The Woman Inside

by

Autumn Dawn

(c) copyright June 2003 Autumn Beaudreault
Cover art by Eliza Black (c) copyright June 2003
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Chapter 1

In a land long ago, and far away....

Ceylon stared at the deep red paste in her mortar. Twenty-three years of being ugly was about to change. Twenty-three years of being the ‘horror of Marksheath’ was nearly over.

Eyes on the mirror, Ceylon briskly rubbed the bloodroot paste over the red stain on her left cheek. She’d been born with it, had endured the pity and revulsion of strangers over it, but by all that was holy she would not endure it another day.

Herb lore had fascinated Ceylon since she was a little girl, and she’d spent a great deal of time accumulating knowledge and experimenting on herself. The results of her studies filled several journals that she was combining into a book. Many tomes, both ancient copies and modern translations by other authors, filled several of the shelves in her workplace. Jars of herbs and pots of ointments, pills and tinctures took up the remaining space.

Her jaw tightened as she replaced the tiny pot’s lid. Ugly, reclusive and a spinster, she knew she might have been perilously close to being labeled a witch had she had anyone but the Squire for a father. Even when they fought he was a wall between her and any who would harm her.

Those he knew about, anyway.

She closed her eyes on the memory of old hurts and reassured herself that the paste would work. The small mole she’d tested it on had gotten red, scabbed and fallen off, hadn’t it? Better yet, with a little help from her healing salve it had healed without a scar. The wretched birthmark would go, too.

She stared at herself in the mirror, anticipation making her breath come fast. It was time to discover what hid beneath.

One year later....

“It’s said she can turn the sorriest hag into a beauty to rival Venus.” Seeing that all eyes were on him, the velvet-clad courtier bowed low before her Majesty, Queen Callion of the Nine Kingdoms. Queen Callion inclined her head, a slight frown on her face as she listened. She’d heard such promises before.

Her sisters, the princesses, were far more eager. “Tell us more!” The eldest, and largest, of the three demanded, leaning forward. “Was she truly the ugliest maiden in the land?”

“Worse,” assured the courtier, who had never laid eyes on the woman in question. He hoped it was true, for the anticipated reward for success in this matter would be rich.

The middle sister, as scrawny as her sister was plump, eyed him suspiciously. The lower half of her face was covered in a veil to hide the many warts on her chin. Even exorcism hadn’t been able to cure the stubborn affliction. “You say she cures warts?”

He snapped his be-ringed fingers. “As easy as this.”

“And skin blemishes?” Breathed the youngest, who was covered in terrible pimples.

“Of course! And for a basket of eggs she’ll even cure boils.”

The princesses exhaled as one and turned hopeful eyes to their sister, the Queen.

Her majesty suppressed the urge to sigh. What would it hurt? It was a certainty that she would never be able to arrange marriages for her sisters in their present state.

She caught the courtier’s eye and lifted one imperious finger. “Bring her to me.”

* * * *

Ceylon eyed the caged chicken. The chicken stared back in dismay. It was clear that the relationship was never going to work.

Loath to let down the hopeful peasant woman, she said reluctantly, “I’m afraid that I have plenty of chickens just now....”

The woman’s face fell.

“But if it were to come back in the form of a pie....” Ceylon had eaten one too many chicken pies lately, but surely she could choke down another. Most of the people who came to her for help didn’t have much, but their pride insisted that they pay her however they could. Unfortunately, livestock was the method of choice.

The woman beamed, revealing two missing teeth. “Bless you, lass! I make a chicken pie like no other. This fellow will be ready for you by supper.” She patted the wicker cage.

Ceylon slanted the alarmed bird a wry look, popped her lips and looked away. “Right. Now how can I help you?”

The farmer’s wife planted her bottom on the kitchen bench and bent over, her frowzy head disappearing beneath the table as she did something with her shoes. “It’s me feet.” She freed one and held the large appendage up where Ceylon could see it. “I’ve got fungus.”

Ceylon bit her bottom lip and raised her brows, swallowing a laugh as the woman plopped her foot in Ceylon’s lap and looked at her expectantly. She cradled the ankle in her hand and raised the foot to the light. “All right, then. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

The fungus had eaten into the woman’s toenails and spread all over the foot, but Ceylon had confidence that they could cure it.

“Just remember to soak it in vinegar, keep it dry and use those herbs I gave you,” she instructed the woman as she walked her to the door. A line of six people waited on the firewood rounds she had stacked along the stone walk. Ceylon nodded to them. “Sunset’s coming, so you will be my last patients for the day. Tell whoever comes next to take a marker to be in line tomorrow.” She gestured toward the peg in her wall that held the wooden vouchers that indicated the line up order for the morning. Of course, that was up to her discretion. Often she took someone who was badly injured or very sickly in ahead of everyone else.

Ceylon considered it bad form to let a patient expire while waiting for her services.

She hadn’t set out to become the village healer. Certainly she’d never seen herself birthing babies or dispensing cures for sexual diseases. In her quest for a cure for herself, she had simply gathered all the knowledge she could find, on whatever subject. It had become second nature to share that knowledge with others, and after word got out about the miraculous cure of her face, everyone had wanted to consult with her. Now it was all she could do to keep up with the demand.

Not that I mind terribly, she thought with a smile as she sat down to her solitary dinner later that night. After all, the occasional wealthy customer paid in good coin.

She snorted and cut a flaky bite of pie, careful not to think about who was in it. The rich were a carbuncle on the face of the land. Ceylon didn’t have much use for them, but she wasn’t above taking their money. Compassion dictated that she treat them as she would anyone else, but it burned her that the very women who’d shunned her now came to her seeking beauty treatments. Oh, how satisfying when she had a legitimate reason to send them away, for she had no desire to play the beauty consultant. And if she too often had exactly what they needed? Well, there was the soothing clink of all that money.

Mmm. Nice gravy. She’d have to compliment Mrs. Prawn.

She’d hardly tasted the first bite when a rapping sounded on her chamber door. “Who is it?” she called, already guessing who the visitor might be. She rose to get another plate.

The door swung open and a tall lad of sixteen stuck his head in. A lock of his shaggy black hair, haphazardly tied back in a queue, flopped into one blue eye. Immediately, his gaze fixed on her pie. “Evening, Miss Ceylon.”

Ceylon smirked and slid the plate across the table. The lad had a habit of showing up just at mealtimes, but in truth, she didn’t mind the company. “Have a seat, Raven.”

He didn’t waste breath pretending he was there by coincidence, but sat down and helped himself to a big slab of pie.

Half amused, half sympathetic, Ceylon watched as he wolfed down the pie and then stared longingly at what was left in the pan. She gestured to it with her cup. “Have another.”

Raven, as he was called for his scavenger ways, had been on his own since a falling tree limb had felled his woodcutter father. She’d fallen into the habit of feeding him in the last few months. In return, he helped her out by doing some of the wood-cutting and other chores, freeing her time to spend with her books and patients.

She eyed his ragged tunic and boyish beard, barely suppressing the urge to mother him into cleaning up. He’d resent it, no doubt. Still, someone had to do something about his situation.

“You know, Raven, I’ve been thinking.” She sipped her coffee, forming the words carefully in her mind. “I know you’ve got no interest in herb lore--”

He snorted. “Witch’s business.” At her glare he added hastily, “Not that you’re a witch, but woman’s work is no way for a man to spend his time. Grubbing around in the woods, collecting flowers.” He grimaced. “I can’t be seen doing that.”

Her lips twitched. A man, was it? Well, let the boy have his dignity. “Hm. Be that as it may, there are still plenty of things around here that need doing. If you’re interested I wouldn’t mind hiring you as a permanent hand.”

Raven’s eyes lit up, but he was careful not to seem too eager. The chance at a regular meal in these hard times was too rare. “What did you have in mind?”

Just like a fish on a hook. Ceylon spread her fingers and studied her blunt nails critically. “You’ll need to learn sums and letters. I can’t have an assistant who isn’t good at taking notes and managing transactions.”

A pained look crossed his face. “Sums and letters? I thought you needed someone to do chores.”

“Certainly. But a bright lad such as yourself is capable of so much more. The more skills you have, the better your chances of success in this life. You do want that, don’t you?” she added when he looked reluctant. Raven had once told her of his dream of becoming a knight, an ambitious thing for a lowborn lad. What she offered was nothing like that, but at least it would keep him fed better than the occasional odd job.

“Aye.”

“Besides, you may get a chance to practice some of those fighting skills you’ve picked up from brawling with the village lads.” Her hands tightened on her cup. This really was too much to ask of a boy, even one so large for his age, but the situation was becoming tense. “I’m having a hard time keeping Lord Tennyson’s sons from bothering me lately. It might make it easier if I had a lad hanging around when I went shopping and such.”

Grim as a judge, Raven stabbed his last piece of pie and stuffed it in his mouth. “Eville doesn’t dare touch you with the entire town looking on. He’d be stoned.”

“Yes, but it’s when the town isn’t looking on that I worry.” Eville had come by one night with his drunken brothers, banging on her door and shouting something about needing her services. Lucky thing for her that she’d been consulting with the rector and his wife at the time about the rector’s gout.

She would have been very unpopular with Lord Tennyson if she’d been forced to put a crossbow bolt through his heir.

Ceylon eyed the lanky Raven somewhat doubtfully. If it came down to a confrontation of arms, Raven could only do so much. Even if he could use the knife at his waist he wouldn’t dare attack a lord’s son with it.

What she truly needed was a man. A hot blooded, bad tempered brute of a man who was putty with women and all fire and brimstone with others. Preferably a eunuch or a warrior priest with a peerless sword arm and no interest at all in seducing a woman.

A monk. She needed a monk.

* * * *

Uric of Shardsvale was no monk, but he was in a foul temper.

“You don’t have to do this, Uric.”

Uric tracked a red bird’s progress across the dreary sky. It flew directly over the distant castle they were fast approaching. “Yes, I do.” The tramp of iron shod hooves and the jingle of their escort’s gear was the only sound. All the residents of that place had taken shelter from the coming storm.

His friend Roland scanned the prosperous fields and cottages at either side of the road as if seeking inspiration. Light glinted off the inlaid silver in his black leather eye patch. A slight scar nicked the smile groove beside his mouth and his straight black hair whipped in his face as he raised his battle roughened voice to carry over the wind. “She might be ugly. A veritable troll.” His accent made him roll the t and r.

“Then I won’t choose her.”

Roland’s squinted at the blond warrior dubiously. “Why do I have my doubts? You’re running out of options.”

