“I am a pilgrim.”
“Traveling from where? To where?”
She debated briefly, but knew it would be better to offer a lie freely, than to pretend outrage at his intrusion into her private affairs. “From Mersea … eventually to return once I have fulfilled my pilgrimage.”
A gleam entered his eyes, briefly and then disappeared so abruptly Aslyn wondered if she had imagined that spark of keen interest at the mention of her origins. One dark brow arched. The other descended. “You are young to begin a pilgrimage, alone.”
“Perhaps I am older than I appear?”
His gaze wandered over her face, making Aslyn wish she had pulled the hood of her cloak closer. She sensed the shadows it offered yielded little protection from that piercing stare. “You are not a day above eighteen. Your husband did not object to being left to care for your babes while you went on pilgrimage?”
Despite all she could do, Aslyn’s eyes widened in surprise that he’d pinpointed her age so precisely. The hardships she’d endured should have put more age upon her face than that. “I am not wed. There are no babes.”
“Why?”
Again, he surprised her. “Why?” she echoed. “I am supposed to know why I was not chosen as bride?”
His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t just that he doubted her word. She sensed he didn’t like the answer, though she was at a loss to know why. “A beautiful woman has more suitors than she has need of. Try again. The truth this time.”
Aslyn blushed. She wasn’t certain whether it was because of the compliment, or because he’d so easily seen through the lie. “I did not realize this was an interrogation,” she said stiffly, evasively.
An expression, almost of amusement, crossed his features. “You were never in any doubt of it.”
That was certainly to the point. Any doubts Aslyn might have nursed that his curiosity was out of a personal interest were neatly disposed of. Aslyn felt her blush deepen. “My betrothed … died,” she responded tightly.
He frowned. A look, almost of anger, flickered in his eyes. Obviously, he did not care for her answer. “And it is for this reason you went on pilgrimage?”
Flustered, Aslyn burned her finger when she dropped the needle into the water, which had begun to boil at last. Instinctively, she shoved the injured finger in her mouth. When she looked at Kale once more, she saw that his gaze had been drawn by the action to her mouth. The look in his eyes sent something warm and liquid flowing through her, wreaking further havoc within her.
She snatched her throbbing finger from her mouth and shoved it into the snow. “Mostly, yes,” she said, responding at last to his question.
His gaze, she saw with a good deal of discomfort, had not left her lips. Slowly, as if it was an effort to pull himself away, his gaze moved up her face and locked with her own.
“So … you crossed the channel to make pilgrimage through a foreign land … instead of your own.”
Aslyn looked down at her finger, examining it, though she knew the burn was as nothing. “No. I traveled within my own country, and then crossed the channel.”
Amusement lit his features, gleaming in his eyes. “One must wonder what you could have done that would make you feel the need for such an extensive pilgrimage.”
Aslyn didn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully, she was not required to. The squire approached them to report that they’d managed to right the cart and repair it enough for travel.
The huntsman rose abruptly. “We should be on our way, then and see if we can pick up the trail.”
Chapter Three
The cart was full almost to overflowing with family and household goods by the time the soldiers had helped Jim and his wife onto it. Enid turned to smile at Aslyn. “Find yourself a spot on the back.”
Aslyn looked at the cart doubtfully. “Thank you, but I believe I’ll walk beside the cart.”
Aslyn was acutely conscious of the party of men behind them, watching their departure. She was not aware of Kale, however, until he swept her off her feet. Stunned, she stared up at him, her mouth slightly agape as he strode toward the creeping cart and deposited her on a mound of linens in the back.
Without a word, he turned, strode back to his horse and mounted. Pulling the horses about, the group departed in the same direction from whence they’d come. Aslyn watched until they became black specks and finally disappeared over a rise.
The ‘town’ of Krackensled, Aslyn saw as the cart slowly rumbled up the main thoroughfare, was little more than a large village, though it boasted a maze of crisscrossing roads lined with cottages and a few shops, and as poverty stricken as the majority of the bergs she had seen in her travels. She had learned to expect it. She had not learned to accept it.
