by Holby Cindy
“You are most welcome,” Eliane said as the two faded into the forest. “Now see if you can avoid the huntsmen’s arrows and all will be well.”
Llyr stood and stretched and Eliane pulled her boots on, even though her woolen stockings were still wet and the leather of her boots was stiff with ice. She must be off. She must find Madwyn and learn what the wise woman knew about her father’s plans.
Only the foolish were unprepared. Whatever was to come, she would meet it head-on. Her people were depending upon her.
Chapter Four
Rhys was not pleased. Not at all. The journey had been miserable right from the beginning. First freezing rain and impossible roads, now snow that drifted and made the roads impassable. To complete his frustration, Han had disappeared into the forest this morning, leaving Rhys only a brief set of instructions.
“Stay on the road and you will be at Aubregate before the sun sets,” he’d said. “Do not wander into the forest lest you lose your way.” Then he was gone without a backward glance. Into the very forest he warned them against.
Mathias was not much help with anything. His sad face, heavy sighs, and resentful attitude tested Rhys’s patience. He well understood what made Mathias so miserable. The boy wanted to be on his way home to Myrddin, not traipsing about the northern country in the snow.
They were cold, they were wet, they were tired and hungry, and now they were without a guide. The road was poorly marked, if there even was a road. No one had passed this way in several days. The path was nothing more than a snow-covered depression between the forest and the fields that seemed wide enough to hold a wagon. Rhys could only hope that they’d make Aubregate before the sun set. The prospect of spending another night freezing beneath his furs by a puny fire was not welcoming. The sun, weak and distant as it was, did little to warm them, yet it was better than the dark and endless nights.
“Damn!” Mathias cursed, and Rhys brought Yorath to a stop. The stallion tossed his dark head in frustration. He was as anxious to reach warmth and shelter as his master. Rhys turned about and saw their supplies lying in the middle of the path. The packhorse stood with his saddle twisted about his belly.
“The girth broke,” Mathias exclaimed as he dismounted.
“I suggest you fix it,” Rhys ground out between his clenched teeth. He was ready to strangle his squire and was long past the end of his patience. “And quickly, lest I be tempted to beat you,” he added. He’d been threatening to beat Mathias the entire trip but to no avail. Mathias knew he was lying just as Rhys did. He’d been beaten often enough himself as a child and as a squire to know it was a poor form of correction. His grandmother had beaten him regularly in an attempt to drive the devil from his soul. The only thing that accomplished was teaching Rhys to hide his true feelings from the world lest the devil be known.
The best way for Mathias to learn from his mistakes was by having to suffer the consequences of them. He’d been neglectful in his care of the saddle; now he would have to repair it and repack their things. It would take him a while, but he would be more diligent the next time they set out.
Mathias grumbled as he attacked the mess. But he did attack it and with alacrity.
Rhys dismounted and checked Yorath’s plate-sized hooves for ice. He scooped balls of snow from the hooves and ran his gloved hands over the fetlocks to clear them of ice that had tangled in the hair. Yorath nudged him in gratitude and Rhys rubbed his nose in return. “Tonight you shall be warm, my friend,” he said. “That is, if yon squire can keep his wits about him.”
Mathias grunted in response. Rhys merely shook his head and indulged himself with a stretch to relieve stiffness of long hours in the saddle. The journey had taken twice as long as expected, but it was better than the alternative of staying at court and wedding either Marcella or Jane.
Marriage. Peter assured him there were joys to be found in that holy estate. Rhys had no firsthand knowledge of such joy. His grandmother had been forced into marriage; so had his mother. Both seemed desperate to avoid it, his mother so much that she killed herself. Yet from the whisperings of the servants, it seemed as if his father had loved his mother desperately. Eventually, he’d chosen death over life without her.
A sign of weakness, his grandmother had told him. One that sent his father to hell for all eternity. Now she was in her nunnery praying for his immortal soul and for Rhys’s also, praying that he be spared the same weakness.