Uric stared straight between his stallion’s ears and said nothing. A decorated war veteran of eleven years, at twenty-seven he’d fought in more battles than he could count. As reward for his service, the queen had granted him a rich tract of land with a fine castle. The only requirement, she’d cheerfully told the determined bachelor, was that he marry and produce an heir. That fact that she had three unwed sisters who would each love to be his bride might have influenced the stipulation.

With faces that could crack an egg, there was good reason that they remained unwed. Certainly Uric was in no hurry to take any of them to wife.

“Perhaps you should forget the lady Annette and marry the queen’s witch instead,” Roland joked. “She’s said to be a comely wench, and since the queen commanded you to fetch her while you’re out here, it will give you plenty of time to test her paces.”

Uric turned his face away and spat dust from his mouth. “She’d have to be a legend to deal with my mother.” If she really were a witch it might even be a good thing. A witch might possibly be the only creature that could stand up to Maude.

His ogress of a mother was the reason he’d been forced to travel nearly every road in the land, through sleet, storm and fog in search of a bride. He’d found dozens willing, had brought home five at last count, only to have them run squealing back to their fathers in mortal terror of his mother. At this point, even a witch for a wife was beginning to sound appealing.

But was it too much to ask, he thought to himself wistfully, that the woman he wed have some beauty? The woman he’d previously brought home had not, but then he’d been in search of a sweet temper and a pure spirit to counteract his mother. Having failed at that, was it too much to ask to find a woman who at least had all her teeth?

It would all have been easier if he’d stayed a farmer’s son, he thought bitterly. Elevation to the mistress of Wormhurst, a post his mother had appropriated for herself after he was awarded the lands and title of baron, had only deepened her vanity and need to control. Nor was she in any hurry to give up her position to any wife of Uric’s, for the woman he married would have complete control over all areas of his household.

His only choice was to marry a woman strong enough to stand up to Maude, yet with heart enough not to become a dictator herself. As his stallion’s quick stride ate up the distance between him and the castle, Uric had to ask himself, did such a woman exist?

* * * *

“If you want to get a husband, you’ve got to learn to flirt.”

Ceylon rolled her head over to favor her friend Calisto with an amused stare. “I don’t flirt.” The deep window seat she reclined in had an excellent view of the courtyard, which she watched with idle curiosity. The day was grim, the wind chill. Those who had to be about on errands walked quickly, their heads bent against the brisk fall winds.

Unperturbed by Ceylon’s negative attitude, Calisto raised her brows. “You don’t flirt, you dance like a drunken farmer and you own more leathers than dresses. But....” She raised an authoritative finger. “I’ve yet to see you fail at anything when you put your mind to it.”

Ceylon snorted softly and rested her wrist against her drawn up knee. “Yes, I’m quite the woman, aren’t I?” she drawled. A small smile of self-mockery curved her lips. “So pure, so radiant....” she quoted some of her more determined suitors, the same men who hadn’t looked twice at her before her face healed. Amazing how well they saw her now.

“Purity,” she said, “is overrated.”

Calisto jabbed her needle forcefully into the birthday dress she was sewing for Ceylon and yelped. “Blasted bother.” She shook her hand and grimaced. “I should have commissioned you some more arrows or something. Something less painful.”

“Something more likely to be used,” Ceylon agreed helpfully.

“You’ll wear it or eat it.” Calisto tossed aside the green velvet and considered her dark clad friend, a determined set to her mouth. “You need to be nicer to them.”

Here it comes. Ceylon widened her eyes in mock attentiveness, even though she’d heard this particular speech before. Never seen without her red hair flawlessly arranged and never known to move faster than a lady-like walk, surrounded by admiring suitors, Calisto was determined to mold Ceylon into a woman more like herself. “I really should, shouldn’t I?”

Calisto ignored the sarcasm in her tone and stood to put away her sewing things. She avoided looking at Ceylon. “For your own good, not theirs.”

Ceylon stiffened. So Calisto had decided to heal the healer, had she? Well, all luck to her. “And flirting is to my good because...?”

The seamstress sighed. “At least you’ll be responding to them in a favorable manner. This coldness of yours--”

Annoyed now, Ceylon sat up and dropped both feet to the floor. “And how is it my fault that men see better than they think? If they wish to be stupid around me I see no reason to encourage them.” Ever since her face had healed and men had seen what had been hiding underneath, their attitudes toward her had drastically changed. Men who had barely noticed her suddenly watched her with hungry eyes. A few of the boys—now men—that had grown up taunting her had reversed their tune and now attempted to pay her court. Old men, youths barely old enough to leave their mamas; all of them followed her with their eyes whenever she showed her face. Raven was practically the only one who didn’t drool at the sight of her, but then he was vocal about his preference for buxom blondes.

Some of those men had been more than cruel. Eville had actually held her down and rubbed dung into her face when they were both children. Dung face, he’d called her. That’s the kind of men who wanted her now.

A familiar constriction banded her chest. She was the same person behind the now flawless skin. The same changing green eyes and facial structure. Her smile was as white, when it showed, and hadn’t her dark hair always been as shiny and mink soft? It was her face they wanted now, not the woman she’d always been. If she were scarred tomorrow they’d want nothing to do with her.

Their hypocrisy sickened her.

Unwilling to voice words she’d said many times before, Ceylon dismissed the entire subject with one comment. “At least they no longer stare because I’m ugly.” There was comfort in that.

Ceylon looked out the solar window at the gray day beyond. A red bird flew by as she watched; a bright flash of color against the rain-swollen clouds. Would that she could fly away, too.

Instead, she got to strip and try on the dress her friend had made.

“I’m not sure about this.” Ceylon tugged at the square bodice of her new green gown. Air danced across far too much of her exposed bosom. No matter how nice she looked with the gold embroidered belt about her slim hips or how well the cut showed off her figure, it just didn’t feel natural. “It needs more cloth, I think.” A lot more. If Eville ever saw her in this she could kiss her virtue good-bye.

“It needs nothing,” Calisto contradicted her with a grin as she pulled her from the stool. “Let me help you off with that. We don’t want to disturb the hem pins.”

Ceylon threw on a loose peasant top and carelessly knotted the matching skirt at her waist as she waited for her clothes to be finished. The loose shirt was far too big and kept sagging from her shoulder, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d have her clothes back.

Calisto had snatched away the leathers she’d arrived in the minute she’d changed, determined that she would walk out of here looking like a lady. In light of Calisto’s excitement, Ceylon allowed her to think she was in charge. Let her have her moment, Ceylon though wryly. She’d waited long enough.

Besides, she had concerns of her own.

Ceylon doubted she had the personality to carry off the makeover Calisto had given her. In the past, because of her marked face, she’d faded into invisibility whenever men in the room caught sight of Calisto; hardly surprising, for she was a true beauty. Nor did she hold it against her friend—it wasn’t as if she could help it.

Besides, now she had the opposite problem. She didn’t want Eville or his brothers drooling over her. If she’d had her way she would have gladly skipped the dinner Lady Tennyson was giving, but she’d been practically commanded to appear. Ever since she’d cured her daughter’s vicious pimples, Lady Tennyson had practically fawned over Ceylon, spreading the word of her daughter’s cure far and wide. Now she was intent on securing Ceylon’s exclusive services as her private beauty consultant. Leery of being trapped in the castle on a daily basis with Lady Tennyson’s leering sons, Ceylon had been quietly fighting her fate. Only her position as an important healer had kept her safe so far, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist without invoking her ladyship’s disfavor.

Oblivious to Ceylon’s thoughts, Calisto gave her a brilliant smile. “You look wonderful. Now if you just manage to keep your backside away from Eville’s pinching hands, you’ll do beautifully.”

“My confidence has leapt to new heights, thank you, Cali,” Ceylon said in her driest tone. “Expecting rough waters, are we?”

About to respond, Calisto shrieked in outrage instead and darted to her feet, for she’d just caught sight of her white monkey dragging one of Ceylon’s favorite boots out of the bedroom. “Lancet! Stop!”

Caught up in his favorite game and thrilled to have an audience, Lancet flashed her a wicked grin and darted through the door flap, screeching all the way.

“Rotten beggar!” Furious, for last time it had taken a week for her to find her purloined boot, and only then in a sorry condition deep in the stables, Ceylon hiked her borrowed skirts and dashed after him.

* * * *

Uric looked up to see a wild apparition dashing down the wooden stairs leading to the upper room of a house built against the bailey wall. Shouting threats at the white animal she chased, it seemed all she could do to keep her clothes from falling off. Her roar of outrage sounded across the bailey as the monkey leap from the stairs and into the nearest espaliered pear.

“Bloody cheat!” she yelled as she dashed down the stairs after it, completely oblivious to dozen or so mounted strangers watching her with fascination. “Come back with my boot!”

The monkey noticed the riders before she did and froze in indecision—a tactical error. With a whoop of triumph, the girl swooped down on him—her mistake. For as she snatched away her boot, her skirt, only lightly tied, chose that moment to surrender to gravity. In the confusion of the moment she neglected to drop the boot, and as she sank to the ground in an attempt to keep the skirt around her hips, her shirt slipped to dangerous new lows.

Only then, when she was down on her knees and in danger of an involuntary disrobing, did she notice the hooves of Uric’s stallion.

Utterly fascinated, Uric watched as her brilliant green eyes tracked up Behemoth’s long black legs, past the hair-feathered fetlocks, skipped up Uric’s leg and finally settled on his face.

Her lips parted. For a moment it seemed as if she wanted to drink him in, so thirsty was her expression. Never had he seen such heated desire in the eyes of a woman.

A beautiful, hopefully available young woman. With all her teeth. He flashed her his best smile.

Instead of smiling back, she stiffened, and an expression of dread and most likely mortification crossed her face as she looked down. Her hand tightened on her clothes. Hot color stained her fair skin as her brows lowered. “I could use some assistance,” she informed him sternly.

He couldn’t prevent a grin of amusement. There she was, dressed like a peasant—a half naked one at that—sitting in the dust at his feet, and she ordered him around like a queen. Chuckles surrounded him as he swung down from his mount. “Anything for you, fair maid.”

And she was fair, he noted as he bent to gather her into his arms. More than fair with those snapping green eyes and pretty pink lips.

“Put me down!” she hissed as he hefted her easily, her panicked gaze swinging to his men even as she gripped his leather armor. “I can walk.”

“True, but I doubt you can remain dressed,” he countered, a wide smile on his face as he glimpsed the tops of her breasts. Pink color stained there, too. Like the blush of the rarest pink pearl. “But if that’s what you wish....” He pretended to lower her.

