“Why so curious?” he asked.
His reluctance didn’t surprise me. I had wondered how far he would let me pry. Not far, apparently. I tried another question. “What was it like, working for my father? Was he a tyrant?”
His eyes narrowed. “It was different for me, living on his lands, eating his food, sleeping under his roof.”
I set aside my empty plate and brushed pie crumbs from my lap. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t have to explain anything. I’ve saved your life, and that’s all you need to know.” He unfastened the buttons at his shirt collar and leaned over as if he meant to take off his boots, but he didn’t make it that far. Instead, he groaned, clasped his side, and slid toward the floor.
I saw it coming and rushed to his side, bracing my hands against his shoulders. He slipped off the bed to his knees and panted in my ear. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and a greenish gray pallor tainted his skin. Gideon cursed under his breath and steadied himself, pushing me away as he did.
“Gideon, let me help you.” I knelt before him, waiting. He looked as though he wanted to tell me to go away, but in much harsher words. I waited.
His shoulders sagged and he nodded. “Help me to the couch.” He leaned against me as he pushed himself onto the low seat.
“I’ll get your boots.” I reached for his laces, but he stopped me with a gentle hand.
“No, I’ll do it.”
“Stop being a hero for a minute.” I set my hands on my hips and scowled at him. “I helped Father with his all the time.”
Once I removed Gideon’s boots, I stowed them under the sofa. “Do you want me to help you to the bed, now?”
He shook his head. “I’ll sleep here tonight.”
“But the bed is bigger. You can’t stretch out so well on the sofa.”
“Why does everything have to be an argument with you?” His fingers returned to his buttons, and he opened his shirt farther.
At the hint of his bare skin, I blushed and turned away, then began toying with the lantern on the bedside table. “I’ll be happy to take the bed,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’m at least a foot shorter than you and I’ve got no broken bones.”
He didn’t answer, and when I braved a glance, I found him already nestled under a pile of blankets, staring at me with heavy lidded eyes.
“You never told me where you were today—not really,” he said.
I smiled, mostly to myself, as I thought back to the lovely afternoon. “I probably saved your life. I don’t have to explain anything to you, either. Besides, you know everything about me. I have no secrets.”
He snorted once and turned his eyes toward the ceiling. “No, you don’t, I guess.”
Gideon being reasonable? It unnerved me. I extinguished the lamps, and the moon shone through our window so his hair and skin took on a mystical, blue cast. I exhaled, sending out all the remnants of emotions brought forth that day in one voiding breath. The moonlight made undressing a nerve-wracking prospect. I contemplated sleeping in the heavy dress and stared at the bed while pondering what to do.
Gideon yawned and stretched, then grunted when he pushed too far. “What’s the matter, now?”
“Not quite sure what to do with this blasted dress.”
He chuckled softly and the sound made the hairs on my neck stand. “Take it off. I won’t look.”
“Humph. As if it would give you any pleasure if you did.”
I checked and found he had turned his head politely away. I kicked off the slippers I had worn to dinner—another hand-me-down from Moira’s daughter—and, with a bit of hopping about and cursing, I tugged the hateful dress over my head and managed to get down to the bottom layer shift. I scurried under the covers as the chill of the evening wrapped round me. “Moira promised to have my old clothes for me tomorrow.”
“That’s too bad,” Gideon said. “You looked kind of nice in a dress. Sort of like a girl.”
I chucked a pillow at him. It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the floor. He chuckled again, picked the pillow up, and stuffed it under his head. Soon thereafter, his breathing eased into the steady rhythm of sleep. I listened to him until I, too, sank into my own blessed oblivion.
Chapter 8
Moira hugged me as I stood with her on the porch of The Silver Goose and then she handed me a square of linen tied around a bundle of food. She turned and pointed a stern finger at Gideon and shook it. “You take care of her.”
He tried to look contrite, but I doubted that humble expression existed anywhere among his vast repertoire of grimaces and scowls. “Do my best, ma’am.”
