Coins and Daggers

by Patrice Hannah

  “You’re...you’re going for a ride?” she asked breathlessly, her hand shooting up to her heaving chest.

  Ulric smiled, brushing his mouth against hers gently and then withdrew, marching across the room. “We are going for a ride.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. As in, you and I.” Ulric leaned his weight against the edge of his desk and opened his arms, beckoning her forward. “A picnic out in the cool air sounds rather tempting, doesn’t it?”

  “Aren’t you concerned about what they might say? The servants, I mean? And Cook?” Audelia took his strong hands as he reeled her into his arms. “To see you dallying with me?”

  Ulric pecked her on the forehead, on the tip of her nose and then on the cheeks. “In case you’ve forgotten, Audelia, I’m the Lord Chastelle. I can do very much as I please.”

  Audelia frowned and shook her head, pulling out of his hold. Moving up to the long rectangular window, she sighed, gazing out into the gardens. “I wasn’t speaking of your reputation, Your Lordship, but mine. During the rest of my...time here, I’d like to think that everyone else holds me in good regard.”

  She could feel the warmth of Ulric’s presence approaching, hear the brisk steps of his fashionable boots. His breath warmed the back of her neck, followed by the tight wounding of his arms about her waist.

  “I shall try not to damage your reputation overmuch with the rest of my staff ,” he whispered, his light tone bringing a smile to her lips. “Though I have no intention of reneging on my desire to give you a picnic in the meadow. I’ve been thinking of it ever since I woke up this morning, missing your refreshing scent.”

  Audelia sighed and rest her head back against him as Ulric’s lips sought out the slope of her neck. “You do tend to be rather persuasive.”

  “It’s a vital trait of mine.” He nipped on her flesh and cupped her breasts through the thick fabric of a plain gray dress. Her subtle lilac scent spread around him like a potion, taunting and teasing him. “But you must do me one favor. I demand it of you.”

  Audelia spun in his embrace, running her hands over his strong arms. Curious, she eyed him narrowly, her lips twitching. “What is it?”

  “When we are together, call me Ulric. I believe we are long past formalities. And I... And I happen to like the sound of it.”

  “Alright,” Audelia conceded, her heart warming at his gentle voice. “But I think I will call you Bryce, instead.”

  Chuckling, he tipped her chin and and held her closer. “Is there any special reason for that?”

  “It seems to add a little...softness to your character.”

  “Vixen!” Ulric’s chest rumbled with laughter as he lifted her of her feet and plastered his mouth over hers with a groan. “Dear god, I fear if I stay here with you any longer, we shall not make it to the picnic.”

  “Then come.” Audelia broke from his grasp, rushing towards the door before he managed to reach for her again. “I’ll even race you.”

  They arrived at the meadows near the ruins some fifteen minutes later, finding a suitable shaded spot, where Ulric unrolled a red and white plaid blanket. They sat there for a while, feasting on Cook’s infamous jelly-filled biscuits and cups of lemonade.

  “I hear the weather has never been so favorable here before,” Audelia said, taking the last bite of her biscuit.

  “It’s true. It usually rains for long periods of time, especially in the afternoons.”

  Ulric rest his arm on one raised knee, watching her. The cool mild breeze threaded through the ringlets of her very dark hair. Hair that he had ran his fingers through countless times. At the moment, it was caught in a thick single braid that was pinned up tightly on her head. But he knew that, when allowed to reign free, it dangled in wondrous inky waves straight down her slender back and to an appealingly trim waist.

  “I’ve never seen such good weather either,” Audelia confessed, gazing over at the burn-ridden stones of the ruins. “Where I come from, it rains almost all day, everyday.”

  Interest suddenly peaked, Ulric leaned forward, draining the rest of the tangy drink from his cup. “And where is that? What region of Bascain are you from, Audelia?”

  She didn’t answer him right away but smiled sadly and rest her chin against her knees a minute, before turning to face him again.

  “Camden,” she said, softly.