Was it weakness? Or a sign of something so deep that he could not comprehend it? Was there something lacking in him that he could not imagine loving, or hating something so deeply that death would be preferable?
Rhys shook his head at his meanderings. He should be thinking about which woman to take as a wife, not the meaning of life, love, and marriage.
So, would it be Marcella or Jane? He weighed both of them in his mind, their strengths, their weaknesses, their beauty, their riches, and finally their intelligence. Both came up lacking and he found his temper growing shorter.
With this delay, it was unlikely they would reach Aubregate by nightfall. Rhys studied the forest before him. The trees, larger and older than any he had seen before, stretched away endlessly into the distance. The snowy ground was crisscrossed with the fresh tracks of both birds and small creatures such as rabbits and squirrels.
Rabbit would make a nice dinner if they were forced to spend another night on the road. Fortunately he had a small bow that would serve his purpose. He retrieved it from his saddle and checked on Mathias. The squire had their belongings sorted neatly beside the road and was now examining the saddle. The packhorse stood next to his mount, and both wore feed bags and munched in contentment.
“I’m going to hunt,” he called out, and Mathias waved impatiently in acknowledgment. “I really should beat him,” Rhys said as he stepped into the forest. There was no reply.
After a few steps he felt a strange solitude, as if he were completely cut off from everyone and everything. He turned and saw Yorath browsing along the road and Mathias working industriously. It was as if they did not even know he was gone.
The way led downward and Rhys followed, tracking the meandering trail of a rabbit through the undergrowth. There was no direct route, but Rhys plowed doggedly through the snow with his mantle dragging behind him.
Once more he checked behind and realized he could no longer see the road, nor Yorath and Mathias. All he saw in any direction was dense forest. There was nothing to indicate north, south, east, or west. If not for his tracks, he would think he’d fallen into some sort of enchantment.
Rhys shook his head at the foolish direction of his thoughts. This north land was full of legends and stories of magical happenings. When he was a tiny boy his nurse would fill his head with wonderful tales of the fey and fairies and dragons of yore. Every night she’d tell him a story until his grandmother discovered his head was being filled with unholy thoughts and sent the nurse away to a nunnery to repent of her sins.
Rhys knew the difference between stories and reality, but in a place such as this he could see how the lines could be crossed and such legends came into existence. His skin fairly crawled with anticipation. If he were on a battlefield he might be concerned, but here it just felt…strange. He felt as if he’d intruded upon something magical and private. He felt as if he should retrace his steps and leave this place.
The branch of a low-lying shrub moved in front of him and he caught a flash of fur. It was the rabbit, running for all it was worth toward a small ravine. Birds and squirrels took flight as he set off after it. He notched his bow as he ran in hopes that he could get a shot at it. Rhys stopped at the top of the ravine and his eyes darted back and forth. He spotted his quarry, just as it scrambled up the opposite side and disappeared into a deadfall.
The ravine was about as deep as he was tall and was nearly the same across. The bottom held an ice-covered stream. He could see the water running beneath the surface. Rocks broke through the ice and he realized he could use the
m as stepping-stones to get to the opposite bank if need be.
Or he could jump. Rhys grinned at the prospect, backed up ten steps, and took a running leap. He landed solidly upon the opposite bank, or so he thought. Then the ground beneath him began giving way and he toppled backward. He landed with a thud at the bottom of the ravine. His backside crashed through the ice and was immersed in the frigid water.
He felt dazed. He saw stars and then a swirl of color swam before his face. He blinked and realized someone was staring down at him.
It was a woman. Or was it? She was dressed as a man, but there was no mistaking the delicateness of her features or the curves of her body. Indeed, the very state of her dress enhanced them, more than any courtly dress ever could. In her hands she held a bow with an arrow notched and ready.
Rhys quickly backed away. When he reached the side of the ravine, he placed his hand upon the hilt of the short sword he always wore and gazed up at her.