“You’ll do better than that.” She turned and looked at me with an open and caring face, motherly. “And you don’t go giving him any trouble, m’lady. I’m hoping to see you again one day.” She patted my hand one last time before dropping it and stepping back.
“I hope to see you again, too.” I dropped a brief curtsey.
Moira waved as we turned toward the boarding stable. I waved back, sad for having to leave her already, but compared to the other things I’d recently lost, leaving Moira was a minor sting. When we reached the stables, I stowed my gear and arranged Nonnie’s saddle and bridle. The stable boy set Gespenst’s things in place while Gideon haggled over the fee with the hostler. By the time they agreed on a fair price, the two horses and I were ready to go.
I had brought Nonnie a dried apple from the inn’s larder, and she plucked it from my hands and mashed it between her big back teeth. Then she nuzzled me again, searching for another. She knew me too well. I fed her a second apple, stroked her nose, and climbed into the saddle.
We left town at an ambling pace. Gideon walked beside his horse for the first mile or so, not wanting to make his injuries obvious. I accepted the fact that this would be a long, slow day. We didn’t speak except out of necessity, and then only perfunctorily. I had only my thoughts to listen to, and there were many to ponder.
I thought of Father and considered again the possibility he wasn’t the ideal man I believed him to be. Maybe I could take some blame for my ignorance, though. I had led a comfortable life and never felt the need to challenge my circumstances or ask how they came to be. Father explained the basic structure of how he ran his kingdom, and I never questioned the fairness of it.
Of course, not all people lived like me—I knew that much. The few acquaintances I could call by name outside Fallstaff’s walls lived in modest homes, but they had seemed content. I never associated with our farming tenants, at Father’s urging. My knowledge of the villagers were mostly formal encounters, and that had suited me as well. Nonnie and the people living and working at Fallstaff were all the friends and family I had thought I needed.
Where had they all gone since my escape? Had any of them suspected what was going to happen? How many had survived, and how many were dead? A sick feeling bubbled up from deep in my belly. What if there were traitors in my own household? If I could count Terrill as a member of my household, then I guessed there were probably others like him. I shoved the thoughts aside. They were too unpalatable. My frustration mounted at the unending circle of questions and lack of answers. Expecting Gideon to explain was like squeezing a rock, hoping to get water.
For the rest of the ride, my mind bounced between those problems and flashes of memories from the prior afternoon with Jackie. No one like him lived in Fallstaff, or in Glennich for that matter. Girls my age, when I found reason to be around them, spent much of their time discussing romantic prospects in the village. I never participated in these conversations because I never saw what they saw—or felt what they felt. Father and I had mutually avoided discussion of my future marital prospects, but I had a feeling he would have discouraged dalliances with the local village boys.
After my encounter with Jackie, however, I understood what the girls had meant when they spoke of fluttering hearts and hopes for stolen kisses. Jackie had given me those same feelings, but the chances of seei
ng him again were slim.
Late in the afternoon, Gideon interrupted my thoughts. “Looks like we’ll have to spend another night under the stars. We won’t make it to Braddock before nightfall at this pace. I hope Moira was right about the ship.”
I shrugged again. Now that the inn was gone, self-pity had settled in for a long visit. If I had to leave Inselgrau, then I didn’t much care where I laid my head anymore. I suspected it would be a long time until I found a true home again... if ever.
Moira had packed enough food to alleviate the need for setting snares. I saw to the horses and a few minutes of solitude for myself while Gideon built a fire. Once the horses were settled, and I had seen to my own personal needs, I returned to our camp with heavy feet. Gideon, being the strong and silent type, let me sulk in solidarity as we picked through the food bundle. I chewed on a hard roll and a bit of cheese, mostly for something to do. My appetite had dropped off at the southern border of Thropshire along with my good mood.
