“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Thank you.”
She nodded and deposited the tray on a stand beside the bed. Then she twirled on a heel and exited the room, whistling as she tromped down the stairs. The gown was plain, brown, homespun wool with a long row of buttons, several layers of cotton petticoats, and a pair of cotton stockings. A country dress, it required no corset or other fashionable torture devices commonly infecting women’s fashion. Father had never cared much for social conventions, so I rarely wore gowns at home except for special occasions. At least this dress was dry, well mended, and clean.
I ducked behind a screen in the corner of the room and considered how to begin. Gerda usually helped me dress, and, without her, I fumbled with the underskirt’s ties and struggled with the tiny buttons. Writhing, cursing, and grunting, I vowed never to take Gerda for granted again.
Later, when I stepped out from the screen, Gideon chuckled in a raspy voice, and I startled to find him awake.
“Evie? In a dress? I must be dreaming.” He reclined in bed, braced against a stack of pillows. A sickly black circle ringed his eye, and the gash on his head had crusted over and bruised as well. But he was alive, and I was more than a little relieved. Not that I’d let him know it.
He waggled a finger at me and smirked. “You’re off a few buttons.”
I scowled and readjusted my bodice. “And you must have gotten a good thumping on your head to be grinning at me like an idiot.”
His smile broadened, revealing a hint of dimple, but then he shifted his weight and his face crumpled.
I darted to the edge of the bed and knelt across from him. “What is it?”
“I think that bullet bruised a rib.”
“Probably broke it. You’re going to have to take it easy today.”
“No. We can’t stay here.”
“But you’re in no shape to ride.”
Gideon’s color rose. “I’m also in no shape to argue.”
Although I hated being the cause of his ire, I was happy to see some of his personality return. “How about something to eat?” Maybe I could distract him through his stomach. “Moira’s brought some tea and broth.”
“Moira?”
“Moira Hale, the innkeeper’s wife.”
He turned up his nose. “Broth? Is that all?”
I brought the tray closer for him to study. “There’s toast, too.”
“At least it’s not deer jerky. Maybe you could see about getting me an egg?” He looked up at me through his thick, dark lashes. Once the bruising around his eye went down, I thought he could induce me to do all kinds of things, looking at me that way.
“Um,” I swallowed to dampen my suddenly dry throat. “I’ll, ah, see what I can do. You don’t need any help?”
Gideon arched his eyebrow and thinned his lips. I took his hint and made to leave the room. “And see if you can find me a shirt, too!” he called.
In the dining room, I found John sweeping floors while Moira slopped a wet mop over the places he had recently finished. The labors of a public servant apparently never ceased. “I guess the great sleeping giant is awake,” Moira said, setting aside her mop. “Have you come for your breakfast? I’ve got a bit tucked away for you. Be back with it in a second.”
When she returned from the kitchen, I relayed Gideon’s request for a shirt, and she promised to bring him one later. She carried a large plate bearing more slices of bread and bit of potato and beef hash. She had also included a boiled egg. I secreted it into my dress pocket to give to Gideon later.
After I devoured the meal, John took the empty plate away with a wink, and I scurried back upstairs to offer my prize to Gideon.
He had made little headway with the broth Moira had brought him earlier. “Thin, weak stuff,” he grumbled when he caught me eyeing it, but he was happy to see the egg. So much so that he smiled again and spoke to me without his usual harshness.
After peeling the shell with deft fingers, he bit into the egg and sighed. “Did you manage to find me a shirt, too?”
“Moira says she’ll bring one up.”
“We’re going to have to leave soon.”
“But—”
“No buts, Evie. We can’t stop until you’re off the island. There’s not a place on Inselgrau that’s safe for you anymore.”
“Will you tell me what happened with Terrill and the men?”
Gideon exhaled and narrowed his eyes. “They’re gone, not to bother us again, I think.”
“Gone? What does that mean?”