Her nurse had often tried to impress upon her that life was not fair, that one should not expect it to be. Fairness was a concept of civilized man that directly opposed the laws of nature. Nature randomly selected individuals and gifted them with beauty, or superior strength or intelligence … or not. Those with superior strength and/or cleverness, had long since established dominance for their line in the days when true civilization was born. Everyone else was left to scramble for survival.
The rich inherited wealth. The poor inherited more babies, to make them more poor still, except, perhaps, in joy or love. But, however joyful the occasion of a new addition to the family, Aslyn found it difficult to believe the joy could outlast the toil required to rear them, or the heartache of burying them, as was so often the case with the poor.
That was not to say, of course, that the poor were passed over when nature bestowed beauty, superior strength or intelligence. She’d seen enough to dispel the prejudices of wealth and privilege she’d been born to. It was merely that those who were fortunate enough to receive those attributes in poverty found them more a curse than a gift. Her own poverty since she’d fled her home had taught her that lesson.
Without the protection of wealth and position, a beautiful girl only became prey for the privileged. The strong were reduced to the status of beast of burden and the intelligent were left to rot in ignorance.
Life was, most assuredly, not fair.
Despite the size of the town, the streets were almost deserted. Aslyn wondered if this was due to the season’s inclement weather, the rumors Enid had told her of, or merely typical of the town, which, in truth, did not seem large enough to attract a great deal of commerce. The few people they passed on the road stopped, watching the slow progress of the cart.
Aslyn had learned to gauge the desirability of remaining in a town by the expressions she encountered on the way in. Towns seemed to have a life essence of their own. Some gave one the feeling of welcome. As often as not, they gave one the feeling that one’s departure would be more welcome.
Krackensled seemed to fall somewhere between the two. The expressions of those they passed were neither sullen, not friendly. They were mildly curious or reserved.
Aslyn interpreted that to mean that it would be safe enough to stay for a short time and that, if she had arrived alone, it would not have been.
Jim pulled the cart to a stop beside a rickety shack near the very edge of town. It looked as if it had been abandoned for some time. With an effort, she struggled down from her perch and looked around as Jim and Enid did the same. “The healer, Gershin, lived here. I thought, if you were satisfied with it, I could talk to the landlord for you and see if he would agree to the same terms he’d had with Gershin.”
It looked dismal, but beggars could not be chosers. “Do you know the terms?”
Enid shrugged. “Most likely service for his family and a tithe of what you earn in service to others.”
Aslyn nodded. She’d expected as much. “That sounds reasonable enough. Are you certain you don’t mind the task? I could speak to him myself.”
Enid shook her head. “Likely as not, he’d try to gouge you. We owe you as it is and I expect you’ll need to look in on Jim again. If you’d be willing to a
ccept it as part of what we owe…?”
Aslyn smiled, relieved by the offer. In her past experience, landlords had been inclined to consider they might as well barter for ‘special’ favors while they were about it, as soon as they discovered she was unwed and traveling without a companion. “Certainly.”
As Enid turned her steps toward the heart of town, Jim jogged the ox into motion, turned the cart down a narrow alley and disappeared beyond a structure almost as ramshackle as the one that had belonged to Gershin. Aslyn caught a glimpse of him and the cart once more as he reached a road that ran parallel to the one where she stood and turned back toward the heart of town. She supposed they’d settled it between them that Jim would take their belongings to begin unloading while Enid made arrangements.
Aslyn turned to survey her new domain. It looked worse than any of the other cottages that lined the dirt packed road, but only by a little. Sighing, she made her way to the door. It was not locked, but the wood had swollen with moisture and was no doubt sealed with ice, as well. She’d battered bruises on her shoulder before she managed to pry the door open sufficiently to squeeze inside. Without any light source, the interior should have looked much like the cave she’d sheltered in the night before, for the house had been constructed of sod and thatch and boasted not a single window. Unfortunately, there were more than a few unplanned ‘lights’, allowing sufficient illumination for her to make out the contents.
