“I know you are in there! Open the door, you hear me!”
After moments of pounding and no response, Ryia groaned her frustration and shove the door open, surprised to find that it had been unlocked all this time. Inside, her brother was seated at his desk as he read something from a roll of parchment. Bristling, she scuffled over and wagged her finger angrily in his face.
“You would think that after seven and a half years, my own brother would welcome me in the courtyard.”
Ulric glanced up and then back to his reading quickly. “Welcome back, sister.” He even reached for his blasted tankard. “I suppose it would please you greatly to know that you haven’t changed one bit.”
“And I suppose it would please you greatly to know that you are just the same darned eremite I left behind too.” She glanced around the barely lit study and shuddered. “And this room is as dark as your mood, brother. Besides, I only came here to say that--What?”
Ryia glanced dubiously at her brother who was now staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. She was half-tempted to brush at her face or something.
Still eyeing her, Ulric eased out of his chair and grasped his little sister by the shoulders, looking her over from head to toe.
“What happened to you?” he demanded.
“Whatever are you talking about?” Now, she was really confused. “There’s nothing wrong with me. Have you gone daft?”
One large hand squeezed her jaws and he turned her head from side to side, studying her as if she was some rare object. “You used to be.....chubby.”
“I was never chubby, you idiot.” Completely outraged, Ryia shove out of his grip and gasped. “And did you honestly expect me to look the same after all this time? I’m a woman now. A married woman, in case you’ve forgotten.”
For some odd reason, he found himself chuckling and he did not know why. He certainly was not over-glad to see his sister but he was mightily pleased to see that she was in fine health. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, much like their dear mother had been. Long tresses of chestnut hair hang past her shoulders, framing a face that was radiant as ever. She had their father’s eyes, he seem to have had forgotten. Cool blue eyes the color of the sky at springtide.
“.....wouldn’t want the children to see you in such a mad state...”
Ulric shook out of his reverie and cleared his throat. “Children?”
Ryia let out a dreadful sigh and patted her dear brother on the shoulder. “You seem to have gotten awfully slow, Bryce.” Bryce. It had been years since anyone had called him by his first given name. “You know.... Children. I happen to have two of them. Maliha and Joseff. I would have brought them along but I wanted to confirm first if you had wasted away here all by yourself. Heavens knows, you would scared them to death.”
“Well...” He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t expected that news. He had a niece and nephew that he’d never met. Ulric didn’t know whether to laugh or run far and never look back. “I see. And uh...how old are they?”
“Joseff is four and Maliha, three.”
Still in the manageable stages, thank Jesu. Ulric blew out a low whistle and returned to his seat. “What did you come to say just now again?”
Ryia arched a brow, thoroughly stunned at how easily her brother had managed to change the subject. Shaking her head sorrily, she sighed. “I need your help with a matter of great import.”
“What is it?” He was back to reading again.
“My lady’s maid had somehow fallen ill so I’d had no choice but to leave her behind. I shall need your assistance with finding me a temporary maid for my stay here.”
“Can’t you just ring on your long-lost friends and ask for their help?”
Lady Ryia rounded the wide desk and stopped dead next to her brother, yanking the parchment fully and quite rudely out of his grip.
“In case you’ve also forgotten, those ‘long-lost friends’ are not welcome here. They’ve all hated me for ages, thanks to you and your bad manners.”
Ulric gently unfolded her fingers, one by one, from his reading material lest she crush it, all the while scowling up at her. “Then ring for Edwin. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to assist you.”
“Fine! Why do I even bother? I suppose I might even take an earlier leave from this blasted place than I’d intended also.” She threw up her arms in a child-like fashion and stood akimbo. “Your company was sour years ago, Bryce, but now I’m afraid it has gone thoroughly rancid.”
Flinging a long chestnut plait over her shoulder, his sister turned and fled the room, all rage resounding from the way she slammed the door to his study. It was the type of sound to rattle the teeth and leave even the shedboy in the far southern stable of the estate curious. If there was anything he knew for sure, it was that his sister had gotten some spirit...and had grown far more annoying for his liking.
Sighing, Ulric returned his gaze to his reading and cursed when he noticed that Ryia’s fingers had smudged his fresh ink. He’d spent all morning penning that particular entry for the estate’s journal, which had required extreme precision and tidiness. He couldn’t possibly re-pen it now as he had other things to look after. Reaching for his tankard, Ulric took a deep sniff and drained the contents. He would have to put that off until after supper when his head managed to cool.
Opening a drawer, he shoved the parchment inside and then marched across the room to his private cellar-box and retrieved a flagon of brandy. He’d managed to uncork the bottle and pour just a bit in his tankard when the door came swinging in again. Apparently, no one respected his privacy these days.
Edwin came huffing in, hair looking mightily ruffled. “I hear I am to escort Ryia on an expedition.”
An expedition is not what Ulric would have called it. “I simply suggested your company.”
“Of course, you did.” The drawl in Edwin’s voice suggested that he knew exactly the type of expedition too. “Because maid-hunting is my expertise and something I desire wasting away my morning on.”