The sky stayed clear and starry, the temperature comfortable. Without the need to pool our body heat, Gideon and I slept separate from each other. Thank the heavens for little mercies. My rocky feelings, and the rocky ground beneath me, made for a fitful night of sleep interspersed with short, vivid dreams—weird, mixed up visions of my father, fire and smoke, and angry mobs of people with outstretched hands that grabbed and ripped when they closed in on me. I must have mumbled or cried out because I came awake to Gideon shaking me.
“Evie, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled and rolled over, putting my back to him. He was silent for so long, I assumed he went back to sleep, but then he spoke from the other side of the low campfire. “Nothing bad will happen to you as long as I’m around. I promise.”
I gave no indication I heard him. What could I say? Thank you? It seemed hardly enough.
***
In the morning, Gideon either sensed my bad mood and kept his distance, or appreciated my silence and the reprieve from my plague of questions. He mounted Gespenst with less discomfort than the day before and, to accommodate his injuries, shifted between walking and riding in short spurts. Both caused him pain if he stayed with any one activity too long. As much as I dreaded the finality reaching Braddock represented, I looked forward to getting there for his sake. A ship might cause him less grief than the jolt of horseback riding or prolonged walking.
We entered the bustling port town of Braddock near noon and Gideon pointed out a steamship he recognized. He told me the LaDonna’s crew and commission came from Espiritola, a country south of Galland known for the spicy temperament of both its food and its people. The ship’s captain certainly validated the stereotype. I presumed he was the captain because of his important looking tri-corn hat, and also because he was the only leather-skinned, dark haired man wearing a coat. He stood on the dock below us, arguing in Espiritolish with a gentleman who had arrived before us. The captain’s words rolled over his tongue like the waves rolling along the sides of the boats.
Finally, after much yelling back and forth, the gentleman shook the captain’s hand, handed him a heavy pouch, bowed, and departed. Then Gideon and I took our turn with the captain.
“Captain Barilla,” the sailor declared with a mighty thump to his chest.
To my surprise, Gideon replied in the captain’s own tongue. His command of Espiritolish was further evidence of the many things I did not know about my guardian. He was well educated and frighteningly lethal. Had my father known, or had Gideon kept these skills to himself? What were his secrets, and how would I ever convince him to tell me? Knowing I would get no immediate answers, I turned my attention to my surroundings.
The small harbor exuded a distinctly fishy odor. Actually, fish, sea weed, salt, and unwashed men combined into a cacophony of maritime stench. It was all a bit thrilling. From what I had read in books back home, the port at Pecia, in Galland, was almost three times the size of this one.
Braddock had slips enough for maybe four or five small ship-to-shore vessels and, at that moment, the harbor gave port to two ocean-going crafts. Three tall smoke stacks and a side paddlewheel accompanied LaDonna’s sails. She was the larger of the two ships anchored that day. My heart raced and my breath shortened as I thought about boarding the hulking, steel contraption. Try to think of it as adventure, instead of escape.
Captain Barilla’s raised voice recaptured my attention. Gideon elevated his to match. I snickered at the notion that Barilla believed he might intimidate my guardian. They yelled a bit more and shook hands, reflecting what had happened with the previous transaction. Perhaps yelling in a foreign language was standard protocol for booking passage on a ship.
Gideon gave Barilla a small purse of coins, and bent his neck in a casual bow. Barilla bowed back, and Gideon took me by the elbow and dragged me back to the horses. He removed our meager baggage and tossed them to an awaiting ship hand. He didn’t let go of me when he grabbed our horses’ reins and stalked off toward the central part of town.
“Gideon, stop, you’re hurting me.”
He dropped my elbow like a hot poker, but continued his march up the sloped street leading away from the water. How did his injuries withstand the abuse? He seemed not to notice, so I refrained from mentioning it because his mood had turned even darker than usual.
“What were you and the captain yelling about?” I asked. He ignored me and increased his pace. “Gideon, what’s the matter? Where are we going?”