“No!” She clung to him, no doubt knowing that the act of setting her down would expose more than her pretty bare feet to view. “I-I....” She glanced toward the stairs she’d descended in such a rush. “I need to go up there.”

Satisfied that he’d made his point, Uric mounted the steps with her. “What is your name, sweet?”

Her brows drew together forbiddingly at the endearment. “Healer Ceylon,” she informed him, her mouth set in a firm line.

Dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. Better and better.

She was embarrassed, and prickly with it; he could understand that. The idea that she could be quite different under other circumstances teased him. A smiling, laughing Ceylon would be something to look forward to.

Uric looked her over, already planning their first night. Fire she had, and it was a fire he’d like to test the heat of. When was the last time he’d felt such an instant attraction to a woman?

“And what does your man call you?” he inquired, intensely curious. Pray God she had no such thing.

She looked away and locked her jaw. When she spoke her tone was low and even. “I have none.” And then she snapped, “And I like it that way!”

“Pity,” he murmured as he pushed aside the door flap and set her on her feet. Temporarily blinded by the dimness inside, he could only guess that her gasp signaled the loss of some of her clothing. The image brought a wide smile to his face. “Until later, sweet Ceylon.”

* * * *

“You left me with him on purpose!”

Calisto smiled smugly. “Of course, I did.” She sighed dramatically as she pressed a hand to her breast. “Have you ever seen a face like that in your life?”

“I was almost naked!” Ceylon nearly shouted, using temper to mask the reason for her flushed skin. Her heart was still beating far too fast, and no wonder. The moment she’d lain eyes on the man she thought it might stop. With close cropped curls of gold fleece and eyes the blue of deepest flame, of course the man had been handsome. Too handsome. Likely he knew it.

“He seemed to like it.” Calisto broke into peals of laughter at Ceylon’s expression of shock.

“Be still! It isn’t funny.”

Calisto collapsed against the wall and leered. “I couldn’t quite see ... was that a diamond winking in his ear?”

Ceylon crossed her arms and looked out the window, determined to ignore her. She knew exactly what Calisto was up to.

Sly now, Calisto added, “And such broad shoulders! He carried you up here—wearing full armor, mind you—and wasn’t even winded.”

“I’m not that big.”

“Nor is he quite as tall as some knights, but that should be more comfortable for you when he kisses you.”

“What!” Ceylon’s body steamed at the very idea. The man had been the embodiment of her every midnight fantasy. Only masking her reaction with temper had saved her from drooling on the poor soul. “Don’t be foolish, Calisto. He’s a knight; probably has an exalted opinion of himself and a bad case of the pox. If he comes to me at all it will likely be for a cure.”

Calisto choked.

“Don’t laugh. You’d be surprised how many handsome men stick their wicket everywhere and then come to me for a cure when it starts itching.”

Calisto’s eyes bugged. “Like who?”

Ceylon crossed her arms and looked smug. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Just do me a favor and consult me before you choose a husband, would you? It might save you a great deal of grief.”

Poxed or not, Ceylon’s knight was in the great hall that evening as Ceylon made her way to the table. He stood by the fire, outlined by its flames. There was nothing warlike about the blue tunic and pants he wore, but with a man like that it didn’t matter. His very stance told you who he was.

Lady Tennyson’s daughter Annette stood at his side, a trifle too close. Her breathy laughter carried all the way across the hall.

Eville was there, too.

“Healer Ceylon.” Lady Tennyson greeted her warmly enough, though she looked a little less than pleased by Ceylon’s improved appearance. Perhaps because her daughter was still unattached and flirting madly with her handsome guest? “Your dress is very lovely, my dear.”

“A birthday gift from Calisto the Seamstress.” Ceylon leaned slightly forward and confided, “She feared I might wear my boots to the table if she didn’t prevent it.”

“She might have been right.” Eville appeared at his mother’s side, a drink in hand. Judging by his red eyes, it was not his first. Clad all in scarlet, his favorite color, he looked Ceylon over boldly and with even less restraint than usual. The expression leached all the beauty out of a face that had none to spare. “I wonder how the queen will take our little Ceylon?”

Ceylon frowned at him, uncertain what the queen had to do with her.

“Oh, so you haven’t heard?” Eville’s crooked teeth flashed in a nasty smile. “Baron Uric here has stopped here on his quest to find a noble bride. The queen told him to fetch you to her while he’s at it.” The smile became a sneer as he visually raked her up and down. “Seems the queen is in need of a witch to brew her sisters beauty potions.” His gaze on the approaching Uric, he continued in mock dismay, “What a pity that the queen’s command is law. I was looking forward to retaining your exclusive, personal services, sweet Ceylon.”

The ladies gasped. Lady Annette’s hand flew to her mouth as she began to titter.

Ceylon felt the blood drain out of her face. Shock at the queen’s command was bad enough. She was not a beauty consultant, blast it! What was with these spoiled women? Even now Lady Tennyson said nothing to chide her son for his outrageous insult. Even worse, by the chilling of their expressions, the strangers—she now noticed that there were two, Uric and another man she vaguely remembered from that afternoon—didn’t know whether to believe his insinuation or not.

She looked at the blond knight and a mental gong sounded. Uric! She went rigid, all of her silly fantasies of him instantly burned to ashes. Uric the Berserker? The man who was rumored to have traveled a thousand days in search of a bride to please his beastly mother? The mother that was said to have shaved one maiden bald when she refused to clean her chamber? That Uric?

She wanted to hide. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he would be looking for a bride, a woman far above Ceylon’s station. Some blue-blooded lady with more hair than brains. The most he would ever offer a woman like Ceylon was the position of mistress, a station she would rather die than have.

Into the brittle moment of silence, Ceylon heard herself say with detached calm, “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Sir Eville. I’m quite certain that another healer will have the herbs to cure your particular affliction. Have the sores burst yet?”

Eville puffed up and turned red. Before he could say a word Sir Uric stepped forward, effectively blocking Eville’s path of retaliation. “Healer Ceylon.” He gave her a slight bow, his eyes never leaving hers. The appreciation that had been there earlier had been replaced by cool readiness. Ceylon had the feeling that half his attention was on his back, in case Eville should attack. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Ceylon’s jaw locked. She could just imagine what Eville had been telling him. By now he probably thought her the biggest slut ever birthed. “Have you?”

Instead of elaborating he continued as if by rote, “The queen is very eager to make your acquaintance. She promises to make the journey worth your while.”

“Winter is coming, my lord,” she said icily, her anger at Eville coming out in her tone. “And I despise being cold. Even the gift of an entire castle would not entice me outdoors in such weather.”

His eyes narrowed. “You would refuse the queen’s command?”

Ceylon looked away, sorely tempted, knowing she had no choice. It was several tense moments before she could unlock her jaw enough to say, “No.”

The single, tight word broke some of the tension in hall. “Shall we?” Lady Tennyson said with a weak smile. “It seems that dinner is ready.”

Since Lord Tennyson was away at the moment, Eville took his place at the head of the table, leaving Ceylon seated between his two brothers.

Uric was stuck between Lady Tennyson and her coquettish daughter.

“Tell me about life at court, my lord.” Annette placed her hand lightly on his arm and stared deep into his eyes. “I want to know all about it.”

Beautiful, Uric thought, already regretting his journey here. Another one of them. He was growing tired of women who could think of nothing but wearing silks and jewels and being presented to the queen. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself first?” he asked with a hopeful smile. It was the right question, for she immediately launched into a discussion of herself, freeing him to subtly watch the healer.

Eville had filled his ears with a great many things about her, most of them centering on her prowess in bed and general bitchiness when she didn’t get her way. Although Uric had his doubts that the obnoxious stripling had ever touched her, he couldn’t help but wonder. It wasn’t an uncommon arrangement, and both times he’d seen her she had been in foul mood. What did he know about the girl, anyway?

Pity, he thought as he watched her over the rim of his goblet. She was a pretty thing, and there was a straightness to her spine he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Suddenly Ceylon’s eyes widened. Clearly outraged, she shot a swift look downward. Her hand disappeared beneath the table and her shoulder jerked. The young man next to her—Boyd, Uric thought—smirked over her head to the brother on her opposite side.

Uric’s eyes narrowed as Ceylon stabbed a piece of chicken and chewed viciously. He had a good idea of the brother’s game and didn’t like it. No matter what she had or hadn’t done with their brother, the girl clearly didn’t enjoy being pawed.

Ceylon stiffened again, and this time her fork disappeared underneath the table. The fat man on her other side, Amherst, gave a sudden squawk.

“Are you all right, Amherst?” his mother called.

He gave her a tight smile. “Perfectly. Just had a piece of chicken go down wrong.” As soon as his mother looked away he gave Ceylon a killing glare.

All was quiet for a moment until Ceylon’s eyes skewed around to fix the weasel-faced Boyd with a poisonous scowl.

“Quite the weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Boyd asked innocently.

Ceylon gave him a fierce smile and dumped her wine in his lap.

He howled and jumped up, his chair falling to the floor behind him. “Witch!”

Uric didn’t wait for Boyd to draw back his fist. He was up and over the table with Ceylon thrust behind him before it could fall. Roland was at his side bare moments later. “Hold, Boyd! She’s under the queen’s protection.”

Boyd kicked aside his chair. “I don’t care if God himself has sainted her! I’ll have her hide!” he charged.

He found himself with his arm twisted around his back and Uric’s knife at his throat. “Then maybe you’ll care about this?” Uric asked as he calmly pressed the razors edge into Boyd’s neck. A bright bead of red slowly trickled from the slight cut.

Nobody moved.

Uric waited a moment more, then released him. What he really wanted to do was finish what he’d started, but no man deserved to die just for being obnoxious.

Boyd stepped back, rubbing his throat. His expression was mutinous, but he didn’t dare attack Uric again.

Uric gave Lady Tennyson a slight nod, ignoring her offspring. “Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. Dinner was excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just escort my charge back to her house before she causes any more trouble.” He turned and took the healer’s arm in a firm grasp, not surprised to find her stiff and unresponsive. It didn’t slow him down as he half-dragged her from the hall.

“I can walk,” she told him coldly the minute they were out of the banquet hall.

“Then do so.” He released her, ignoring her as best he could while making certain she kept up. In that she gave him no trouble. She seemed as eager to leave that place as he was.

“What’s wrong?” A scrawny youth with wild black hair and a scruffy beard jumped up from a bench in the entryway as they approached. He handed Ceylon a cloak and eyed the tall warriors beside her with suspicion. “Do you need assistance, Ceylon?”

“Not from you, pup,” Roland said, barely giving him a glance as he opened one of the massive double doors.