“Truly, Edwin. Sarcasm does not become you.” He poured himself a drink and regarded his friend with a raised row. “What you need is a drink to prepare yourself for your and my sister’s grand outing.”
Edwin glared but sighed with heavy resignation. “Mock all you want, Ulric, but I will repay you for this one. Mind you, I know your secret.”
Lowering the tankard from his lips, he almost laughed out of sheer suspicion that Edwin would gladly dupe him. “You would sell me out to my own sister?”
“Isn’t that what friends are for?” Edwin strode over and grabbed the flagon from his friend’s hand, taking a burning swig of the liquor.
“No wonder I only have you then.”
“Not that”--burp--“Not that I’d need to, seeing that your captive has been creating quite a ruckus down there since last night. If Ryia is to even step over to the west wing, my tattling wouldn’t be necessary at all.”
Ulric was already half-way towards the door. “And you planned on telling me this when?”
His friend shrugged, bracing himself against the cellar-box. “Like I said, it’s not like I need to tattle.”
Gulping down some more of his friend’s brandy, Edwin slid down on the floor and decided to drench his mind away until the next few minutes when he’d promised to escort Ryia to town. At least, while a little lightheaded, he would be better able to survive the afternoon.
* * *
“What precisely is the matter?”
Ulric bounded down the stone staircase, almost skidding on a loose rock, as one of his guards stayed hot on his heels.
“The wench’d been throwing pebbles and sand at the door all night but she only quieted down since before dawn. Haven’t even heard a peep out of her since, milord.”
“Well, have you checked on her?”
The guard stammered a bit before managing one coherent sentence. “No, milord. She has uh.....quite a good aim, sir.”
; Coward. Ulric shook his head, his grip on his own torch tightening. It took them another minute to reach the gaol cell and he did not hesitate to slide the bolt aside and swing the door open. The torchlight flooded the room and he peered inside, feeling unbelievably uncomfortable as his guard hovered close behind him.
“Where is she?”
“I...I don’t know. She was right over there the last time I saw, milord.”
Stepping further inside and wondering what type of witchery the wench had committed now, Ulric trained his gaze on the room, spinning slowly...and then stopped. In the left corner of the room, closer to the door, a small body was huddled still and unmoving.
“Hold this.” Shoving his torch into the free hand of the guard, he moved quickly towards the figure and stooped down low. Reaching out a tentative hand, he pulled on a slim shoulder and drew back at the burning heat he felt there. The wench was burning. “She has a fever.”
“Milord?”
Ulric swallowed tightly, a raw unfamiliar guilt swelling inside his chest. Gently turning her over, he brushed the thick mass of hair from her face. Her complexion was ashen and her lips had developed a bluish tinge, all combining with the horrific sounds reaching from her abdomen. Nineteen, she’d said? What dire a circumstance could she had been in to end up in a predicament as this?
Reaching an arm under a small back, he eased upwards, the wench carefully tucked in his arms. Ulric was even more surprised by her weight. The girl barely weighed a thing.
“Go ahead of me and move fast,” he spoke. “I suspect the wench is dehydrated and terribly starved.”
The guard moved off instantly, glancing behind him occasionally as they went. “Where to, milord?”
“To the Odessa Room.”
The guard’s glance lingered a bit longer than necessary and Ulric decided to allow it to pass for now. Perhaps he could not blame the man, seeing that same room had been unoccupied for over ten years now. It had been his mother’s private chamber after his father had succumbed to illness. It was also the only room he could place the wench in without fear of his sister stumbling upon her. No one entered that room. Ever. Save for the serf wenches who went in to keep it tidy on a weekly basis.
Sweat beaded on his temples as Ulric embarked the winding staircase and then down the long hall which led to the Odessa Room. The guard spun the knob, and then held the door open for him to enter.
“Close the door behind you and get one of the girls from the kitchen to bring up some water and cloths.”
“Right away, milord.”
Easing the slender body down against the cool sheets, Ulric smoothed away the girl’s hair and looked her over. She did not look so terrifying while unconscious, he supposed. But she did look horribly sick, certainly owing to the cold gaol and no sustenance.
Glancing away, he refused to acknowledge that he could ever have been so cruel. Mayhap since he knew he was exactly that. Cruel...and sometimes incredibly unfeeling. He was a dark soul and he’d never needed reminding of that, which was why he found it confoundingly surprising that he’d actually moved the wench from the jail much less be making preparations to nurse her back to health.
The same exact wench who had broken in on him, blatantly held a dagger in his direction.....and even, rather bluntly, confessed her crimes against him. The girl must be a raving lunatic or he was. And as much as he would gladly admit to being an ass, Ulric was also confident that he was not lacking in good sense. In fact, he was just as sane as he had ever been and this lightheaded chit was a testament to that. Only someone with complete sanity could deal with someone so given to utter recklessness.
The kitchen girl came scurrying inside the room, some minutes later, with a handful of cloths, followed by the guard who was holding a firm grip on a filled washbasin. The door clicked close behind them and Ulric quickly withdrew his hand from where it rested lightly against the girl’s warm cheek. He knew it would be a long day before they saw any signs of improvements.
Five
“It appears her fever has broken, milord.”
