by Lisa Shea
She held her arm up above her as he cleaned the area and wrapped it with fresh bandages. Then she turned to face him.
“I find it challenging to examine my own head,” she admitted with a smile. “Anything to report there?”
She bent her head forward to him, and there was a long moment before he leant in against her, his breath warm on her neck. She found herself relaxing against him, drinking in his strength.
“You are making it challenging for me to focus,” he murmured, his hands carefully working their way along her neck, up her skull.
She turned in his arms, bringing her eyes up to meet his, and she was caught by the desire she saw shining in them. “Maybe the touch of your healing hands is just what I need to mend properly,” she teased, leaning forward slightly to brush her cheek against his.
He groaned, almost leant in, then pulled back, rocking back on his heels. “I will bring you safely to your father’s,” he ground out, letting out a deep breath. “Your injuries need time to mend, and you need time to plan out your next step.”
She shrugged with a smile. “These scrapes will not hold me back,” she insisted, drawing to her feet easily, looking around for something to put on over her chemise. A pale violet dress lay in one corner, and she moved toward it, drawing it on over the white underdress.
“One of the women staying here had a spare dress with her, and I bought it from her,” explained Richard as she settled it into place. “The clothes you were wearing were shredded, and the pack with the purple dress and your other gear was swept downstream when you were ripped from your horse’s back.”
“This will do quite fine,” agreed Elizabeth, giving her left arm an experimental swing. “It is tight enough not to get in the way, and loose enough to offer free range of motion.”
He gave a low chuckle at that. “Is that how you judge your clothing, by your ability to swordfight in it?”
She glanced up. “Surely you consider it as well?” she pointed out.
He nodded, and was lost in her gaze for a long moment. Then he gave a small shake and looked around the room. “We can stay as long as you need, but if you are ready it might be best to head out. There is only one inn within the day’s ride, and if we do not make it there we will have to sleep in the rain.”
She rolled her shoulders, noted where the aches were, then nodded. “I seem good to go,” she agreed. He unbarred the door, and together they headed out to the stables. Thankfully the rain seemed to be easing off. The day was chilly, but only a light scattering of drops drifted from the sky.
Elizabeth moved into the stables – and pulled to a hard stop. Corwin was standing there, his eyes sweeping around to look at her, disdain in them. “About time,” he snapped. “Is he making you soft? There was nothing even broken!”
Richard took a step forward, his shoulders tense. “You nearly killed her,” he snarled.
Corwin’s face held disgust. “The woman is standing; her limbs are moving fine. You act as if she is a toddler,” he returned. His eyes swept to pin Elizabeth’s. “And what is that dress you are wearing? Why not put on the engagement dress, as we will be at your home in a few days?”
Richard’s voice snapped back at him. “That was in the pack, which was lost downstream, as she nearly was.”
Corwin’s eyes sharpened in displeasure. “You lost the engagement dress?” he asked, his eyes drilling into Elizabeth.
Richard’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “I will not allow you to risk her life again,” he stated coldly. “You will ride out of earshot of us from this point forward. If we can hear your voice, if you are within thirty feet of us, I will turn her right around and we will return to the nunnery for the winter. She will be safely within those walls until spring.”
Elizabeth would not have believed it if she had not been staring into Corwin’s eyes in growing fury – but for an instant there was a flicker of fear, a nervousness that she would not have thought possible. Then his arrogance had returned, and he was scoffing openly.
“Your father is dying,” he laughed to Elizabeth. “Your honor would not allow you to retreat now.”
Elizabeth took a step forward, coming to Richard’s side, twining her fingers into his. “Absolutely I would go with Richard,” she stated calmly, amazed at how the anger ebbed, how a rich sense of evenness descended over her as she spoke. “My father was an abusive tyrant. It would give me the greatest of pleasure to think of him dying alone.”
Corwin opened his mouth – then to her surprise he closed it again. It had never occurred to her that she might be able to counter his arguments. He had seemed so strong, so right, so able to twist her words to fit his own needs. And yet here he was, drawing new measure of her.
“It might do you some good to miss me for a while,” he cut out at last. “I saw how you greeted me at the cottage after an absence. You need some reminding of what it is like to be without me.”
His horse was already saddled, and in a moment he had pulled out of the stables, leaving them behind in silence. Elizabeth almost could not believe it. She looked over at Richard, who gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Then they were working side by side, preparing their horses, riding them out into the late fall chill.
Corwin shadowed them, and she could see his scowl even at a distance, but the day went by in quiet calm as they moved along the road, ever closer to her home. The landscapes were beginning to become more mountainous, the ground more rugged, and her shoulders eased. It was good to be coming home. Despite all the painful memories, it still felt right to watch the heights climb, see the beginning of the snowcaps she loved so much.
It seemed only the blink of an eye before dusk was settling across the landscape, before they were pulling into a stable and settling their horses into stalls. Corwin came in a few minutes later, and Elizabeth could see the effort it took him to ease his scowl, to present a look of superior strength. He took the lead as the three pushed into the busy inn.