Without surprise, she saw that it consisted of only one room. A few rickety pieces of furniture littered the space. In the far back was a cot … no doubt crawling with vermin. Aslyn debated briefly with herself, but decided she was confident that Enid would prevail in her negotiations with the landlord. That being the case, she saw no reason to wait upon word when she could be working at making the place a bit more comfortable.
Moving back to the door, she peered at the hinges and discovered the leather was rotted on the upper hinge. It had begun to separate, allowing the door to sag. Lifting up on the door, she opened it wide to let in more light and, hopefully, allow some of the musty odors trapped inside to escape.
She was reluctant even to touch the mattress, but she most certainly had no intention of using it until it had been thoroughly aired. Grasping one end, she lifted it from the rope frame. Expecting it to be heavy with moist, and probably rotting, straw, Aslyn discovered that the mattress, no doubt filled with down, was surprisingly light. Having braced herself for more weight than she’d encountered, Aslyn staggered back a couple of steps as the down filled bedding flew toward her, tripped over something lying on the dirt packed floor, and landed on her rump so hard it jarred the pins from her hair so that they tumbled around her shoulders.
A snicker greeted her mishap.
She turned to glare at the intruder and her heart skipped several beats. A man stood in the open portal, blocking much of the light. She needed none, however. His armor was enough to tell her two things; he was a stranger; and he was a knight, which meant he was a potential threat. She got up with as much dignity as she could muster. “May I help you?” she asked coolly.
“I was told I might find the healer here. Might you be her daughter? Or have I the wrong cottage?”
A patient … already? Aslyn grasped her hair and quickly coiled it at the base of her skull once more, jabbing pins into it to hold it in place. Smoothing her skirts, she stepped forward. “I am the healer.”
He stepped inside, dwarfing the tiny cottage. “I hadn’t expected….”
Aslyn ground her teeth but cut him off before he could voice doubts regarding her skill due to her tender years. “Neither had I expected anyone to arrive so soon. I am not even settled in, having arrived in Krackensled less than an hour ago. Is your need urgent? If not, perhaps you could return at a later time, when I’ve had a chance to settle in?”
“Alas, dear lady, I am afraid it can not wait. If it were for myself I would gladly wait upon your convenience. My man, I fear, can not.”
Aslyn’s shoulders slumped. She glanced around the tiny cottage, but it did not magically appear clean, and, save for the dirt floor, there was no place for his man to lie so that she could attend him. On the other hand, if she attended him outside, like as not, he would be lying upon the snow. “You can bring him in here. I’ll need some light. I’ve not a candle to my name, nor lantern, nor even torch.”
He nodded and stepped outside again. In a few moments, the door was blocked once more, this time by three shadows, two men carrying a third. It took some maneuvering to negotiate the narrow doorway, but finally they laid the injured man upon the floor and departed. The knight entered as they left, carrying a torch. After looking around the room and discovering there were no brackets to receive it, he shrugged and held it so that it fell upon his man’s chalk white features.
Aslyn knelt beside the injured man. He was unconscious, and bloody from head to foot. It was impossible to even tell where the blood was coming from. “What happened?”
The knight shrugged. “We found him thus at first light. He’d been left on watch.”
“This morn?” Aslyn demanded, aghast. “And he has not been attended … at all?”
Again, the knight shrugged. “There were none among us with knowledge of healing. We brought him here because it was the closest town.”
The man was dead. At a guess, he had been for some time. “There was none among you who knew how to plug a hole?” Aslyn asked tightly.
To her chagrin, the knight grinned suggestively. “Indeed, every man of us will avow to a good deal of skill in … uh … plugging holes, but it makes the task easier when it’s surrounded by a thatch of hair.”