Ceylon ignored him and gave the suspicious boy a tight smile. “Thank you for waiting, Raven. Of course I’d like you to walk back with me.”

Roland blocked Raven from following her. “No, Crow, she wouldn’t.”

Ceylon stopped and gave Uric a frosty look. “Are you forbidding me to bring my servants with me now?”

Uric considered the scruffy lad. If this ragged urchin was her servant than she didn’t pay very well. “He’s yours then? Very well. Let him come, Roland.”

Raven eyed the intimidating Roland like a young wolf as he moved to Ceylon’s side. Instead of moving, Roland stood his ground, forcing the young man to walk around him as he turned his head to keep Raven in his sights.

“And Calisto wants to know why I never married,” Ceylon muttered as she extracted her gloves from the pocket of her cloak.

“Let me help you with that.” Raven hurried to take the cloak from her and settled it around her shoulders.

Surprised, she blinked at him until she remembered that it was the sort of thing a servant would do for his mistress. “Er, thank you.” She caught Uric looking at her oddly and averted her eyes, hurrying out into the storm. Soonest braved, soonest over.

Few people walked the dark streets in the chill. Occasionally a bundled person would hurry by the wattle and daub houses, only to disappear behind a door with a slam at the soonest opportunity. Frozen mud made for an uneven walking surface, and the tiny frozen puddles that had collected in the prints crunched under her shoes, wetting her feet. “I knew I should have worn my boots,” she muttered.

“Wear them tomorrow,” Uric suggested. “You’ll be traveling by coach, but it pays to dress warm.”

“Coach?” Raven said suspiciously.

Ceylon waved a silencing hand at him. “I need at least two days to settle my affairs here. If I’m not going to be back until spring I need to find a caretaker for my house and pack my things. Day after tomorrow is the best I can do.”

“Fine.” Uric stopped at her door. “In the meantime, I’ll have some of my men keep an eye on your house. I didn’t like the look on Boyd’s face tonight.”

About to protest, Ceylon shut her mouth. The man had a valid point. “Fine. Raven, there’s a plum tart in the house if you’re hungry. Just take the whole thing home. Widow Godfrey made me two of them.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Ceylon waited until Raven found the pie and came back outside. The candle Raven had lit illuminated her unsmiling face as she nodded to the men. “Goodnight.” She shut her door, leaving them out in the cold.

So much for hospitality.

Chapter 2

Uric walked away from the healer’s house shaking his head. “That has to be one of the strangest woman I’ve ever met. She dresses like a lady, yet talks about wearing boots. Her servant wears rags, yet she feeds him like a king. Eville swears she’s his mistress--”

“Yet she defends her honor with dinnerware,” Roland finished. They’d reached the stables, and he strode inside, ordering the boy who watched over their horses to dispatch two of their men to him at once. He watched the boy leave, then crossed his arms and leaned against a post. “Eville might be lying.”

“He’s the kind.” Uric propped on boot on a bench. “Maybe we should do some sleuthing before we leave. I’d like to know what kind of woman I’m traveling with.”

Roland’s grin was sly. “You want her to be a virtuous maiden.”

Uric spread his fingers, palm up. “What’s the alternative? That she gives it away for the occasional coin? I’ll spend the entire journey fighting to keep her from impregnating herself before she’s presented to the queen.”

“Hm.” Roland stuck his hand in his pocket and withdrew a coin, walking it through his fingers. “My gold says she’s never gone near Eville’s bed. How about yours?”

“Only oafs bet on a lady’s virtue.”

“Speaking of which, if we’re leaving in two days I guess that means that we’ll not be having a wedding first?”

Uric frowned at him.

“The fair Annette? The woman you came to see? Were you planning to offer for her before we leave, or was this another wasted trip?”

Uric looked aside as two of their soldiers entered the stables. “We had to come for the witch, anyway.” He sent his men to go guard the healer’s house.

Roland’s eyes narrowed on the back of Uric’s head. He was getting bloody tired of tramping around the countryside just so Uric could reject bride after bride. Uric swore it didn’t matter, but Roland thought Uric was holding out for love.

Who could blame him? He certainly wouldn’t care for a woman who worshipped his looks, title and money and cared nothing for his heart. Still, at this rate both of them would be bent and gray before Uric’s choosy heart decided on a match.

Very well, Roland decided. It was time he took a more active hand in this romance business. He’d be home by spring, toasting his feet by his fire and drinking ale even if he had to sink to playing matchmaker to do it.

Cupid was about to shoot straight for Uric’s heart, even if he had to stab him in the back to do it.

* * * *

“Healer Ceylon? Are you daft?” The sooty blacksmith wrinkled his brow and spat on the ground. The heat from the forge warmed all but the drafty floor of his work shed. Little bits of daylight shown around the door. “That girl wouldn’t cozy up to Eville if he offered her the castle itself. Never could stand him, what with their history.”

Roland polished an apple on his doublet and Uric tried not to look too interested. “What history?”

The blacksmith looked both ways, then crooked his finger.

They obligingly leaned forward.

“It’s rumored he’s her half-brother, and a cruel one at that. Used to delight in tormenting her. Even held her down once and smeared dung in her face.”

Roland and Uric exchanged glances.

Anticipating their next question, the blacksmith went on, “No one knows if the squire or Lord Tennyson fathered her, but the entire village knew that Ceylon’s mother was bedding his lordship. Wasn’t even subtle about it. Used to flaunt the gifts he gave her, right under the squire’s nose. There were those who called the squire a coward for doing nothing about it, but never to his face. No one dared, ‘cause he was a mean fighter. But he loved little Ceylon, kept her happy with books after her mother died.”

“Does Eville know who Ceylon might be?” Uric was sickened by the thought.

The blacksmith abruptly turned away and picked up his hammer. “If he knows, he don’t care.” The grim set to his face announced his feelings on that.

Much enlightened, and very disturbed, the men left his shed.

“It seems you’ll be doing the woman a favor by taking her out of here.” Roland squinted at the gloomy sky. “Can’t imagine why she hasn’t left already.”

“Her friends are here. It’s not that easy for a woman alone to give up everything she knows to go to a strange place.”

Roland smiled. “Ah, but she’s not alone anymore, is she?”

Uric sent him a sharp glance. “Don’t be matchmaking, Roland. I don’t need your help.”

“Who said I was planning to help you?” Roland raised his brows and swaggered away.

As the meaning behind his words sank in, Uric hurried to catch up. “Wait a minute! Since when do you want her?”

Roland batted playfully at an awning. “What do you care? I won’t get her pregnant.”

Uric’s brows snapped together. Something ugly stirred in his chest. “That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“A woman like that will demand marriage.”

“So? With a little taming I think she’ll make a fine wife. Cuddly, too,” Roland added as an afterthought.

“I didn’t see her fawning over you last night,” Uric snapped.

“I wasn’t at my best. I’ll have to put forth greater effort.” Roland surveyed the merchant’s shops. “I wonder what sort of gift she might fancy?” He started to veer toward a jeweler’s sign.

Uric grabbed his arm and corrected his course. “Don’t be an ass! If you start bringing her gifts already she’ll think you’re trying to buy her favors.” On second thought maybe he shouldn’t have warned him. A quick rejection would get the idea out of Roland’s head.

Roland eyed him. “You’re probably right,” he said slowly. “I suppose we should see about supplying our journey.”

All the tension drained out of Uric. Maybe Roland was coming to his senses after all. He clapped him on the back. Hard. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said in an hour.”

Roland just smiled.

* * * *

Now that she was actually moving, Ceylon had overcome the initial resistance and was efficiently settling her affairs. The rector’s daughter, a spinster of long standing, had agreed to watch over the house. Actually, she was delighted.

“You can’t imagine how glad I am to spend some time away from my mother and father,” she confided to Ceylon as she helped her pack her books. “And don’t worry about your patrons; you know I’ve always had a penchant for physics. With that copy of your book and what I know about herbs I think we’ll get on just fine.”

Ceylon sent her a grateful smile as she sorted out a few packets of essential herbs and medicines for her travel kit. “Thank you, Ermine. I’m very grateful that you could help on such short notice. It really eases my mind.”

Ermine flipped her hand, dismissive. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re all so proud of you! Why, it’s not everyone who gets a summons from the queen herself.”

Ceylon gave her a weak smile. Yes, lucky her. Instead of staying inside her cozy cottage like everyone else, she got to ride straight into the teeth of winter with a berserker and his barbarian friend. O joyous day.

She was still in the middle of packing when visitors knocked on the door.

“I just heard,” gasped the balding carpenter. Apparently the news had so alarmed him that he’d come at a run. “No one can believe it, least of all me.” Her took her hand looked imploringly into her eyes. “Surely you weren’t planning on leaving without giving me an answer to my marriage proposal?”

She glanced helplessly to the side, but of course no one was there to lend a hand. Uric’s guards, stationed at either side of the door, listened with unabashed interest.

“I’m not sure this is the time,” she began, but stopped in frustration when her swain sighed mournfully. Obviously her attempts to let him down easy hadn’t gotten through. Very well then. Time for bluntness. “Oleander, I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“But--”

“I’m truly sorry.” Loath to prolong the spectacle any longer, Ceylon shut the door in his face. She hadn’t gotten two steps from the panel when another knock sounded. With a groan, she turned back.

The tailor’s wife, Natty, had brought her new woolen socks. “I know you must be frightfully busy, but I just couldn’t forget all you did for our little Timmy,” she said as she pressed the parcel into Ceylon’s hands. God bless you, miss.”

The door had barely closed behind her when another caller showed up at the door. This time it was a villager with a feverish baby, and there was no question of not helping.

Temporarily giving up all ideas of packing, Ceylon prepared herself for a very long day.

By ten after two o’clock Ceylon simply had to get out the house. One more caller would be one too many. Tossing a cloak over her shoulders and pulling on her warmest gloves, she sneaked out the back way for a brisk walk.

A light snow was falling. Flakes the size of bonbons fell along the shingled roofs and rough-hewn sills, gilding the world with a dusting of finest sugar. Only the constant traffic in the streets prevented the snow from concealing the frozen mud; where every foot had fallen a brown track had been left behind.

She hadn’t gone far when the sound of trumpets announced the return of Lord Tennyson and his company. Ceylon cleared the street with the others and stood at the side of the street while his party rode through.

“He’s back from another pilgrimage,” she heard one man say.

Another man hawked and spat. “Aye. He’s become quite the holy man, our lord.”

Ceylon snorted softly. Yes, their lord had become quite the spiritual wayfarer after Ceylon’s mother had died. Guilt could do that to a man.

She cast her eyes downward as she always did and waited for Tennyson to ride by.

