little money saved. I took it and fled, knowing if I did not, 'twould be impounded for taxes or some such pretense."

  "That is insupportable! That is not what the law prescribes!" She had to be repeating gossip, not fact.

  "What the monarch prescribes differs from what the parishes enact: I paid the sexton who brought the death cart the full fee but was told there were no clean shrouds for my parents; the village warden charged me three silver coins for a certificate of passage, and the only way I got to purchase Braniv was because a neighbor lied to the warden and told him my father had already paid for the pony before his death. The same farmer warned me not to leave the village by the main road, for fear my money be taken for charges or taxes."

  She spoke sharply. Hurt at the unfairness burned in her eyes. She was too young to have suffered such injustice. No one, much less a woman, should suffer so. "When I return to the metropolis, I will report this to the monarch. It will be remedied. What village did you say you came from, Alys?"

  She bit her lip, as if unwilling to say. Had she fled for other, less innocent reasons? "Wenmere," she replied after a pause.

  The heart of the eastern lands he'd taken care to skirt. "The gray plague killed your parents?"

  She nodded. "I underwent quarantine and have papers to prove it. I kept all the laws, scoured the house to remove the infection, burned bedding, stayed isolated for the prescribed time, and when 'twas over, I fled. With nothing there but a life of servitude, I decided to try my chance with my kin in the west."

  "Let us join forces then, Alys."

  She nodded, pausing while a server removed their dishes and brought out a wheel of aged cheese. "I think, lord, that you offer more than I do."

  "Ranald," he prompted.

  "Ranald," she said with a little smile. "I would be truly foolish to scorn your offer of protection, one-sided as it is."

  "I'll have the honor of your company on the road, and the chance of entrée to a family in the western lands."

  "Do you not think we will incite comment by traveling together?"

  He shook his head. "Why? I am the monarch's envoy escorting a young woman to her family in the west. Who would dare question that?"

  "You have thought it out."

  Scarcely! He was following instinct here, pursuing the conviction this young woman was his key to travel in the west. "I have no wish to compromise you, Alys." A half-truth. She was as desirable a woman as ever he'd met, but he would keep his pledge.

  "I thank you."

  As they ate, the company increased in number and noise. Perceiving her discomfort, Ranald suggested escorting Alys to her room. She accepted with obvious relief: a relief that turned to hesitation as they stood before her chamber. "I fear, sir, I have ejected you from your room."

  "There are plenty of rooms in this inn."

  "Yes." She smiled. "'Twas different this morning and for that, I thank you."

  And no thanks to the miserable host. "Good night, Alys. If it suits you, I would start early in the morn. It is a long ride to the next inn."

  "Good night, Ranald. My thanks for your consideration." With a little bob of a curtsy, she opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it.

  The Goddesses damn "consideration!" Had Alys any idea what her smiles and green eyes did to him? None! She was an honest virgin from an obscure village. Court dalliance, intrigue, and deceit were beyond her ken.

  They weren't beyond his. His body made that certain as he stripped and settled between the sheets of the inn's second-best bedchamber.

  * * *

  Alys leaned against the door, her heart beating fast and her face flushing at the thought of her deception. Lord Ranald was offering protection--without which, she was fast learning, she'd be molested and harried--and in return he expected an introduction to a family she didn't even know existed. Or if it did exist, who knew if they would acknowledge her? Her heart clenched. She should tell the truth--but to do so would risk Lord Ranald abandoning her.

  She would not soon forget the scorn in the host's eyes that morning. Alone, she might face that at every inn on the road and she could not sleep roughly all the way to the mountains. Her mind was made up. She would apologize when they reached the western territories, but for now...

  She had warm water waiting, a soft pillow, and clean sheets.

  She slept, but fitfully. It was a relief when, just after dawn, a maid knocked at her door with a pitcher of hot water and the news that breakfast awaited her in the dining room.

  * * *

  Ranald had already eaten by the time she was dressed and had hauled her knapsack and saddlebags downstairs. The host bustled forward, summoning a lad to carry the bags to the stables, and asking why she had not called for assistance. It was not fitting, he insisted, for a lady to haul her own baggage. How the protection of a monarch's envoy altered things!

  The concern last night, that dinner was to her liking, was mirrored this morning by the hostess's anxiety over the eggs and ham being to Alys's taste. They were, and so was the warm coffee, but Alys felt no wish to linger in the woman's company. Even before the plates were cleared, Alys set off for the stable yard.

  Here, too, Ranald was ahead of her. Both his horse and Braniv were waiting, saddled and laden.

  But it wasn't horseflesh that got her attention. Ranald had his back to her as he tightened the girths and checked the straps. He'd tossed his cloak and tunic over the nearby railing and rolled up his shirtsleeves. From across the yard, the strength in his arms was all
too clear, and the sight of him bending to check his mount's hooves brought a twitch of a smile to her face. Enough! Ranald might be gladsome to the eye but, even in Wenmere, she'd heard of the ways of the monarch's court. It would be hard enough to travel with Ranald ven Strad and keep her reputation unsullied. Thoughts such as the ones she had just repressed were unwise indeed.

  "Is all ready, Ranald?" She remembered, just in time, to omit "lord."

  He turned, just an arm's length or two away, and smiled. "I believe so. The farrier has shod them well. We should have no further delays on that account. You are ready, Alys?"

  Looking into his dark eyes, she was less certain than a few moments back. Why, in the name of the Nine Goddesses, had she agreed to travel with him? Would she not be better off taking the byways through the woods than traveling the high road with this man? This envoy, this...distraction? "I'm ready."

  But she was not ready to be lifted into her saddle by his strong arms. She was hard put to hold in the gasp as his strong hands circled her waist and lifted her. She quickly slipped her feet into the stirrups. She had no wish to feel his hands around her ankles.

  Surely she was reacting too strongly? What disconcerted her to distraction was nothing but a simple common courtesy to him. No doubt he lifted ladies of the court into their saddles every day of the week. She was acting like the village girl she was, but it seemed everything about Ranald ven Strad distracted her. Watching him shrug into his jacket and throw his cloak over his broad shoulders was no hardship. Even mounting his horse showed off his grace and strength--and his muscled legs.

  Enough! They had a long road ahead. A very long road ahead. At Ranald's signal, the stable lads pulled open the courtyard doors, and they set off, Ranald leading and Alys following. If she kept a fair distance, she could surely keep her thoughts on her goal, not on the man who traveled with her.

  * * *