  Ulric frowned. He knew of that district and probably have only journeyed there a handful of times in his life. It was not a small region either, perhaps a little larger than Chastelle and far more hectic as well. But size wasn’t the detail that mystified Ulric at all but the remoteness of Camden itself. For a wench to travel so great a distance and end up in Thornea, where he had found her, must not had been an easy task. The district was possibly five miles or so outside of Chastelle and that factor alone troubled him greatly.

  How had she ended up so far from home? And what had caused her to resort to thievery, of all things?

  A thousand questions threaded through Ulric’s mind as he sat there, considering the slight forlorn expression on Audelia’s face. Something was troubling her and he knew he would not be successful at learning what it was. Not by her, in any case. Perhaps it was high time he’d taken a keener look into Audelia’s circumstances and sought further information, lest she was in some form of danger. Until then, he’d be content with keeping her within the safety of Chastelle Manor whether she liked it or not. In the meanwhile, he’d try his best to offer a shoulder if she needed one.

  “Apple?” he offered, grateful for the reluctant smile she now sported, and slicing the fruit into four equal parts. “And get over here before I’m forced to move you myself.”

  Sixteen

  The sensations that threaded through Ulric’s body and reached for the strings of his own heart, reminded him much of when he was a boy. It reminded him of days when laughter had been common and smiles were easily given. She reminded him of that. Turning over on his back, he gazed through the entwining branches overhead and up at the clear blue sky. Next to him, Audelia was sprawled on her belly, elevated on her elbows and still grinning at some silly childhood memory he had reluctantly shared. Ulric was not used to being laughed at--not for the majority of his adult life, at least--but somehow he found the sound of her giggles and titters to be quite comforting. And it was always better to have her laughing at him and then to see even a stitch of sadness in those beautiful brown eyes he was becoming to love.

  “You are a terrible liar,” she laughed, batting away wisps and wisps of hair from her face. “You expect me to believe that you had been the subject of jokes as a child.”

  Well, mayhap he had exaggerated a bit but the sincere twinkle in her eyes was certainly worth it. “I was never bullied, if that’s what you’re thinking. I merely laughed along with my supposed perpetrators and declared vengeance.”

  “Your sister was right then. You weren’t always so...stiff.”

  Ulric laughed and looked at her. “I prefer ‘reserved’, if you please. And when did my sister say this?”

  Audelia smiled and reached for a curled leaflet that had just fallen from the tree. “On several occasions. She says you used to be joyous and sociable. That things changed when...” She shook her head and glanced away.

  “That things changed when what?”

  “When your...your father had passed away.”

  A full minute passed before Ulric said another word. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly and sighed. He’d tried very hard not to think so much of the past. For his own sanity, he had kept that part of his life well hidden, forgotten...undisturbed. The late Lord Viktor St. Rosso had been a great man who had been lost far too soon.

  “I suppose she was correct then.” He’d almost flinched when he felt her hand on his shoulder, her fingers tightening in a gentle squeeze. “My father was a good man. A good husband and an even greater father. The tenants throughout the town loved him, adored him.” Ulric chuckled lightly and knitted his fingers beneath his head. �
��He used to take me out here as a boy, you know. We’d talk for hours, him telling me the history of our ancestors, teaching me of the story behind these scattered ruins.”

  “It’s okay to grieve, you know.” Her voice came softly, consoling and gentle.

  Ulric shook his head and sat up, his forearms resting against his knees. Audelia did not understand. He knew that it was okay to grieve. He knew that. When his father had died, Ulric had wished that it hadn’t been true, wished that he had only been dreaming. But reality had swept in and ripped his heart apart, had torn his hopes and dreams into shreds. And now the pain that he had once felt threatened to resurface again.

  “Someone...” Said pain crept up high into his throat, leaving a bitter taste of loss and bereavement there. “Someone had to be strong for us. Someone had to keep things going.”