This time his gelding’s dappled legs moved into view and stopped.

“Ceylon,” Lord Tennyson said quietly. He waited until she was forced to look at him.

Ceylon dragged in a sharp breath, every muscle rigid with rebellion. It had been a year since she had seen his long, light brown hair and neat trimmed, pointed beard. At least twelve months since she had been forced to acknowledge the strawberry-sized red mark at his crown, just revealed by the receding hairline. Sick heat flashed in her cheeks and roiled in her stomach. A year wasn’t nearly long enough.

“My lord,” she managed through her rusted jaw.

Green eyes such as neither of her parents had possessed studied her solemnly. “I’ve heard the queen has sent for you.”

Ceylon jerked her head in a short nod.

His hands worked on the reins. “I’m pleased she has acknowledged your skill. You’re certain to bring Marksheath honor in her service.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Ceylon looked through him.

He hesitated a moment more, then nodded. He spurred his horse and his party moved on.

Slightly ill and miserably aware of the staring crowd, Ceylon pulled her hood closer about her face and hurried home.

Her head ached.

Nor did it feel any better the next day after wrestling with the sheets all night. It didn’t help matters that Raven was determined to follow her to Queenstown.

“I’m your bodyguard,” he insisted, tossing his feed sack full of belongings on the table. Dawn had not yet come and the room was still lit by the fire and oil lamp. “You need me.”

Loath to contradict him, she bit her tongue and tried to think of a way to reason with him. “It’s cold. You have no horse, so you’ll have to ride in the carriage. It’s bound to be boring--”

“Hardly,” he was quick to assure her. “You’re going to visit the queen! You’ll be traveling with real knights.” He said no more, but his gaze desperately held hers.

Ceylon shut her eyes. Of course. The knights. Raven’s dream. “You can come,” she said, massaging the bridge of her nose.

Jubilant, Raven swept her up in a crushing hug. “You’ll never regret it, Ceylon!” He gave her a fierce grin.

“Yes, yes.” She disentangled herself, feeling to see that nothing was broken. “Just try to remember that when your feet are numb and your nose has frozen off.” She wasn’t nearly as enthused with him as he was with her. To her mind he was just one more responsibility, for she’d worry about him the whole way. How was she supposed to look after a boy that was old enough to begin shaving when she’d never been a mother? She eyed him, looking for clues, and found them in his bedraggled appearance. “Well, come on then.” She headed up the stairs. “I’ve got some old things of my father’s in the attic. Bound to be small on you, but they’re in good condition and I can modify some of them on the way.”

Small was an understatement. Ceylon hadn’t realized how tall Raven was until she saw his wrists sticking out of her father’s coat a good three inches. She stared at the high water pants in equal dismay. Those barely went past his calves. “I can do something about the shirts, but we’ll simply have to buy more pants.” And boots, she added silently. The shoes he had on had cracked and were close to falling apart.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t buy them just yet.”

She waved a hand. “Call it an advance on your wages, but we’d better hurry if we’re going to buy you anything. It’s almost dawn, and they’re sure to be annoyed at the delay.”

Sure enough, Uric was already at her door, about to knock when she opened it. A carriage and his men waited behind him. He smiled. “Glad to see you’re ready.”

“Not quite.” Ceylon tipped her head at Raven. “My servant will be coming with us, and I need a few minutes to buy him some warmer clothes. It was a last minute decision,” she added when he scowled.

Uric looked heavenward in irritation. “Make it quick, then. We have some hard riding to do.” He looked at two of his men. “Get her bags and put them in the coach.”

Ceylon gave him a grateful bow of her head and strode off, glad that she wore long underwear under her pants. Today was no day to be fashion conscious.

“Wouldn’t you like to ride?” he called after her, leading his horse.

“I’ll be riding all day,” she threw over her shoulder. “Besides, it’s only a few doors down.”

Lights were on in the shoemaker’s house, though doubtless he wasn’t expecting business so early. “Boots, you say?” he muttered, adjusting his spectacles to peer at Raven’s feet. “For him?”

“If you have them. We’re rather in a hurry.” Ceylon pushed her way through the door, pulling off her gloves as she went. “I’ll pay in coin, of course.”

But when it came time to pay Uric handed the old man a coin. He looked at Ceylon, whose hand was still in her pocket. “The queen is paying your expenses now.”

He was just as fast to pay the tailor, who fortunately had a few things made up and ready to sell. This time Uric bade Ceylon to wait in the coach to save time. Bare moments later he sent the beaming Raven out with an armful of clothes. Nodding to the coachman, Uric mounted his own horse and they headed out.

“What’s all this?” Ceylon asked in surprise as Raven staggered into the coach with an armload of clothes. Amazed at his generosity, and a little alarmed—surely the queen hadn’t meant for him to be that generous—she watched Raven spread his loot out on the floor.

Raven grinned and held up a garment. “I know! I couldn’t believe--” he noticed what it was he held and flushed. Seconds later the smallclothes disappeared behind his back.

Ceylon looked down, grinning.

More subdued, Raven held up a fine linen shirt. “Look at this! He got me three! And a doublet, and a tunic, hose, pants....” He showed her each item in turn with the enthusiasm of a small child. “He barely even looked, just checked for fit and tossed it on the pile. Didn’t even blink when he heard the price, either.” There was awe in his voice.

“I think he bought the entire shop.”

Ceylon let out a breath and bit her lip. Raven was too occupied with his new clothes to notice.

She stroked the furs that covered the coach seat, taking in the rough texture of black bear. There were more and softer fur covers folded on the floor, as well as a blue and yellow velvet quilt. Orange and red brocade cushions, complete with gold cording, sat on each side of the seats. An unlit lantern hung from the ceiling, and hot bricks warmed her feet. A basket of edibles had even been placed inside, ready for her pleasure.

All this for a mere healer?

Her unease only increased when spied the neatly wrapped package under Raven’s seat. It was done up in brown paper and tied with a string. The large tag had her name on it.

Raven helped her drag it out. “What is it?”

Ceylon gulped as the paper fell away. It was a blue velvet cloak lined with fur.

Really worried now, she laid the cloak aside and opened the window. The first thing she saw was Roland. “Er, Sir Roland?”

“Yes, mistress Ceylon?”

“Have you seen the princesses?”

He frowned. “Yes.”

“And are they....” There was no way to put it delicately. “Just how ugly are they?”

His brows rose.

She sent a wild look inside the carriage, alarmed anew by the richness of her surroundings. “I can’t do miracles, you know.”

Roland stared at her for a moment with the strangest expression, then threw back his head and laughed.

Uric dropped back to see what was so funny. In spite of the chill, his head was bare, and he barely seemed to notice the wind ruffling his fine curls. “Is there a problem?”

Ceylon bit her lip and glanced behind her again. “Is all of this on loan then?” The idea relieved her. “That is, I know the coach is, and of course everything in it, but the cloak and Raven’s clothes ... will we have to return them?”

Uric exchanged a glance with Roland, his eyes twinkling. “I doubt the queen will want to wear Raven’s clothes.”

Ceylon flushed. “You know what I mean!”

He shrugged, still in good humor. “What is one cloak and few clothes? Of course you may keep them.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and ducked back inside. It worried her that she knew as little about the job at hand as she had before. Still, how ugly could the women be? Even worse, what would the queen do to her if she failed to make them more attractive? Callion was said to have an even temper, but she had also placed more than one charlatan in the stocks for daring to try his arts on her sisters.

She stuck her head back out, interrupting Uric and Roland’s conversation. “I want you to witness that I never claimed to be able to help the princesses,” she said forcefully. “I’ve never made any claims at all.” When they stared at her with twin expressions of incredulity, she added, “It might keep me out of the stocks if you would remind the queen of this if I fail.”

Uric looked nonplused. “She’ll hardly send you to the stocks, Ceylon.”

She swallowed hard. “Just in case, pray remember.”

Roland squinted and scratched the side of his head when she ducked away again. “Do you think she’s been sipping away at one too many of her own potions?”

Uric only shook his head, equally mystified. Who knew what went on in the mind of a woman?

They stopped to rest the horses at noon. Ceylon had been dozing in the carriage, but was quick to take advantage of the stop for a jaunt into the woods. On her way back she noticed Raven returning from a similar errand and decided that she may as well use the time to begin breaking in her new “servant”. It only took a moment to retrieve her crossbow from the coach.

She selected a tree and moved a little away from the others. “Raven, come here!” She handed him a woven coil target the size of saucer. “Hang this on that tree, would you?”

Raven frowned at the huge oak just on the edge of their clearing. “All right.”

When he returned she handed him the crossbow. “You once said you wanted to learn how to use these. Now’s a good time to teach you.”

Faint color came into his cheeks as he darted a glance at their escort, who were watching them with idle interest. “I know how to use one,” he informed her a touch scornfully.

Her brow rose at his tone. The boy had better watch it or she’d let him walk to Queenstown. “Show me.” As expected, her frosty stare took some of the starch out of him.

Lips compressed, he fired at the target. And had to jog out to retrieve the red-flagged quarrel. He returned it sheepishly.

Ceylon accepted it and the weapon sent a quarrel into the target’s heart. She raised her brows in cool expectation. “Now will you pay attention?”

Raven scowled and darted a glance toward men. “I can’t let a woman teach me such things.”

That annoyed her. She’d just about had enough of fragile male pride for the morning. “Then don’t tell anyone,” she retorted. “Besides, no one will care as long as you can shoot the eye out of a lizard. Get on with it.” She handed him the bow and gestured for him to walk closer to the target.

“Who taught you to shoot?” Uric handed her a mug of hot soup and sipped his own as they watched Raven run after his quarrel.

She accepted the mug with a nod of thanks and curled her chilly fingers around it, inhaling the savory steam. “My father felt a woman of my size would be hopeless with a heavy sword, so he trained me to use a crossbow and hunt. He didn’t want me to starve if anything ever happened to him.” She was silent a moment. “He knew I would never marry.”

“Why not?”

Ceylon frowned at him from the corner of her eye. “My face, of course.”

“It looks well enough to me.”

“Now. Get your arm up, Raven. Use the sights—don’t just guess at your target.”

Uric fingered his ragged ear. The tip had been sheared off in battle. “I know how you feel. I often think that this is the reason I have such a hard time finding a bride.”

“Don’t be silly, “ she snapped. What a stupid comparison. “Who would notice it?”

His lips turned into a sly smile.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing. But my face was ten times more marked than yours will ever be. They called me--” her mouth snapped shut as she realized what she’d been about to say.

“Dung face?” he asked softly.

She flinched.