Aslyn blushed fierily, but only a little of it was due to his frankly sexual remark. Primarily, she was furious, both at his cavalier attitude toward ‘his man’ and because not one among them had taken the time to bind the man’s wounds. He might well have died anyway, but he had not even had the chance to live. She got to her feet. “I’ve no skill in resurrecting the dead. I’m afraid I can do nothing for him.”
He looked down at the man dispassionately. “A pity.”
She stared at the knight. It was a pity as far as she was concerned that the poor man had had the misfortune to be left to the knight’s tender mercies. The knight was an attractive man, dark as the devil, but still somewhat above the ordinary in looks, and obviously of high birth. Perhaps that accounted for his callous disregard for the life of a low born soldier, but she found she could not credit that as being entirely the case. Plainly, he had no care for his fellow man, whatever their rank. He exuded a sense of superiority in every look, word and gesture that made it impossible to appreciate his good looks.
She shivered and looked away as the knight transferred his gaze from the dead man to her, unwilling to encourage the man’s obviously overwhelming conceit by allowing him to interpret her gaze as an interest in him.
Stepping to the door, he summoned the men who’d brought the man in and told them to ‘remove the carcass and find a place to plant it before it began to offend all and sundry by its stench.’
Aslyn’s lips curled in distaste at the crass comment. She turned away, dismissing him as she returned to the task of setting the cottage to rights. The knight followed her, placed a heavy hand upon her shoulder. She glanced down at it, up at his face, and then moved away, turning to face him.
He held out a couple of coins. “For your trouble.”
Aslyn stared at the coins, but she did not reach to take them. “I did nothing,” she said dismissively. “More’s the pity.”
He dropped the coins on the rickety table. “For your inconvenience then.” He looked around the cottage assessingly. “I am Algar of Remey. My men and I are camped nearby on the King’s business. If you have need of our service, you need only send word …. Lady…?”
Aslyn’s heart thudded dully with alarm. “I’ve no claim to the title of lady. I am Aslyn … of Mersea.”
His black brows rose. “And your husband? Is he
about?”
Aslyn felt the blood leave her face. Any hope she’d nursed that he was only mildly curious vanished. His intentions became frighteningly obvious and he had blocked the only avenue of escape. “Not at the moment.”
He laughed, moved toward her. Aslyn backed away, but he followed her step for step until she was pressed back against the sod wall with no where else to go. “I was told you were unwed. Why, I wonder, would you lie to me?” he murmured huskily.
“Because your attentions are unwelcome?” Aslyn responded coldly.
“Are they?” he asked with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.
“They are,” Aslyn said tightly, wedging her hands between them and trying to push him away.
He lifted a mailed hand, running it lightly along the pulse pounding with fear in her throat. “This little flutter gives your lie away.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to inform him that it was most certainly not desire that sped her heartbeat, but another voice intruded at that moment.
“Fear and revulsion do not equal desire, Algar.”
The knight stiffened at the cold voice, the smile freezing on his face. Slowly, he turned toward the man standing in the doorway of the cottage. He stepped away from Aslyn, his body taut as he faced the man he obviously perceived as a threat. “Kale. What brings you here?”
Aslyn didn’t know whether she was more stunned, or relieved at the huntsman’s timely arrival. Relief seemed uppermost. Still, she wondered at it. The knight had not been a part of the huntsman’s party when she’d seen him earlier on the road to town. Perhaps they were part of a larger group, however, for neither seemed very surprised to see the other.
“The King’s business. And you?”
“The same.”
A cold smile curled Kale’s lips. “The King set you upon the business of assaulting his subjects?”
Algar’s face turned a deep hue, but he forced a smile, lifted his brows as if he’d no notion of what Kale was suggesting. “I’ve caused the lovely Aslyn no harm, have I my dear?” he asked, his gaze flickering momentarily to Aslyn. He didn’t wait for Aslyn’s response, which was just as well. “I’ve discovered a flower amongst the weeds and thought only to pluck it … if she, too, were so inclined, of course.”
Blood Moon Page 3