Elizabeth eased wearily down into her chair, and Richard looked over in concern. “How are your injuries doing?”
Elizabeth ran a hand carefully along the wound at her thigh, the leg throbbing more steadily now. “I am glad we are resting for the night,” she admitted. “I will need a solid sleep to be ready for tomorrow.”
Corwin’s voice was sharp. “There are still four more days ahead of us,” he commented, waving for ales. “Time for you to stop acting like an infant, and just handle the pain.”
Elizabeth bit back the response which sprang to her lips. She could certainly not control Corwin, but she could control her responses to him.
The ales were served out, and in a moment stews followed. Richard leaned over and murmured something into the waitress’s ear, and she nodded, her eyes moving momentarily to Elizabeth.
Richard took a draw of his ale, looking around the noisy room. “When she has time later, she will come by with fresh bandages for you,” he explained. “We need to keep those wounds clean.”
Corwin let out a laugh. “She is not a fainting flower,” he sneered at his brother. “She has taken far worse than this in the past.”
Richard’s face went still, but he took Elizabeth’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze before returning to his stew, taking in another drink of ale.
Elizabeth finished off her stew, weariness dragging at her shoulders. It had been a long day, and the injuries had worn at her more than she cared to admit. Richard took one look at her face and stood, helping her to stand alongside him.
Corwin leant back in his seat. “I will get the girl to bring along the bandages,” he offered. Elizabeth gave him a nod, then together she and Richard made their way to her room.
He eased her down onto her mat, and she lay her head back onto the pillow, twining her hand into his. Exhaustion settled into every limb. “I think I will just sleep like this; I am sure the wounds are fine,” she sighed, curling up on her side, pulling his arm in against her. Her eyelids were heavier than she could have imagined
. “Stay here with me,” she murmured.
There was a sigh, and his hand stroked gently against her hair. “I think it best if I return to my room,” he answered softly.
She relished the strength of his fingers, the warmth of his body where it touched her. “I care little about what the innkeeper might say,” she muttered.
“It is not -”
There was a hammering at the door, and his hand withdrew in an instant, dropping to rest on the hilt of his blade. She knew she should be scrambling for her own sword, leaping to her feet, but it was all she could bring herself to do to struggle to a seated position as he strode to the door and stood against it.
“Who is there?” he called out, his voice sharp.
The voice was muffled by the thick door. “It is the innkeep. Open up immediately.”
Richard glanced back at Elizabeth for a moment, then unbarred and opened the door half way. “What is this about?”
The innkeep was a swarthy man, short, stout, his flame-red hair askew. His eyes were crackling with heat, and his cheeks burned crimson. “Out. Both of you. Immediately.”
Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet, wincing as her thigh almost refused to hold her weight. Richard was at her side in an instant, putting his arm around her. “What is this about?” he called back to the surly man. “Surely you can see this woman is injured.”
“I do not care. Get out. Get out, or I will throw you out,” he snarled.
Richard reached down with his free hand to grab her scabbard and belt, then tossed the two cloaks over his shoulder. He slowly, carefully helped Elizabeth down the hallway and out into the common room.
Most of the candles were out now, and the main light came from the fireplace at one end of the room. The tables and chairs sat empty in the dark night. All but one. A young girl, perhaps thirteen, sat sniffling. When they passed her, she raised her head to look at them, tears streaming from her eyes.
Elizabeth staggered to a halt. The girl’s eye was swollen and closing, the lids nearly glued shut by the pressure. A large bruised area was rising around cheek.
“What in the world -”
The innkeep strode forward, raising his hand. “Out!” he snapped.
Richard put a hand up in appeasement, the other firmly around Elizabeth, and in a moment they were out in the deep chill of the dark night, making their way through torchlight to the stables.
Corwin looked up with a shake of the head as they came into the open area at the center of the building. “Can you believe how touchy they are in these parts,” he scoffed. “Clearly if the girl had just -”
Elizabeth stared at him, mouth open. “You were responsible for doing that to that young girl?”
Corwin’s eyes narrowed. “She was a servant! And can you believe she -”
Elizabeth took a step toward him, her heart hammering in her chest. “She was barely thirteen!” she cried. “She was half your size! How could anything she did be worth that kind of reaction from a grown man?”
He shook his head as if she were daft. “How could a woman with your past even make such a statement?” he retorted. “How old were you when you caused your brother to be sent to his death?”
Elizabeth’s world slowed to stillness. For the first time she saw the scene from another vantage. Her father, burly, strong, a seasoned warrior, came storming into the keep’s courtyard. She was toned, yes, but still young, so young, with a thin body not yet filled out with a woman’s curves. Her father had picked up the quarter staff, had swung it high, and had brought it down …
“How could he have done it?” she found herself whispering, and Richard’s arm was sturdy around her, holding her up.
Corwin’s voice was harsh, the cawing of a crow. “Are you trying to claim you did not deserve the punishment you received?” he scoffed.
Elizabeth’s response was the faintest of threads. “No child deserves to be beaten,” she stammered, the reality of it growing from a kindle, flaming more strongly within her.