  Audelia knew about being strong. She knew about going on. But even she had broken down at times. Even she had allowed herself a some well needed cries, even though they were few and never frequent.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  His head turned sharply to look at her. He was struggling to keep his feelings at bay and she knew it. It could be seen in the hardness of his clenched jaws and the indignation in his eyes. Ulric felt robbed; robbed of his adolescence and robbed of a father he had very much respected and loved.

  “I do.” Audelia sighed, closing her eyes briefly as the light breeze swept across her face. “I grieve for parents I have never known. I...I try to convince myself that if I allow myself just a moment of mourning, at least that will put me at peace somehow.” She smiled sadly and met his gaze. “The pain never goes away but at least I know how to cope with it.”

  Ulric swallowed tightly and looked away, lest she saw the full agony in his eyes. At least, he had memories of his parents. Good, happy memories. “My condolences.”

  “Like I said, I never knew them.”

  “I thought... I thought you’d meant something else.” He’d thought she was being hesitant, protective even. He’d thought she had meant to keep his curiosity at bay. Or perhaps he had been so distracted by her new feelings for her, that he hadn’t really been thinking truly on it. For that, he could not blame her at all.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she continued, moving in closer, her lilac scent intensifying with her approach. “I’ve realized that it’s best to enjoy the present and to always look forward. And you still have a sister who loves you.”

  Ulric grasped her hand and raised it to his lips. “You’re a lot wise for just a thieving wench.”

  Stilling, a deep blush of embarrassment swept across Audelia’s features before she realized the jesting in his tone and shook her head with a smile. “I never stole for sport.”

  “Necessity, then?” He hoped.

  “I suppose.” She watched attentively as Ulric’s lips massaged the tip of each finger and the inside of her wrist. “It was either that...or seek employ from one of the brothels.”

  “And you never will.” Ulric pulled her in, brushing his thumb across her cheek and smoothing it over her sweet quivering lips. The thought of Audelia granting favors to other men at the sole intention of earning a few coins, made Ulric want to ram his fist through a bloody wall. “Do you hear me?”

  Nodding, Audelia leaned in to accept Ulric’s gentle kiss. He knew just how to make her feel, to put her heart and mind at ease. In a moment like this, she feared that her mind was telling her something that she possibly had known for some time. She was falling in love with Lord St. Rosso and she was terrified by it.

  “Bryce?”

  “Mm?” He kissed her again and met her stare. “You know you can speak freely, love.”

  Love. Audelia’s heart warmed at the tender endearment. With his hand still cupping her cheek, she turned her head and kissed his palm softly. “When Lady Ryia is to return home soon, is...does our agreement still stand? That you’ll free me?”

  Ulric swallowed, knowing that the question had been lingering on her lips for some time now. He was beginning to feel something for her. He knew not what it was but he cared about her well-being, and he hadn’t the heart to let her go. At least, not yet. But the look in her eyes spoke volumes of a girl who had been trapped all her life, and he had no intention of adding to her suffering.

  “Of course.”

  Audelia nodded, lowering her lids as he pecked her on the forehead. A part of her felt relieved, pleased that he’d meant to keep his promise. But the other part was disappointed, saddened that he would mean let her go so easily.

  * * *

  Candles lit and burning brightly, Ulric smiled to himself and took a bite of Cook’s tenderly prepared pork. Across the table were bowls of steaming boiled potatoes and rice as well as a tray of freshly baked fist-sized loaves. And he certainly had not forgotten to request a plate of jelly-filled biscuits.

  “I give up,” Ryia muttered next to him. He’d seated her right beside him since the table was built to accommodate twelve and would seem far too formal if she had been sitting at the far end of it. “Is this an early farewell present? Are you that glad I am too leave soon?”

  “Will you relax?” Ulric dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and withheld his belch. “A man would like to have dinner with his sister once in a while.”

  Eyes narrowing, Ryia pursed her lips. “And you expect me to believe that? You who, as I can clearly recall, ‘usually dines privately’?”

  “Good gracious, do you do latch onto everything I say?”

  “Whyever should I not?” Ryia took a sip of water, glancing down at her untouched meal. “You said so yourself. And now, when I am just a couple days from leaving, you break your own idiotic rule and invite me to dine privately with you. Forgive me if I am a bit stunned by the gesture.”