A long braid of bronze mixed with copper fell over her shoulder and dangled past her waist. A belt hung low on her hip, holding a sword a bit shorter than his. She was clad in a brown tunic and chausses, along with leather boots that came to her knees. Her legs were long and lithe, and her body thin and willowy, yet generous in places where it should be.
More than generous. A rich cloak of deep green lined with fox hung from her shoulders, along with a quiver full of arrows. Her arms wore leather gauntlets and her hands were covered in gloves that fit like a second skin. In her fingers she held the bow ready, yet aimed at the ground.
She looked down at him with vivid green eyes. Her eyes look like emeralds…Her skin was as white as the snow except for the tip of her nose which was red from cold. At her side stood an immense dog.
She was extraordinarily beautiful, and he felt the impact of her gaze like a punch in his gut, and lower. Not even the icy cold water drenching his chausses could keep his response at bay. Her choice of clothing left little to the imagination. Indeed, it revealed much, even though she was warmly dressed and completely covered except for the top of her head.
Yet there was something peculiar about her, something strange that he could not quite identify. Was she part of the enchantment he’d felt earlier?
“You trespass, sir,” she said in a voice that sounded as melodious as the water trickling over the rocks.
“I was waylaid upon my journey,” he replied cautiously. “I merely seek a rabbit for my dinner.”
She relaxed her hold on the arrow and reached behind her hip. She pulled forth a rabbit, which hung from a thong upon her belt. “This rabbit?” she asked.
“If you found yon rabbit coming from this direction, then yes, ‘tis the one I seek.”
“The rabbit is mine as you can clearly see,” she said. “I suggest you hunt for your dinner in yon fields instead of these woods lest you meet the same fate as other trespassers in these woods.”
“And what fate is that?” Rhys asked. He wanted to laugh at her bold threats but was fairly certain she would not take such a response well. Considering the fact that she was holding a bow and seemed quite capable of using it, he held his humor in check.
Mayhap she sensed his amusement. She looked at him intently, her emerald eyes moving over his body from the top of his head to the tip of his snow-covered boots. He waited for her to speak, but instead of answering his question, she placed the arrow back into her quiver, slung the bow over her shoulder, and turned away from him.
“It will be dark soon,” she called out as she walked away. “I wish you luck in finding your way out.”
The beast of a dog looked down at him. Its mouth hung open in the semblance of a friendly grin. Rhys did not wish to test its friendliness. Finally the animal turned and bounded after its mistress.
Rhys jumped across the stream and pulled himself up far enough to see into the forest. She was gone, vanished as quickly as she’d appeared.
He looked once again, his eyes searching back and forth until he could no longer make out anything in the dim light of the forest. Night was coming, and quickly. He was nearly frozen after his partial dunking in the stream. He clambered back up the bank on the side he’d come from and was relieved to find his tracks still there.
Had he really thought they would be gone? Her warning made it seem as if they would. He hurried back at a slow run, keeping his gaze fixed on his footprints as if they would disappear before him. A sense of relief washed over him when he saw the way lighten, and the dark form of Yorath came into his sight. He quickened his pace and burst forth from the forest as if he were being pursued.
“Milord?” Mathias asked questioningly. He turned from the packhorse, where it appeared he had just secured the last bundle. “Do you think we will make Aubregate before nightfall?”
“Let us give it a sincere try,” Rhys answered as he went to Yorath. “I have had my fill of this journey and am anxious to see its end.”
“I regret my part in our delay,” Mathias said contritely.
“You have set it aright as best you can,” Rhys replied. “And hopefully learned a lesson.”
“Yes, lord,” Mathias said. “I have.”
Rhys set off without another word. The sun still hung in the western sky, and the lack of clouds above promised a moon to guide them. They would press on. If they were lucky, they would arrive in time for a hearty meal with Edward. If he was able.
Peter had said that Edward’s health was failing. Was that the reason for his summons? He would have his answer soon enough. Preferably after a warm meal and an even warmer bed.