Corwin’s eyes glowed as he stared at her. “As the Bible says, ‘He that spareth his rod hateth his son’ – and that applies to daughters too,” he snapped. “And once you are my wife, you will discover that discipline applies equally in marital relations.”
Elizabeth’s voice grew strong and cold. “I shall never be your wife,” she snapped, her eyes holding his.
Corwin took a menacing step toward her. “We shall see what your father says about that,” he growled.
Richard dropped the cloaks and belt on the ground, stepping strongly between the two, his eyes on Corwin. “You have caused enough damage to Elizabeth to last a lifetime,” he ground out. “I expand my previous order. It seems that not even ‘out of earshot’ can keep you from creating harm. If you are even seen by us for the rest of this trip – even a glimpse – then we will both turn around and return to Claire and Michelle. I will see Elizabeth safely within those walls, and those gates will never open to your call.”
Corwin waved a hand back in the direction of the inn. “She was just a girl!” he snapped. “All this angst over a little girl?”
Elizabeth’s voice was cold. “Just a girl,” she snarled.
Corwin took another step forward. “But this is -”
Richard snapped his head to look at Corwin. “That is it; back we go,” he stated, turning to gather up the cloaks. “If we press hard, we can be safely there by -”
“Fine, brother,” snarled Corwin, falling back a pace. “I will leave you alone as you take Elizabeth home to her father. I am sick of seeing your face anyway.” His gaze turned to lay on Elizabeth, heavy with disdain. “I will press on ahead and prepare things with your father. He will want to hear what has been going on, and how to handle you.”
“Give him my regards,” responded Elizabeth flatly.
Corwin’s eyes swung back to hold Richard’s, and the green marbles took on a menacing sparkle. “See that you treat your charge with honor,” he growled. “If you lay one hand on my wife, if she comes to me in a less than pure state, then you will answer not only to me, but to her father as well.” He held his gaze, then turned and mounted in one smooth motion. He wheeled his mount, then pressed out past them into the ebony night.
Elizabeth stared out after him. As she stood there her leg began to throb with fresh pain. She winced, lowering her hand to rub against the wound.
Richard looked at her in concern. “I could go back in, try to reason with the innkeep.”
She shook her head, straightening up again. “They have been through enough for one night,” she murmured. “Let us press on a few miles. I am sure we can find somewhere to hole up.” She glanced out through the open doors. “At least the rain has stopped. With a good fire we should be able to hold off the chill.”
In a few moments they had saddled up their steeds and were heading out side by side. Elizabeth was past exhausted, but she pressed her lips together and held in the moans. Her side ached, her arm felt as if fiery rats were gnawing it, and her leg shuddered with her steed’s every step.
It seemed like hours before Richard pointed out a hollow on one side of the road, nestled under an elderly oak with spreading branches. A fallen trunk and ring of stones showed that it had served other travelers in the past. He dismounted and led both horses down into the nook, then eased her off her steed. It was all she could do to remain standing until he lay both cloaks down against the trunk and helped her down into the cocoon. He wrapped the layers against her and then began gathering up sticks to make a fire.
In a short while a sturdy heat was blazing within the rings, but Elizabeth still fought off a coldness within her core; she began shivering against it. Richard knelt at her side in concern. He offered a skin of mead, and she drank from it gladly, but still the darkness pressed down on her from all sides, sapping her strength.
His face creased with concern and hesitation. At last he lifted off the cloaks and eased himself in behind her, drawing the cloaks down around them both, wrapping his
arms around her.
All at once her shivering ceased; warmth eased through her, spreading into every limb, stretching tendrils into every part of her. She nestled back against him, and he gave a soft groan, his arms wrapping more tightly around her, his lips nuzzling down against her neck.
She sighed in contentment. “This is more like it,” she mused, her eyes blissfully shut, as she fit herself more perfectly to his strength, to his warmth.
The pains and aches of the world drifted away, and she was lost to the night.
Chapter 18
Elizabeth drifted awake, a most delightful lassitude filling her body. She could sense, remotely, the throbbing of her leg, the edged pain in her arm, the chill of the air beyond their cloaks.
None of that mattered.
She rotated within Richard’s arms, relishing the warmth of his body against her. She turned up to look up at him in the dancing, golden morning light.
“Good morning,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his.
He groaned, pressing his lips against hers for a long moment. At last, with a sigh, he pulled back. He drew up to one knee, looking down at her.
“How are your injuries doing?” he asked, his eyes going to her arm, then her thigh.
She sat up, giving her arm an experimental shake, then wriggling her leg in the air. “Mending,” she offered with a smile.
He stood, drawing her up, then turned to begin breaking camp. He gathered up the cloaks and poured the pot of water over the remains of the campfire’s embers.
She watched him for a minute, her eyes creasing. His motions were already becoming as familiar to her as her own stride.
“Did you get any sleep?” she asked suddenly, taking in the lag in his step, the infinitesimally slower way in which he snugged up his steed’s saddle.
His eyes swung to meet her, surprised, then, with a long exhale, he shook his head. “Not a wink,” he admitted.