His head jerked around, but did not stop his quick strides, and looked at me with a blackness I hadn’t seen for our entire journey, not even the day before when he was so mad about me having gone out on my own. I tugged his arm in an effort to make him stop, but might as well have tugged on an oak tree. I gave up and tried my best to match his distance gobbling strides. When we finally stopped again, I leaned against Nonnie and panted until I caught my breath.
Gideon and I stood before a boarding stable. He stared at it as if staring at his greatest enemy. “Stay here, Evie.”
“What are you doing? And why are you so mad?”
Moments later, he returned in the company of a tall, skin-and-bones man who wore his greasy black hair pulled back with a bit of string. After roaming his watery blue eyes first over the horses and then over me, the man spat in the dirt near my feet. I tried not to form an instant judgment of him based on his looks and manners alone, but then he opened his mouth and I had no choice but to hate him.
“I’ll give you fifty for the both of them,” he said.
“Fifty?” Gideon caressed Gespenst’s rump. “This one’s worth eighty alone.”
“Yep, but you gotta get rid of ‘em now, don’t you? You’re in no position to bargain.”
Gideon clenched his jaw. “I’ll find someone else who’ll give me a better price.”
“Not in this town you won’t. Everybody here knows I got first say in all horse trade. How ‘bout I give you sixty?”
The words sank in, but I refused to accept their meaning. “Horse trade? Gideon, what is he talking about? You aren’t trying to sell Nonnie, are you?”
Both men turned and looked at me as if surprised to find me there. I grabbed Nonnie’s reins and laid a possessive hand on her neck. Gideon looked down and kicked at something in the dirt. When he raised his eyes back to mine, my heart froze. His face revealed his regret, his anger, and his grief.
“No, Gideon. She’s not for sale.”
“The captain won’t take them on the ship. There’s no room.”
“Then we won’t go. We’ll wait for another ship.”
“No, Evie. It’s too late.”
“You can’t take her. She’s mine and she is not for sale.” I stepped back, pulling Nonnie with me. “Look, sir,” I said to the horse trader. “There’s been a misunderstanding, and I’m sorry.”
The stableman’s gaze slid to Gideon, awaiting his reply, but I didn’t give him time to form one. I stepped into Nonnie’s stirrup, threw my
leg over her back, and dug my heel into her side. She protested with a sharp whinny, but followed my command. I had no destination in mind, but I left the stables at a full gallop.
People on the busy street scrambled out of our way. Nonnie and I nearly knocked over a full produce cart when we cut close between it and a carriage. We ran until Braddock fell behind us, and the open road stretched before us. Then we ran some more.
Gideon caught up to us not far beyond town. No surprise. Nonnie couldn’t keep that pace for long, and Gespenst was built for long distance running. He cut over, pushing Nonnie off the road, and forced us to slow down.
“You can’t have her!” I screamed at him like a crazed banshee.
“You can’t run from me forever.”
“I can try.” Yes, I had reacted childishly, but the situation was ridiculous, and losing Nonnie was more than I could bear. On top of everything else I had lost, she was one that broke me.
Gideon reached over and wrenched the reins from my hands. With superior skill, he managed to stop both horses. My fight drained away. Like a tidal wave, grief overcame me, and I didn’t resist when he pulled me into Gespenst’s saddle, moving without regard for his injuries. He stroked my hair and whispered unintelligible, soothing things into my neck while my tears erupted in body-wracking sobs.
I cried forever before my well ran dry. Only then did I realize I was sitting almost in Gideon’s lap. His shirt collar was drenched, and he held me unusually close. I shifted, meaning to break away from him, but he tightened his grip. “Promise me you won’t run.”
I hiccupped and bobbed my head.
He hesitated, but released me. I slid to the ground and went to Nonnie, hugging her neck and stroking her velvet nose. She butted her head against mine and snuffled in my ear. She had always been an affectionate horse. She had always been my horse. Gideon’s feet clunked to the ground behind me, but I couldn’t look at him, not yet. Instead, I buried my face in her mane, inhaling her sweaty, beastly scent.
Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
