Chapter Eight

Alys woke slowly, stretching as she turned under the covers, until she realized she was birth-born naked! She lay still, looking up at the morning light on the wall opposite the bed. Dear Goddesses! What a night! From horror and dread to utter inconceivable pleasure. Her body still glowed deep within, her limbs hung loose and warm, and if her mind still contained anything except memories of Ranald’s touch, she did not notice.

Never again would she listen to dire warnings of pain and blood. Not that she’d believed everything preached by the lectors. She’d seen the love between her parents—her father’s concern for her mother, the looks and touches they’d shared. Now she understood.

But as her sleep-fogged mind wandered back over the night, she realized what every country child knew of the union of male and female. Ranald had brought her to joy and denied himself!

She understood. Hadn’t he promised that he’d pleasure her but leave her virgin and preserve his vows? All was true—except her heart was no longer virgin. She loved Ranald ven Strad.

And in a few days, they would part forever.

Dwell on that and she’d be gray-spirited all day. 

As she reached for her sleep shift, Alys heard voices through the closed door to the parlor. She listened for shouts or threats, but it was nothing but talk between two men. One she recognized as Ranald, the other, she guessed, was the host.

She washed quickly in warm water from the ewer that some servant had brought up while she slept. She was truly going to miss these luxuries. If she hired herself out as a servant, she would be the one carrying the water. 

Someone—Ranald perhaps—had brought her bags from her own chamber, so she put on clean linen and her clothes from yesterday, all dried and brushed. After braiding her hair, she tied a clean kerchief on her head, packed her belongings into the knapsack and saddlebags, and crossed to the parlor door. Pausing with her hand on the knob, she listened. Now there were three voices.

They all looked her way as the door opened. Ranald, the host, and a man she recognized as the stable master.

“Good morn, sirs.”

“Good morn, lady,” the host replied first. “My apologies for the disturbances of the night.”

“’Tis over now, and was not of your causing.”

“Perhaps ‘tis not over,” Ranald said. 

Alys’s throat tightened. “They are not gone?”

Ranald nodded. “Gone, yes, but Fenn has his suspicions.”

Fenn, the stable master, shook his head. “I wouldn’t have noticed, lady, lord,” he said, “but after the commotion last night, I watched to see them off the premises. They went off all right—and with that pony of yours, lady, as they’d demanded. But, as I told mine host, and the lord earlier, they didn’t go back east as they claimed to. They set off toward the west. Shifty about that, they were, too. Lingering after I closed the gates, pretending to tighten packs and adjust the loads, but all the time they were watching the inn. ‘Twas early like, and none but me and a couple of lads stirring. No doubt thinking themselves unseen, they set off at a gallop—westward. I watched from the stable lodge. No doubt about it, they were not headed back where they came from.”

“What could it mean? Are they—?” Alys began.

Ranald interrupted. “It means they are, at the least, liars, and at the worst, planning trouble ahead. Daring, perhaps, to attempt to waylay us.” Her chest tightened with fear. It was not over. Ranald’s gaze softened as it met hers, and her fear eased. “But I believe there is a way to avoid them.” He glanced at the host. “As mine host was explaining.”

It was then that Alys noticed the spread map on the table. 

“Aye,” the host agreed. “There be another way west other than the monarch’s road. ‘Tis not much more than a rough track these days, but ‘twas the old pass over the mountains before the monarch’s father built the new road.”

“You are sure it is still passable?” Ranald asked.

“Oh, aye. ‘Tis used. ‘Tis not wide enough to allow a cart or wagon to pass, but a horse can travel easily.”

Who would use a remote mountain trail to keep it open?

Ranald guessed. “And if we encounter smugglers, mine host? Would not that mean trouble?”

Both host and stable master looked at him in horror. “Lord, honest smugglers would never waylay an envoy! They might ask a consideration for forgetfulness, but lord, here in these parts they respect the monarch’s rule. We remember the days of lawlessness.”

Ranald’s mouth half opened, but, as if thinking better of it, he just nodded. 

None too sure that smuggling wasn’t close kin to lawlessness, Alys asked, “The way is safe then?”

“Safer, lady, than risking an encounter with those who attacked you earlier.” 

That she could easily believe. “How do we find the road?”

Directions appeared easy on the map. The host made a list on a curl of paper and handed it to Ranald. 

 

 

 

 “Pack fast, Alys, while mine host sends in breakfast,” Ranald told her. “We must leave as soon as we have eaten.”

They departed in haste, strapping all their packs on a rough packhorse hastily purchased from the inn, with Alys riding behind Ranald on Saj. Her objections and determination to ride the packhorse quickly faded as she realized just how much larger the beast was than Braniv. Even now, perched behind Ranald, the ground was very far below. Wrapping her arms around his waist should have reassured her, but instead it brought back memories of their shared night. Having her breasts squashed against his broad back didn’t help her peace of mind in the slightest.

An hour or less after leaving the main way, the old road deteriorated into a narrow rocky trail and went uphill. The horses managed well—Alys conceded that—but a rough ride did little for her composure. She needed to be alone, to think. Riding Braniv, she’d have had a little distance to sort out her thoughts about the past night. But Braniv was gone, and without Ranald’s intervention, she’d be headed back to Wenmere and servitude. Having to ride pillion behind Ranald was infinitely preferable, and if she were utterly honest with herself, she enjoyed the closeness. But why let herself get used to the comfort of his closeness? Soon they would part—he to pursue his mission of finding someone for the monarch, if she remembered rightly and she to find kin or work in the land her mother had left so many years ago.