“They were fools.” He placed his crooked finger under her chin and gently lifted. “I wouldn’t have let my friends treat a girl so poorly.”

She pulled her face away. “Come, Raven. It’s time to go.”

Ceylon spent the rest of the day playing at travel chess with Raven. The board was specially made with pieces that fit over pegs on the board to prevent jostling. Raven was terrible, but he was learning.

The windows were too fogged up to see out, but occasionally Ceylon rubbed the glass with her fist and peered out at the white world. Mostly there were trees shrouded in ice. Occasionally they passed a snow covered field, but there were far more trees in this stretch of road than anything else. Even the undisturbed snow on the underbrush showed how little this route was used by man.

Then there were the ruts. Ceylon winced as another one jolted her bones. By the time they entered a village of log houses and pulled into the yard of the town’s only inn, Ceylon was more than eager to get out. She looked askance at the faded paint on the wooden sign. “The Quaking Robin?”

A boy of eleven or twelve ran up to them with a slightly older girl at his heals. “Yes, miss! Named for honor of our grandmother. Da says a minute with that old blabbermouth and you’d be quaking like a robin.” He leaned closer confidentially. “Ma’s got her tongue.”

His sister slapped his shoulder, jostling the gap-tooth grin from his face. “Hold yours, John-Wesley! You know better than to bother the guests with stupid chatter.”

Her plain, pimpled face smiled up at Ceylon, an unusual occurrence. She really was a tiny thing. “Welcome, miss! Are you to stay the night? Just tell me how many and I’ll run straight away to prepare the rooms.”

Ceylon glanced at Roland, who had appeared by her side, for direction.

He smiled at her. “Go on inside and warm up. I’ll handle this.”

She nodded and mounted the steps, admiring the spruce burrow logs that held up the porch roof. It was the first time she’d ever seen a log dwelling, much less one of this size. It even had two wings. The window looking in on the common room was glass, but the others were only oiled paper.

Clean wooden planks thumped under their feet as Ceylon and Raven filed in the door, making certain to wipe their feet on the rush mat. That is, Ceylon remembered and made certain to prompt Raven. The orderly atmosphere of the place rather demanded it. In spite of the antlers and hunting trophies hung about the walls, the place held the definite stamp of womanly care. Candles and arrangements of dried flowers graced the mantel and even the tables. Wreaths decorated the walls and bouquets of dried herbs as well as neat rows of braided onions and chilies hung from the rafters. And from the mouthwatering aromas coming from the fireside the innkeeper’s wife certainly knew how to use them.

“This is quite a place,” Ceylon told the stocky woman who was tending the fire. “I’ve never seen houses built of log before.”

“Nor will you.” The homely woman punctuated her comments with significant jabs of her long wooden spoon. “We make real houses here, not those straw and mud things they make over the border.” She plunked the spoon back in the pot and eyed Ceylon with frank curiosity. “And where are you from, miss?”

Ceylon grimaced a bit. “From over the border.”

The lady patted her shoulder. “Well, don’t you fret about it, miss. Kate will feed you right and proper just the same.”

“Er, thank you.” Ceylon allowed herself to be pressed down on a bench as Kate fetched a mug and dipped it into one kettle.

“Spiced cider? I make the best in town. I’ve also bread from the morning’s baking, a kettle full of barley soup, simmered chicken and a lovely roast, nice and juicy.” She winked at Ceylon. “I’ve been expecting your party back this way, though I worried some about the roads.”

In seconds the cider and a mugs soup were set before her and Raven. Without being asked the girl from the inn yard also appeared with a tray holding two golden crusted loaves and a pair of fat pies. She deposited them on the table and then hurried off. Moments later she reappeared with a stack of plates, mugs and cutlery. The mugs she took to the tap and filled to the brim with frothy ale, returning just as Uric and Roland strolled in.

Uric smiled at the proprietress. “Fast service as always, I see, Mistress Kate.”

Roland raised his nose, took a deep breath and sighed with satisfaction. “And tasty cooking, no less.” He winked at Kate. “For a penny I’d run off with you.”

Kate waved her spoon at him. “Now none of that, you rogue. Sit down and eat your supper, and none of your teasing.”

Roland affected a glum air as he took the bench across from Ceylon. “She doesn’t respect me at all, love. What should we do with her?”

Ceylon shook her head at him and raised her mug. “Why ask me? You’re the ‘rogue’ here.”

He gave her a rakish smile. “So nice of you to notice.”

“Pay him no mind,” Uric advised between bites. “He’s just angling for a warm bed so he doesn’t have to share a room with Raven.”

“With Raven?” Ceylon looked between the scowling Raven and annoyed Roland. It didn’t seem like a good arrangement.

Uric grinned over his mug. “There were only two rooms with big beds left and one with bunks. I won the coin toss.”

Roland looked downright mean at that bit of news. To keep the peace, Ceylon offered, “Since they’re bunks, I could give him my room and share the one with--”

“No!” Raven recoiled in horror. “You’re a girl!”

“Out of the question,” Roland announced sternly.

“You’ll stay where you are.” Uric’s stare brooked no refusal.

Ceylon drew back, surprised at their vehemence. “I was only--”

Mistress Kate clucked her tongue as she refilled mugs. “Where were you raised, miss? Surely you know better than that.” When angry color rose in Ceylon’s cheeks, she added more kindly, “Your men are just protecting your reputation, love. Anyone can see it. No need to get nettled.” She sniffed at Uric. “Though if you ask me, my lord, you’ll do better to hire a respectable companion for her if you want to do the job proper. It’s not fitting--”

Ceylon rose, so insulted she nearly choked on it. How dare they assume that they had to watch her at all times lest she straddle the first man she saw! And then to suggest that she needed a full time keeper ... “I do not need a companion! I’m perfectly able to see to my own honor, madam.”

Uric watched her stalk off, completely baffled and a little angry. What did she have to be annoyed about?

Kate clucked her tongue. “That one’s been too long without a guiding hand, I think. Too used to doing what she pleases, and never mind the gossip.” She shook a finger at Uric. “You’ll not let her go on and get herself in trouble, will you? She seems a nice girl, if a bit green.”

“Don’t worry, Mistress Kate. I promised the queen I’d deliver her in good condition. She’s in good hands.” His dark gaze went to the stairwell. And if she doesn’t watch herself these hands may flip her over my knee and deliver the spanking her father never gave her.

* * * *

“Mmm....”

Ceylon’s eyes opened.

“Oh ... yes,” someone moaned in a breathy whisper.

Ceylon’s eyes rolled upward, crossing in the dark as she tried to see the wall behind her without having to disturb her warm covers. The sounds were coming from there.

“Oh, yes! Do it! Just like that.”

Jaw locked, Ceylon tried to bury her head under her pillow, but the sounds just got louder from what she hazily thought was Uric’s room.

The wall began to vibrate as the bedstead on the other side rocked.

That’s it! Ceylon tossed the pillow off and sat bolt upright. What Uric did was his business, but not when it disturbed her sleep.

She pounded on the wall with her fist. “Shut up back there!”

There was a short pause, a giggle, then a man called, “You can join us if you like.” More snickers and a feminine squeal. The pounding began again.

Thoroughly irked, Ceylon tossed off her covers and pulled a robe over her head. She was already wearing socks, but tucked a woolen pair into her pocket, unwilling to wait while she put them on. It didn’t sound like they were going to stop anytime soon, and the noise was only getting worse. Making certain to slam her door on the way out, she trotted down the short hall and negotiated the stairs by the faint glow coming from the common room.

Uric was there, nursing a drink. One blond brow rose when he saw her, and he stood politely. “They started about ten minutes ago,” he said sardonically. “I’m surprised you slept this long. My room’s on the other side of them.”

Ceylon sat down, rolling her eyes as her head sank onto her folded arms. “Blasted inconsiderate of them. Surely the deed can be accomplished with less noise.” She yawned.

Unseen, a dimple popped into Uric’s cheek. He couldn’t resist the chance to tease her. “You wouldn’t know?”

She raised her head and glared at him under her lashes. “You’re as bad as he is, inviting me to join them.”

That remark made him scowl, but only for a moment. “Trust me, Ceylon-sweet, if I invited you to my bed, neither one of us would have energy left for anyone else.” He winked. “It’s probably Roland, seducing a widow so he wouldn’t have to share a room with Raven.” He doubted it, for Roland would never be so rude, but if it put him in the healer’s bad graces for few hours it was well done. “Likely he’s drunk and won’t remember come morning.”

There came a put-upon sigh. She put her head back in her arms.

He let her rest a moment before he said, “Ceylon?”

“Why are you calling me that?”

He ignored her question. “I’m sorry if you were offended earlier. None of us think you have light morals.”

She groaned and propped her head on one hand. “I know. Ignore me. I just get moody now and then.” Her sleepy gaze moved over his face with languid interest. “So were you born beautiful or were you one of those lanky youths with spots on his face and puppy scruff?”

A crack of laughter caught him by surprise. “What?

Eyes half-closed, she stifled a jaw popping yawn. “You heard.”

His snort ruffled the surface of his beer. “You’re something when you’re half-asleep, Ceylon-sweet.”

A soft snore was her only comment.

* * * *

“What?” Roland demanded over breakfast. “You’ve been glaring at me since you came down.”

Uric hid his grin behind his mug as Ceylon, as he thought of her, flicked a bit of lint from her sleeve. She didn’t look the worse the wear for being carried upstairs last night and tucked in bed.

The memory made his smile grow. She’d snuggled down in his arms like a kitten, without waking, and made a soft protest in the back of her throat when he withdrew the warmth of his arms.

It was a wonder he hadn’t joined her. He’d been tempted.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your activities quieter in the future. Some of us might be trying to sleep.” She stabbed a sausage link, held his gaze, and deliberately sliced it.

Roland flinched. “What activities? The only thing I did last night was sleep.”

Unconvinced, she measured the bewilderment in his expression and then considered Uric. Without taking her gaze from him, she asked, “So you weren’t banging the wall with the widow next door?”

Roland choked, and Uric snorted beer out his nose.

“What widow?” Raven demanded as Uric alternated between laughter and coughing. “I wish he had! The man snores like a team of colicky horses.”

That earned him a glare from Roland. “Watch yourself, cub.”

Before Raven could provoke him further, Ceylon demanded, “Then who--” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the couple walking down the stairs. The others turned to see what she was looking at. The entire table froze in disbelief. Could that be the lusty pair?

The wizened, short man with an enormous beak came just to his woman’s gargantuan bosom. He wore farmer brown, and the top of his scalp hadn’t seen hair in a very long time. He leered up at the woman, exposing the gaping holes that once held teeth, and squeezed her bottom.