  Sighing, Ulric cast his gaze to the heavens and then back to his sister. Good lord, he was trying but Ryia was certainly making it difficult. He blamed Audelia for putting the idea in his head.

  “Dining alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to, Ryia,” he said, forking a piece of potato from his plate. “Do remember I live alone.”

  “Edwin is here with you most of the time.”

  Ulric rolled his eyes and snorted. “We are men, Ryia. Males do not dine regularly together, all by themselves. We pass our meals in a study over a bottle of brandy and perhaps a game or two of cards and chess.”

  Finally, and God bless his sanity, Ryia tried a piece of pork. As she chewed, she watched him curiously. “I haven’t seen you roll your eyes since we were children.”

  “And you haven’t been more irritating.”

  She chuckled then, sharing herself a scoop of rice. “It’s you, Bryce, who has become overly sensitive. Those pestering ways have long been abandoned, if you must know. My husband is quite the cheerer and such enthusiasm is very contagious.”

  “So it’s me you like to annoy then?”

  “Not ‘annoy’,” she blew out, rolling her own eyes, and resting a hand on Ulric’s shoulder. “Just curious. I hadn’t seen my only brother in almost eight years. What do you expect?”

  Ulric scratched at his chin and glanced at his sister. He could see that Ryia had grown immensely over the years and marriage seemed to suit her well. With a family of her own, who adored her by no doubt, he could see no reason for her not to be as happy as she claimed. He could see it in the way she behaved, even saw in her eyes the last time she had spoken of them. Ryia must have truly gotten the love she had been wishing for since they were children. Ulric thought, then, that love must truly be a great thing.

  “I see,” he murmured, pouring them each a glass of wine. “Tell me about them. My niece, my nephew.” He cleared his throat. “The baron.”

  Ryia’s eyes lit up immediately and she swallowed down her food, excitement glittering in her blue eyes. “Well... Goodness, I don’t know where to start.” She giggled and then patted him playfully on the arm. “First of all, Bryce, don’t you think it’s h
igh time you stopped referring to Merek as ‘the baron’? He’s your brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake. Perhaps if he hadn’t some...respect for you, he would have said so himself.”

  “Merek Hyslop was a knight, Ryia.” Ulric shook his head and swallowed down a good portion of his wine. “Such respect you speak of sounds a bit like fear to me. Which is highly unnecessary coming from a man who’d been soldiering his youth away in honor of this country. He’s earned his wealth and title and ought not be afraid of me.”

  Ryia swallowed, staring at her brother for a good deal of time, unsure of what to say. It was after several moments of deep thinking that she realized she hadn’t any rebuttal. And it wasn’t till then that she fathomed what Ulric was truly saying.

  “Bryce,” she gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. “That is a rather fine compliment.”

  “Yes, well don’t get greedy about it.” Smiling, he gave his sister a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and removed the last piece of pork from his plate. “And you better eat up. Cook never liked her food to go to waste.”

  Ryia readily dove into her meal, beaming like a child on her birthday. “Let’s see... Uh, where was I? Oh yes. Joseff has hair like mine. He’s a bit short for his age and terribly shy but I have great confidence he will grow into a strapping young man. I’ve already started working with him on his poise and--”

  Ulric almost spat out his drink. “Poise? Are you joking? Leave the lad alone, Ryia. He’s only four. I am sure he will grow into it. Come on. Have you seen his uncle?”

  His sister gave him one assessing look and then shook her head. “At least he’ll learn decorum from his father.”

  Grinning, Ulric smoothed down the lapels of his dinner jacket. “Admit it, I’m rather dapper.”

  “Maliha inherited her father’s golden hair. She is three years old,” Ryia went on as if he hadn’t said a thing. “But sometimes I think she truly believes that she’s the older one. She can be very bossy and stubborn, and I fear she shall turn my head gray far too soon. But she’s her father’s darling and I’m relieved sometimes when he takes her in hand.”