The girl spoke rather confidently for someone who’d only been employed as kitchen help in his household. But she did move with a mature air about her which spoke volumes in Ulric’s opinion. He had been watching all morning as the color slowly seeped back into the thieving wench’s cheeks and now that it was a long while past noon, he suspected that she might be awake soon.
He cleared his throat. “Good. Uh...?”
He eyed the girl awkwardly, staring down his nose as it suddenly dawned on him that he knew the names of none of the individuals who were currently inside the room with him.
The girl gave a quick curtsy. “It’s Anyla, milord. Is there anything else I should fetch?”
“Uh, yes. Perhaps some bread and meat from the kitchen. Some cheese too. And definitely something mild to wash it down with.”
Anyla sprinted from the room and Ulric turned to look at the girl again, lying soundlessly on the bed. He could tell the comfortable rate of her breathing as every exhaled breath tickled the tendrils of very, very dark hair near her mouth. It was a luscious type of black, surprisingly shiny and thick enough to tempt a man into grabbing a fistful. Gaze now traveling down a slender neck, he took in the soft contours, as they dipped and slid over to form well-rounded but small breasts which were perfectly hidden by Anyla’s expert hand.
His gaze lingered a bit more and then swept upwards, scanning the qualities of a delicate face that sported a neat little nose and a relatively small mouth. Moving closer, Ulric could a feel tightening in his chest that he had long ago refused to acknowledge. With a tender mouth like that, a girl like her could attract many a respectable men for position of a mistress. At least, that would have saved her from having to resort to burglary.
Turning away, Ulric pivoted to reach for another damp cloth when he caught his gaol guard’s stare. The man quickly lowered it.
“What?”
“N-nothing, milord.”
Ulric damped the cloth and placed it gently across the girl’s forehead. Sighing, he resigned into an arm chair and scratched the back of his neck. “Speak freely.”
“Sir?”
“I said, speak freely because I fear that I feel far more comfortable hearing your piece than have you gawking at me from across the room all afternoon.”
The guard remained silent for another minute before releasing another word. “The girl. She said her name was--”
“I heard her.” Running a hand through his hair, Ulric frowned deeply. Of course, he’d heard her. He’d have to had been deaf not to hear all that shouting while he’d momentarily stepped out of the room to take a breath. The wench had woken just an instant from her stupor only to scream a thread of expletives--none of which were expected to even cross a woman’s thoughts--which happened to include one short confession of her name, before falling into unconsciousness again.
An exceptional name too, if he were to admit. An exceptional, contrary name.
“M-may I speak freely, milord?”
“Did I not say so a moment ago?”
The guard nodded briefly and took one cautious step, hands clasped behind him. He was a tall strapping fellow, possibly only an inch or so above Ulric’s own height. Curly brown hair framed a box-shaped face that seemed as if the frown, currently upon it, was set in granite.
“I have met up with thieves many a times, milord. But never many who were wenches and even so, none ever so bold. Do you believe the lass to be sick in the head, milord?”
A deep chuckle sprung from Ulric’s lips as he fully faced the guard now. The situation was not at all funny but he somehow could not contain the urge to laugh at it all.
“I believe she’s lost all her good sense and replaced it with raw stupidity.” He glanced at the slender figure and shook his head. “And by law, she should have been hanged in the town’s square no later than daybreak.”
“Milord.” The guard kept his head bowed as he spoke, his tone neither di
sagreeing or agreeing.
Turning on his heels, Ulric St. Rosso gazed finally upon the room his mother had loved so much. It had been her hideaway. If no one else knew of that, then he did. Lady Katarin St. Rosso had been a lovely woman, one of the best. A strong presence and a dear mother and wife. But his father’s death had broken her, torn her to bits that she had lost the radiance everyone had adored her for. She had truly died that day, if one were to contemplate it; only existing a few more months after to join her husband in a place where it is hoped all sorrow would be lost.
Sunlight barely made its way through the drawn draperies at the windows, specks of said beams landing scattered across the floor and sheets. Ulric closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and inhaled.
The push of the door took him from his moment of thought. The kitchen-girl, Anyla walked quickly, a tray laden with food in her hands.
“Milord,” she said, quite breathlessly. “Milady and Sir Edwin. Th-they have returned just now.”
“Damn it.” Ulric strode for the door. “You two are to remain here and call for me when the girl wakes.” And before leaving, he paused just a moment to glance at the guard. “And what are you called?”
“Gilgallon, milord.”
“Gilgallon, it is then.”
Ulric marched down the hall, heart hammering as he made to seek out his friend as quickly as possible. What he was going to do with the girl, he hadn’t a single clue but he needed to find one immediately. He was halfway through disembarking the staircase, which led straight down into the front hall, when the large main door came shoving in along with his sister’s voice.
“We shall have to try again on the morrow, Edwin,” she was saying. “My goodness, I hardly thought it would be so difficult to find a good maid.”
“Tomorrow?” His friend’s tone was pleasant as always but if Ulric knew his sister as well as he thought, then she must have picked up on the slight exasperation carefully hidden within it. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Coins and Daggers Page 3