Madam Twin Peaks squealed and smacked coyly at his hand. Her thin lashes batted as she rolled her substantial shoulder his way, and her smile lifted the large, hairy mole at the corner of her mouth. Her left eye twitched.

Roland drew back as they brushed by on their way to the door.

The fat lady winked at him.

Raven coughed. Uric snorted. Moments latter the entire table had erupted in hearty laughter, all of it directed at Roland.

Even Roland had to grin. “I’ll never be that desperate for a bed.”

It was easy for Ceylon to forget her concerns while laughing with her escort, but once on the road again they came back in force.

“Describe the princesses to me,” she asked Uric when they stopped. “What exactly is wrong with them?”

He ticked the problems off on his gloved fingers. “Too fat. Warted. Spots the size of boils.” He grimaced. “Two of them are as bony as their sister is large. You won’t have an easy time of it.”

There was silence as she pondered his words. “Yet the queen expects her sisters to become beautiful. That’s why she sent for me.”

Uric kicked at the fire. “I doubt she expects anything. They’ve had dozens of ‘experts’ up to the castle, and none of them have helped. It’s probably the princess’ pleading that made her send for you.”

Ceylon’s shoulders slumped. “Yet she sent for me, and I’ve no desire to be lumped in with the rest of the failures. I can cure the skin afflictions, and if the princesses will work with me, I can do something with their bodies, but I can’t make a woman beautiful who isn’t.”

“If you can do all of that, the queen won’t care. She’ll reward you handsomely simply for taking away the warts. She’s very fair,” he encouraged when Ceylon merely scowled. “She knows you made no claims.”

Ceylon climbed into the carriage, sending him a dark look just before he shut the door. “I despise doing things half-way.”

Raven slouched against the cushions, staring at the fogged windows. “I hate riding in this box. A man rides a horse.”

Since there was no reason to point out that neither of them could afford such a thing, Ceylon said lightly, “Perhaps I will buy one with the queen’s reward.”

That lightened the cloud on his face, and he was quiet for some time, likely dreaming of a war-horse.

A patch of skin on her face itched, and Ceylon scratched it, still pondering her problems. The dry air was causing her skin to flake and redden, but a bit of her heavy face cream would soothe it. The only difficulty was that she then had to use powder to keep her skin from shining like a beacon, and it tended to leach all of the color out of her face. Short of applying cosmetics like the ladies of her acquaintance there was no remedy for it, and she had never learned to use them....

She drew in a quick breath. Cosmetics! That was the other half of the formula. True, she’d seen them overdone, but surely there were woman skilled in the subtle use of them. Such a woman could accomplish what she could not, if she could just find her.

Ceylon started searching that very evening, in an unpromising little hamlet called Two Dog town.

It didn’t begin well.

“Would you know if there is a woman here who is skilled in the use of cosmetics?” she asked the scrawny innkeeper.

The man screwed up his dirty face and spit on the sawdust floor. “Only whores use face-paint,” he said, and went about his business, leaving her scowling at his back.

“Why?” Uric wanted to know. “You don’t need any.”

A little embarrassed by his compliment, she glued her eyes on her tankard to avoid looking at him. She shouldn’t have. The thing was filthy. An unidentified crusty food remnant fell off the rim and into the ale when she flicked a nail over it. “No, but the princesses might. Does the queen use cosmetics?”

“All of the woman at court do, but it would take more than face paint to hide bumpy skin.” He lifted his flagon and inspected it critically. “Not that it hasn’t been tried. Innkeeper!” He caught the crabby man by his shirttail and dragged him back when he would have walked by.

Uric’s eyes narrowed. “I paid good coin for this, and expect clean mugs. Have your boy wash them, and don’t try to pawn your watered ale on us again.”

The innkeeper shrank back and gestured for his ragged serving lad to collect the mugs.

Uric signaled Raven with a tilt of his head to follow the boy and supervise.

The innkeeper puffed up, but an ice blue stare from Uric deflated much of his steam. His complaint came out a whine. “I’m not used to serving such fine guests, my lord. That lot don’t care what they get so long as there’s a lot of it.” He nodded to the filthy group of patrons crowded into the rest of the tavern. Sure enough, they were stuffing their faces without sign of complaint.

“They have their standards. I have mine.”

His cold tone sent the innkeeper bowing and backing away. “Yes, my lord.”

Ceylon couldn’t help her shiver of fascination. This was a side of Uric she hadn’t seen. He didn’t even have to raise his voice to make someone quiver. Was a man born with that kind of authority, or was it something one learned?

He noticed her sideways glance. “What?”

“Is that sort of thing handed out with the title or is it something all generals do?”

“I’m not a general.” Amusement and a darker irony lurked in his tone.

“Admiral, then.” She smiled, enjoying her teasing.

“I hate to disappoint you, lass, but I’ve never been to sea.” A smile lurked at in his eyes as he leaned back and accepted a new mug of ale from the innkeeper’s boy. He slipped the lad a coin, which quickly disappeared.

A new expression, sensual and frankly appreciative, came into his eyes as his gaze traveled over her. “Though at the moment I’m wishing I were a pirate.”

Fire lit her insides and flooded her cheeks, and Ceylon blessed the smoky, murky light as she looked away, pretending great interest in the loud laughter at the next table. He’d fooled her with his impersonal gallantry these last days, this queen’s warrior. She should have known better, should have expected something more fiery lurked beneath. Wasn’t he the queen’s champion? Her leashed berserker? Men grew quiet at his name, and woman shivered. He was a legend. Who was she to tease him as if they were equals?

Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to quail before him like a spineless serf.

Since Raven had just returned, she tried to use him to lighten the conversation that was rapidly growing deeper than she could handle. “I’m not worried. The ever gallant Raven will protect me.”

Her comment fell like lead into an invisible pool. Raven’s look told her he didn’t enjoy being put on the spot.

Uric’s said she was a fool is she thought a boy could stop him if chose to have her.

Their food’s arrival saved her. Determined to avoid anymore verbal games, she bent her head and pretended great interest her dark, heavy bread.

The sour rye didn’t hold nearly as much interest for Uric as the woman choking it down. What a funny, arousing combination of daring and maidenly reserve. She’d pricked his annoyance with her nervous reaction to his taking authority over the innkeeper—so like the many maidens he’d brought home—and he’d baited her in retaliation. It had been a delightful surprise when she’d rose to the occasion before bolting down her proverbial hole. With a little training she could be a delightful sparring partner.

Among other things.

“Bread not to your taste?” Roland inquired of Uric in his native language. “Or do you crave something sweeter?”

Uric’s mouth curved wickedly. “Honey,” he murmured in the same lilting tongue.

Roland smiled.

Chapter 3

No one felt like smiling the next day.

Roland turned the air blue with his choice vocabulary.

Although she refrained from using the same language, Ceylon had to agree. She’d been tossed to the floor of the carriage when the axle snapped and was no more eager than anyone else to go back to town and have it fixed. The only good thing about the accident was that it was only three miles back to town.

“It’ll mean another night in that place, won’t it?” she asked Uric as he helped her mount his tall horse.

“Yes, but at least you’ll be warm. I doubt you’d enjoy camping out in this weather.” The saddle creaked as he mounted behind her, molding his strong thighs around her chilly legs. When he took hold of the reins she became intimately aware of the strength in his chest, the breadth of it. Warm clouds of breath brushed past her cheek, mingling with her own on the chill air.

Privately she thought Uric’s body held more than enough heat to keep any woman warm.

For his benefit, she said, “Yes, I’m sure it will be, though ‘the queen’ has probably made the carriage more comfortable than some houses.”

“Um.”

A little frustrated that her dig for information had come up empty--for she more than suspected that the queen had little to do with her present comfort--Ceylon sighed and looked around. For the first time she noticed that Raven wasn’t with them. Only Roland and two of Uric’s twelve man escort had followed them. “Where is Raven?”

Roland looked too innocent. “You’re not likely to need him for this trip. As far as I can tell he serves no useful purpose anyway.”

“Annoying you is a useful purpose, Roland.” Uric grinned.

Ceylon twisted around to look at him. “You might have asked me.”

“Next time.”

She faced forward. “It’s too bad there are no extra horses. I ought to be teaching him to ride, and it would be good for him to get out of the carriage. For that matter it would be nice to ride now and then.” She grimaced. “My backside is growing numb with all this sitting.”

“If you think you’re numb now, try riding a horse for a day. I doubt you’d think it was so wonderful after your bottom became raw and blistered.” There was an unmistakable smile in his voice.

“You’re likely right.” Keen to find another subject other than her backside, which she regretted bringing up, Ceylon said, “So tell me, is your mother really as awful as they say?”

“Worse,” Roland replied immediately.

Uric’s answer was slower in coming, the words carefully weighed. “She is a hard woman to please.”

Guilt pricked her for the subtle tension that stiffened his body. Ceylon hadn’t meant to upset him. Meaning to fix her mistake, she said lightly, “Well, so am I at times.”

Roland snorted. “You? You’re a kitten. If mistress Maude were here she’d show you a thing or two about difficult.” He smirked. “Maude would have you for breakfast.”

Ceylon straightened, her pride goading her. “I’m not a spineless booby, thank you very much. I think I can handle one difficult woman. She can’t possibly be worse than some of the ladies I’ve served.”

“’Thank you very much?’” Roland shook his head in mock sorrow. “Oh, kitten.” The way he said the words made her sound like a hopeless case.

Since she knew so little about Uric’s mother, Ceylon remained silent, though she disliked Roland’s patronizing. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d ever meet her.

They arrived at the village, found someone to work on the axle and returned to the inn. Since she didn’t care to wait in the cold, Ceylon left the men as they cared for their horses and entered the inn alone.

The door had barely creaked shut behind her when a familiar shout made her hair stand on end.

“It’s her!”

She didn’t wait for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Amidst the sound of fast scraping chairs and running boots, she dashed out the door, screaming, “Uric!”

Two steps off the porch a body slammed into her, half-knocking her down. An arm came around her waist, lifting her kicking body off the ground. “Got her!” Boyd shouted.

Frantic to get away, Ceylon twisted and clawed for his eyes. Cursing, he dropped her to the ground, grabbed her by her shirt front and drew back his fist.

It never fell.

A whirring sound was the only warning before a knife buried itself in Boyd’s neck.

Ceylon stifled a scream as Boyd’s eyes rolled up. His body fell heavily on her as she scrambled to get out of the way, pinning her to the frozen mud.

Amherst jerked her to her feet, but had no time to drag her away before a flashing silver star buried itself in his eye. Then Roland grabbed her arm and fought at a run to get them clear of the mob of men suddenly milling in the yard.