For now, she would permit herself to rest her head on his back and wrap her arms around his waist, remembering his touch on her skin and the sweet wild ripples of ecstasy that still echoed deep in her body, like a brand on her soul.

She would miss him.

Quite dreadfully.

 

 

 

They rode several hours with her hands grasping the wide leather belt around his waist, their bodies moving together in rhythm with Saj. At last, Ranald halted at a twist in the road, dismounted, and lifted Alys down. His hands were warm on her waist as he set her on the ground. “Looks like rough weather ahead,” he said, eyeing the clouds that hid the mountain peaks. “Let’s stop and eat, then press on as long as we can.”

“How much farther will we go?” It seemed the trail led on forever, and all day they’d seen no sign of habitation.

“Once we cross the shoulder ahead, we descend into a valley named, according to the host’s maps, ‘Rest and Be Thankful.’ Both he and the stable master talked about an old rest house there from the old days. No doubt the roof has collapsed and the windows been destroyed by the wind, but ‘twill be more shelter than the open trail. I’m afraid, Alys, this road will be hard.”

“On this road, we won’t be waylaid.” She reached for her pack. “Let us eat before we face what lies ahead.” 

They sat down on rocks by the side of the trail and dined on cheese, apples, and fresh bread from the inn. Below them, the new road wound over the foothills. Seeing moving shapes far below, Alys shuddered. Were they her pursuers? When would they give up?

It seemed Ranald had noticed them too. 

“Don’t worry, Alys.” His hand on hers sent sweet thrills up her arm to her heart. “If they are those who seek you, they follow another trail. Our paths will not cross and I doubt they dare venture into the western lands. Once they see they have lost you, they will abandon their search.” He hoped. “I will not leave you until you are safe with your kin, or established with a good and fair employer. You have my word.”

She opened her fingers so his meshed with hers. “I thank you, Ranald, for that. Indeed, I have much to thank you for. Last night…”

“Do you regret that?”

“No!” She grasped his hand in both of hers. “How could I? I will remember last night until I am old and gray and too frail to move from the fireside. How could I regret the happiest night of my life?”

“It was a night of fear and danger, Alys.”

“Not while you were there. I have been so frightened so many times. When my parents fell ill, when I fled the village, traveling alone, that day I was refused entry to the inn and you spoke for me, and last night when they burst into my room. But you made my fear and worry go away.”

“Dear Alys!” He shook his head and drew her close. “I will miss you so when I leave you. If only I could keep you, but—”

“I know, your vows.” She couldn’t restrain the sigh, or the pang deep inside. “I would not have you forsworn for my sake, Ranald, but oh…” Oh, what? That he hadn’t taken that oath? If not, he’d never have been on the road, and chance would not have brought them together. Best be content with what she had, little though it be. “I will never forget you, Ranald.”

“Nor I, you, Alys.”

The pang became an ache around her heart. She fought the urge to kiss him and press her body into his but…

Reining in her sigh, Alys gathered the leftover cheese and bread into a linen bag. “Had we not best continue, if we are to find this refuge before dark?”

Ranald hesitated, as if about to speak. She wanted no more words. What was to be said? The same sad regrets? She’d left behind all she’d known in her life. Surely, she could part from a man she’d known four days.

With that determination in her hurting heart, Alys hoisted herself up behind Ranald and all but lost her resolve when she felt the closeness and security of his strong body.

She should have insisted on riding the packhorse.

 

Was he losing his reason? Or had he already forsaken his mind? Ranald suspected his reason was long lost in the wild joy of pleasuring Alys. In the years before his vows, he’d done his share of flirting and courting—and winning—but never had he encountered a woman who responded to his touch as Alys had. Was it being virgin? His instincts told him no. It was far, far more than that. It was as if there was a soul bond between them. Why had he met her now? A year ago, he’d have been free to woo and wed her, but their paths would never have crossed. Now…It was hard to think straight with her arms around him and her sweet breasts pressing against his back. Even between his cloak and padded jerkin—to say nothing of whatever Alys wore—he felt her softness. Sweet Goddesses! He was crazed. Letting his mind dwell on her soft breasts in his hands and her warm nipples hardening under his tongue, when he should have been considering his oath and responsibilities to his monarch!

What was he even doing heading west? By rights he should be transporting her and those books to the metropolis, to present Alys and the incriminating documents to the auditors. But were they incriminating? He sensed truth in her account. The ones they might incriminate were dead. How could she know anything about a theft that presumably occurred years before she was born? Alys could not even read. How could she have had any inkling of what she carried? Or—the ignominious thought couldn’t be suppressed—what if she knew exactly what she carried and was bent on treachery?

Why, then, would she have revealed them so readily? No, if treachery and treason there was, it was not on Alys’s part. Of that he was certain.

He was also certain they’d be unreasonably fortunate to find shelter before nightfall. The road was steep, constantly climbing, and rough. The going was slow as Saj picked his way over the uneven ground, and the weather deteriorated as they climbed. Soon they dismounted, leading the horses in single file. The only sounds were the wind about their ears and the steady clomp of hooves on rocky ground. At least Saj was newly shod; to cast a shoe here would be disastrous. 

Ranald was searching for a shoulder on the hill, or a small gap where they could rest in the lea of the wind, but nothing appeared. Dusk was fast falling. They had, at best, an hour or two of daylight. The mythical refuge the host had mentioned was nowhere in sight, and any other shelter was nonexistent.

“Is it much farther?” Alys called over the wind.

“I am not sure.” He could not lie, but he felt strongly the responsibility for her safety. Maybe around the next twist in the trail…

But around the next bend, a great wall of stones barred the way.