“It means dead. Well, at least two of them. Terrill, as you know, is a soldier—a well-trained one. I managed to down the other two with Sephonie, but Terrill caught on to our plan and took off after you. He was too far out of range, so I had to chase him down.”
“And you did?”
He grimaced. “I did.”
“But he’s not dead?”
“He left going back toward Brighton, but not without taking a bit out of me first.”
“I’ll say.” I tried to imagine the fight between the two skilled men, and my heart shuddered at the images my mind produced.
The corner of Gideon’s mouth turned up. “But if I’ve got one broken rib, then he’s got two and a ruined nose as well.”
I smiled with him, glad he was on my side rather than a weapon for my enemies, for a weapon he surely was. His expression soured. He looked taken aback. “Oh, so a bit of a bloody battle makes you happy?”
“No, I’m smiling because you survived.”
“And now you’ve got someone to protect you again.” His expression hardened, showing his mood had gone dark.
“Yes, there’s that.” My relief was undeniable, but I was glad he had survived for other reasons--ones I couldn’t quite put a name to. I turned away and picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room, but I couldn’t leave him alone, yet. I had one last question. “Gideon?”
“What?” He sounded tired and aggravated, but I refused to let his bad mood discourage me the way it usually would. Not today.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“No, I mean after Braddock—after we get on the ship.” Yielding his intimidating nature, I hadn’t pressed him for more answers before. But there, with him in that vulnerable state, I meant to get a response from him, more information, anything that might help me see my way forward after so much looking behind.
After a long silence, he exhaled. “Dreutch.”
“Dreutch?” My heart sank. I had studied Dreutchish—the one language Father insisted I learn. It was an old country with a dark and obscure history full of ominous legends.
Gideon narrowed his eyes as if he expected me to argue. “Yes.”
“Why there?”
“I know people there who can help us.”
Considering what little I knew about Gideon, his plan to retreat to Dreutch made some sense. Usually he masked it well, but in moments of pique or exhaustion, his Inselgrish accent gave way to something else—harder consonants and guttural vowels common to that foreign dialect. And he had named his horse Gespenst for the gods’ sakes—a thoroughly Dreutchish name. Was it possible Gideon was originally from there? Is that where he had learned his formidable fighting skills?
If I asked him for additional personal information, though, it would only tease an already testy lion. Thankfully, Moira chose that moment to return to our room carrying a soft white bundle of linen. Her presence broke the growing tension between us.
“You shouldn’t be worried about getting dressed, young man.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You needn’t concern yourself with my modesty, or that of your sister. It’ll cause you a good deal of discomfort struggling into it, too.”
She tossed the folded shirt at Gideon, and he snatched it from the air. Then he grimaced and put a hand to his ribs.
“You’re broader through the shoulders than my John, but you should be able to manage it. I’ve
also taken out your riding coat and beaten it soundly.”
“How much longer, do you think, until my things are dry?” I asked.
“Is the dress bothering you so much?” Her lips twisted into a curious smile. “I can tell you’re the leather and broadcloth type, rather than silk and lace. If I had a son instead, I would have given you a pair of his breeks.” Moira, I noticed, liked to give her answers in a rambling, roundabout way. “Your things have been hanging by the kitchen fire and are close to dry by now. Shall I go and check them for you?”
“Yes, please. I don’t think I can manage to ride in this dress, even though it is very nice.”
“Ride?” Her eyes bugged wide. “You can’t be thinking of leaving yet. Your brother is in no shape.”
“Thank you, Missus Hale,” Gideon said, “but we’ve got to catch a ship out of Braddock and it won’t wait for us. We will have to leave today.” He threaded his arms into the shirt and stopped, contemplating getting it over his head without straining his ribs.
“My goodness, but you could put a rib through your lung if you try riding now,” she said.
“Then maybe you’ll bind it up especially well for me.” He slipped out of bed, still holding the shirt, and raised to his full height, shifting injured places and straining untested muscles. If any of those movements pained him, he kept it from showing on his face. “Your hospitality has gone a long way toward my recovery already, and I intend to pay you graciously for it.”