The thought of warm beds brought to mind warm and willing women to fill them. Would he find such at Aubregate? He usually had no trouble finding an eager maid, no matter where he visited.
If the women of Aubregate were anything like the woman who’d come upon him in the woods, then it would be a most delightful warming indeed. In all his experience, he had never seen one such as her. Or mayhap it was just her unusual form of dress that made her seem so different. Nay, ‘twas the woman…
The entire incident seemed unreal in his mind. Could he have struck his head and imagined the entire thing? A warrior woman of the forest, complete with bow and sword? If he were going to dream, then why not conjure up a willing mistress instead of an Amazon or a fey, or even an elf? The stories his nurse had told him were often of the elves who’d supposedly inhabited the land centuries ago, before the legends of Arthur, Merlin, and Avalon even existed.
Whoever she was, she was extraordinary. She was beauty and strength in one delightful package. Her skin glowed with good health and her teeth were white and straight. She was perfection from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. Except for her ears.
Rhys pulled Yorath to a stop. Her ears. They were pointed. The tops of them slanted up into tips. That was what was so strange about her. Between his fall and the fact that she’d held an arrow notched and ready to fly into his chest, he had not taken time to think about it.
“Milord?” Mathias asked.
Rhys shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I thought I saw something, but I was mistaken.” He urged Yorath onward with a quick squeeze of his thighs. He’d been too long in the snow, and the cold was affecting him. He’d imagined the entire episode. Or had he?
Chapter Five
I should have killed him.”
Llyr had no reply. He just kept on walking while Eliane led Aletha up the trail that led to Madwyn’s home in the forest. It was not the first time she’d said it. Anyone who trespassed into the woods was fair game. Usually those who went in that deep never came out again. All those who lived in the area knew it. The townspeople never ventured into the forest unless they were in the company of a woodsman. The inhabitants of other estates only entered it hunting game or the treasure that was rumored to be hidden there. The fools did not know that the treasure was not something that could be taken.
So, who was the knight who had ventured into the forest? She recognized his knighthood at on
ce. Who else but a knight would wear a mantle of wolf pelt lined with velvet of the deepest blue? Who else but a knight would wear silver spurs or carry a sword with a ruby set into the pommel? Who else but a knight would have the audacity to say that he was merely hunting rabbit for his dinner when he so brazenly trespassed? Who else but a knight would have the impudence to look at her with eyes as dark as the blackest sin and make her insides go weak at the thought of putting an arrow through his heart?
He’d seen her ears. Why, oh why, had she taken off her cap? Because it itched. Because she hated it. Because she should not have to hide who and what she was, especially when she was in the forest.
What tales would he tell when he returned to the outside world? Why was he here? What was it about him that had stayed her arrow and shaken her confidence when he gazed upon her?
“I should have killed him.”
Llyr loped on ahead as Madwyn’s cottage came into view. It was set atop a small hillock that backed up to a stone cliff. Next to the cottage a spring bubbled forth from the forest floor. Steam rose from the spring in the frigid air and Eliane longed to soak in its warmth. Mayhap that would relieve the tension that gathered in her neck and shoulders as if she carried a heavy weight upon her back. Mayhap it would make her forget about the things that troubled her, for a moment or two. Then again, mayhap it would not. She let out a long sigh.
The cottage itself looked as if it were part of the hillock. Made of daub and stone, it was of the same shape with a perfectly round window in the front. The sides seemed to grow out of the stone face of the cliff. Ivy, strangely thriving in the cold, grew up the side and over the thatched roof. A well of stacked stones had been dug by the arched door, and a path of stone set into the earth and swept free of snow. Smoke rose merrily from the stone chimney, and the smell of baking bread greeted Eliane as she strode up the path. To the side of the cottage was a three-sided shed where Madwyn’s palfrey stood. The mare turned at their appearance and neighed a greeting to Aletha.