Moira’s face went red and she stomped her foot. “It’s not your money I’m worried about. It’s you and the young miss. You’re in no shape to be keeping her safe, and Braddock is still another full day’s ride from here. What’s to keep you from being waylaid again before you get there?”
Gideon pondered her outrage and turned his head like a curious dog. “Your earnest concern for our care is peculiar. Do you put yourself out for all your clientele this way?”
“I certainly do, any time my clientele includes Lord Trevelyan’s daughter!”
Ah, so she recognized me. But, how? I had never traveled this far south, and she and I had never met before, I was certain.
“Well, you’re no fool then,” he said, “and in being so wise you should know the longer we stay on this island, the more danger Evie will be in, day by day.”
“Humph.” She folded her arms across her ample bosom. “I’ve heard talk, and I suspected it had come to pass when I saw the young miss show up here in such a worthless state, dragging your mangled carcass behind her.” Moira raised a hand, stopping Gideon’s interruption. “No one knows you’re here, and I shan’t be sharing my knowledge. I’ve got my own reasons for not wanting to see any harm come to her. You’ll stay and you’ll rest. John and I will keep you safe. You can see about leaving tomorrow.”
“How do I know we can trust you?” he asked.
I had listened to the exchange in silence. Gideon was certainly in no mood for my interruptions, but his obstinacy and persistent objections inspired my own stubborn streak.
“You can trust her.” I stepped closer to Moira so our shoulders touched.
He glared at the formidable female wall before him and turned several different shades of mad before he relented and sank onto the bed. The sudden, unguarded movement must have wrenched something. He groaned and fell back on the pillow. “You certainly did choose an inconvenient time to develop a spine, Evie.”
Moira and I smiled at each other, and I suppressed a giggle.
“And do you think I could get a shirt that doesn’t require me raising my arms to get it over my head?” he asked.
Moira laughed uproariously at that and tugged me out of the room behind her. “Men are such grumps when they have to show weakness. If John has to take to his bed, he’s a holy terror, ordering me about and having a fit when I don’t do things his way.”
“Really?” I asked. “You two look like you always get along so well.” The way they worked together last night, I assumed they were always like that.
“Most of the time we do, but anyone spends as many years together as we have is bound to have squabbles from time to time, especially if one of you is feeling poorly.” Moira and I descended the stairs, and she stopped us in a little foyer leading to the dining room. “I would like to ask you, miss.... Why did you defend me up there? How do you know you can trust me?”
It was a good question—one I couldn’t answer in a sensible way. Mostly, I had reached my limit for enduring Gideon’s tirades. “I just do.”
She considered my simple explanation for a moment. Then smiled crookedly. “I appreciate that. I do. But you can’t always be so trusting, m’lady. From now on it would be best for you to assume the people you come across are more likely to want to do you harm than good.” She turned and started toward the back of the inn. Before she disappeared from sight, she called over her shoulder, “Tell your brother I’ll bring him a shirt he can button in a little while.”
She left me standing alone in the foyer with no further instructions. I felt lost. The thought of contending with Gideon’s cross mood again made me hesitant to return to our room, but what else was I to do? At home I would go to Father’s library or nag Stephen into playing a game of queen’s court with me. Sometimes the ladies on staff would bear my presence in the kitchen and show me how they made whatever we were eating for the meal that day, or Father would take time to coach me with my crossbow. On nice days, I wandered the woods with Nonnie, having imaginary adventures, and wouldn’t come home until nearly dark.
Thinking of my sweet mare inspired me to walk down to the livery stables to check on her. She seemed glad to see me. So glad, in fact, that I decided to take her out and tour the large town of Thropshire. She nuzzled me, sniffing at my skirt pockets, expecting I had brought her a treat. I didn’t disappoint. Holding out my flat palm toward her, I revealed the sugar cubes I had lifted from the tea tray. Her velvet lips plucked the treats from my hand, and she crushed the sugar between her big flat teeth like a mortar and pestle. Then she nuzzled my ear, asking for more, and her breath puffed at the loose hairs around my neck.
“Ooh, stop that,” I said, giggling. “It tickles.”
Once I finished arranging Nonnie’s tack, I hitched up my skirts and flipped a leg over her saddle. The gown was made for household chores, not riding horses, and I struggled to arrange my skirts in a way that preserved my modesty. What would Gerda say? She’d probably thank the god’s that I wear tall riding boots.
The village was busy with carts, carriages, and a few other horseback riders, most of whom were men. A few ladies scurried past, bearing packages and groceries. One woman with wispy blond hair tucked under a white kerchief gave me a sour look after she took in my bunched dress and muddy boots. She shook her head and marched on without a second glance.
Nonnie and I passed a few interesting shops I would have loved to stop and explore, especially one belonging to a bookmaker, but I had no money, and Gideon wouldn’t appreciate me acquiring anything else for us to fit in our packs. Thropshire was a lot like Glennich but after a while, the bustle and hubbub of the busy town overwhelmed me. Nonnie and I turned away from town and sought the outskirts where we might find more room to move about.
At the edge of town, the road curled south toward more of the rocky, barren hills like the ones Gideon and I had already come through. Off to the east I spied a green meadow and a small wooded area. I pointed Nonnie toward the little park, and we made our way over the spring green grass at a lazy stroll. The meadow rolled down to a creek that was invisible from the road. We descended the hill, and my horse kicked into a trot as she gave in to the urge to taste the fresh water. Once we reached the creek, I slipped from the saddle and allowed her free rein to roam the bank.
Buffered from the noise of the village, the park was peaceful and quiet. I found a dry rock ledge close to stream’s edge and sat on it so I could remove my boots and dangle my toes in the water. Nonnie munched on shoots springing from the mud, and she seemed
content with her freedom.
I splashed my feet in the stream and hummed a tune my father used to sing sometimes. His lovely voice would goad members of the household who had musical talent into performing with him whenever he could find an audience to listen. I slid off the rock and waded through the creek to the other side, ignoring the way my calves cramped, protesting the cold.
A batch of daises sprouted in a sunny spot on the opposite bank. My fingers itched to pick them and string them together. The sun shined on my shoulders, and I settled in the soft grass thriving in the little pool of light and bided time by weaving a daisy chain.
“The silver moon and all her stars shine on and on and on...” I sang the first line to the song I had been humming. Then, as I inhaled a breath to begin the next line, a clear male voice interrupted, singing: “Till the sun comes up and says t’us all: It’s dawn, it’s dawn, it’s dawn.”
I sprang to my feet and spun around. Some short ways down the bank, a slim legged mare bore a young man with hair as pale a corn silk that hung loose in a glossy mane sweeping over his shoulders. He shot me a mischievous grin and sang the third line. “The nightingale now fast asleep dreams of nighttime come again.”
He raised an eyebrow and nodded at me. I interpreted the gesture to mean he wanted me to finish the song. A hot blush burned on my cheeks—evidence of my mortification at being caught singing and weaving flowers like a mindless child—but the stranger made an encouraging motion, and I sang as if he had put me under a spell. “While the rooster crows so we all will know the day is to begin.”
The stranger wore a fine black coat, waistcoat, and a crisp white shirt and neck cloth. His attire would have been too formal for riding except he paired it with knee-high black boots and buckskin trousers. He laughed, threw his leg over his saddle, and dismounted.
“I always liked that one,” he said, approaching with a springy step. His eyes shimmered a silvery blue that, with his fair hair and complexion, gave him an eerie, spectral appearance. His fine boned features enhanced the elegance of his movements. Except for the rather severe suit, he looked like something that should have stood on a pedestal in a garden.
Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