“Stay there!” he shouted as he thrust her against the log wall and turned defend them.

Dazed with shock, Ceylon flattened herself against the wall and watched as Uric became the Berserker. Roland was incredibly fierce, but Uric....

Blue eyes cold with unearthly flame, her berserker disemboweled one man and took the leg of another with a quick reverse of his sword. A silent snarl curled his lip as he impaled another and lifted him, tossing his body to the side like so much trash.

Ceylon turned her face to the wall, afraid she would faint when he cleaved a man’s skull completely in two.

Roland raised his blade and something warm and wet splattered her face and hair.

Gorge rose in her throat, but Ceylon swallowed it and stiffened her knees. They had enough problems without adding a fainting woman to the pot.

Uric ripped his sword out of his last opponent’s chest and searched for another foe, his chest heaving. His men stood nearby, panting and bloody but alive. Ceylon was just a small figure sheltered by a log wall and the gore-smeared Roland.

Anger speared him as he saw the cautious townspeople peering out of windows and doors, well away from the fray. Was every man here a coward?

“Roland!” he snapped, the fire battle still sizzling through his veins. His body was beginning to shake with the familiar aftereffects of battle lust. “Take Ceylon inside and get some rum into her. Eville limped off and I need to find him.”

“You.” He pointed one ominous finger at the innkeeper, who was standing by, gaping. “Heat water. Lots of it. I’ll be back.” He didn’t like the glassy look in Ceylon’s eyes, or her choppy breathing, but Roland would have to take care of her. Just now he needed to track a wounded wolf.

“But my lord ... what about the bodies?” the innkeeper stammered.

Uric’s gaze was frigid. “What? You’re unable to take out the trash?” Dividing his men, he sent one after Ceylon and Roland and took the other with him.

An hour later he returned to the inn, frustrated. They’d lost the trail and concern for Ceylon had persuaded him to leave it for now.

He would find Eville later.

The noise level dropped as he entered the inn but at a glance from him the patrons looked away. Conversations resumed at a muted level.

Roland sat by the fire, near the stairs. His back was to the wall, and he rose immediately when Uric came in.

Uric shook his head, answering the unspoken question as he drew off his gloves. “Ceylon?”

“Safe in her room. A good washing and a cup of liquor brought the color back to her face. Last I knew she was trying to rest.”

Relief made his shoulders relax. Uric nodded. “Good.”

It had been terribly hard to keep his mind off Ceylon as he stalked her attacker. Every time he thought about how small and helpless she’d looked he’d become furious. Only the need to get Eville before he attacked again had allowed him to leave. Even if she feared him now, despised him for the blood he’d shed, even if it was in her defense ... He didn’t care. He was used to that reaction from women, and he wanted to make certain she was all right.

It didn’t take long to bathe, and his hair still curled with dampness as he knocked on Ceylon’s door.

“Come in,” her subdued voice called. “Uric!” She sat up as she saw him, curling her legs under her. “Are you all right? I was worried about you.”

Warmth uncurled in his heart at her eager greeting. Another woman might have shrank from him.

But then Ceylon wasn’t another woman.

“I wanted make sure you were well.” He remained in the door, leaving it open for the sake of her reputation.

“Thank you. I am.” She drew her hair away from her face, her eyes on the bed. “I’m just not used to--”

“There’s no reason you would be,” he said quickly, wishing to spare her reliving it. “If I have my way, you’ll never see it again.”

“Thank you for protecting me.”

“My pleasure.” An awkward silence fell. “Can you ride? The axle is finished, and though it will mean a long night’s travel to the next town, I’d rather rejoin my men than spend another night here.”

“Of course. I’ll be fine.” She jumped up and thrust her feet into her boots. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

He picked up her cloak before she could reach for it and placed it on her shoulders, fastening the frogs.

“Uric?” Her eyes were soft as she looked up at him. “I....” Whatever she was going to say was lost with her courage. She dropped her eyes, whispered, “Thank you.”

They rode back in silence and fixed the carriage with all speed. Night was falling, but Uric decided to press on rather than return to the false shelter of the town.

“I can’t believe I missed it!” Raven mourned when he found out what happened. He’d hung on every word the soldier telling the tale had said, and now he continued to lament his bad luck.

Ceylon was nearly ready to boot him from the carriage. Either that or gag him. Eville was still out there, and now that she knew how badly he wanted her, she knew she would see him again. If he’d come this far, he’d go farther. Added to that would be a desire to avenge his dead brothers. Next time Uric might not be there. Next time he might be hurt, and how could she possibly fight off Eville by herself?

And Raven treated the entire frightening episode like some epic adventure.

If he said one more word....

“I’ve got to get my own horse. That way I won’t be left behind the next time you go seeking adventure--”

Ceylon flung open the window and roared, “Uric!”

Torchlight shadowed his features with alarm as he dropped back to see what she needed. “What is it?”

The carriage pulled to a stop and Ceylon opened the door, pointing her finger at it. “OUT! Go! Ride!” She turned desperate eyes to Uric. “If you love me, man, you’ll find a horse for this chatterbox and teach him to ride. I need some peace.”

Uric cocked his head, his eyes reflecting the torchlight. “If I love you?”

Her face heated. “A figure of speech. I beg you, find this boy a pony.”

He bowed slightly, no mean feat on horseback. It was hard to tell in the flickering light, but she thought he smiled. “You’ll never have to beg, mistress Ceylon.”

Ceylon’s heart squeezed painfully at his tone, and she sat back as Raven scooted out of the carriage and slammed the door. Moments later the carriage was moving.

Eyes closed, she sank against the seat and let her breath out in slow hiss. No. She would not develop feelings for him. No doubt every maiden who clapped eyes on him imagined herself in love, but she knew better. Uric would deliver her to the queen and walk away, never looking back.

A wise woman would do the same.

They arrived at River Town after dawn the following morning, having traveled with only brief stops for the horses. Though she’d slept more than the others, Ceylon’s eyes still felt gritty as she opened the window and peered at the early morning light on the snow dusted log buildings. It must not have been fresh snow, though, for smoke marks darkened the white on the rooftops.

As she looked closer, she noticed that some of the buildings were actually stone and wattle, materials more familiar to her. The horse’s hooves clattered on stone pavement as the coach rocked to a stop before a two story inn, signaling that the main road, at least, was paved.

Ceylon sighed in relief as the coachman helped her down from the carriage, pleased to be out of the rig. The owner of the inn—a short fellow with a handlebar mustache-- hurried to open the wide oak door for her. “Good morning, my lady! Watch your step, the stone is often slippery. My wife is in the kitchen right now, fixing a lively breakfast to take away the chill.”

“Thank you.” Ceylon smiled at him, heartened by his greeting. She definitely liked this inn better than the last.

Uric and Roland joined her in the private parlor not long after, trailed by Raven. He sat with a grimace.

“What’s the matter?” She sat down her teacup, concerned. “You’re limping.”

Roland grinned as he poured himself some mulled wine. “Too many hours in the saddle, no doubt.”

“I’m fine.” Raven shifted and helped himself to some wine, doing his best to look dignified.

Certain his bottom felt like raw meat, and equally sure he’d rather not discuss it, Ceylon resolved to hand him some salve in private and say no more about it.

Over a breakfast of salted fish, cheesy onion bread and wine sauced vegetables over poached eggs, Uric discussed his further travel plans.

“It will be faster to leave the carriage behind here and take a barge down river. It will mean riding a horse for you,” he said to Ceylon, “but we need to get to the pass before winter sinks her teeth in. Once through it you’ll be able to travel more comfortably.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve ridden before.” She had, but not much. No doubt she’d make a fool of herself and fall out of the saddle, but some things couldn’t be helped.

Besides, if they made the pass before Eville and it snowed in behind him, so much the better.

It was thoughts of Eville that drove her out of her room later, while Uric and Roland slept. She had some errands to run and didn’t wish to disturb them. Very quietly she opened her door ... and stumbled over Raven, who slept in front of it.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, scrambling to her feet.

He blinked in annoyance. “Guarding you, of course. It’s my job.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He was right, though she would prefer he slept somewhere else while he did it. No matter. It was probably a good idea to take him along anyway. “All right, but be quiet about it. The men need their rest.”

A huge yawn nearly cracked his head open as he nodded and pulled on his boots. “Where are we going?”

“Out. I need some things, and I’d like to stretch my legs.”

The town was well awake as they stepped into the street, and Ceylon suffered a pang of nostalgia for her own home as she walked by the baker’s and chandler’s. Still, the morning was brisk and she was grateful to find a display of the very thing she needed just a few buildings down.

“Wait here,” she told Raven, who didn’t seem inclined to enter the milliner’s shop anyway. Once inside the tiny store that adjoined the dressmaker’s, she immediately went to the front window and took the silver hair sticks there. She handed the long, crystal topped sticks to the shop girl. “I’ll take these, please.”

The girl smiled. “Madam is decisive. Is there anything else you would like today?”

“A locket. Something inexpensive, if you have it.”

“Like this?” The girl opened an unseen drawer and removed a simple silver locket on pretty ribbon.

“Just like that.” Ceylon smiled and handed her the money.

She opened the door and stepped outside just in time to hear, “Who let the dogs out?” Instantly she was transported back to her childhood.

“Who let the dogs out?” Eville called as she walked by. The other boys snickered.

Ceylon quickened her step and pretended she hadn’t heard as they followed her.

“Hey, dung face! I’m talking to you!”

“Woof, woof!”

The sound of boyish laughter, different but no less cruel, returned her to the present. She saw a girl, her head down and steps quick, scurry past. Worse, she realized that Raven was laughing with the others.

“Raven!” she snapped.

He whipped around, surprised to see her. “Mistress Ceylon! I--”

Her cold words were for him, but she directed her gaze to the overgrown bully boys haunting the saddle maker’s next door. “Only a child with a small heart mocks those weaker than himself.”

The laughter stopped as the boys directed uncertain looks at their leader, a large youth with an evil pinch between his eyes.

“Who are you, his mother?” The youth spat on the ground. His followers nudged each other as they followed the exchange.

Her carriage at its most regal, for she refused to cowed by this insolent boy, she told him with chill calm, “He doesn’t need one, for he’ll grow to be more of a man than you will ever be.”

The lad stood rooted to the ground, an incredulous expression on his face as she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Mistress--” Raven began as he hurried after her.

She didn’t want to hear it, was far too upset to listen to his excuses. Without looking at him, she said, “Her face will clear, she’ll learn to tame that hair and curves will replace her lack. She’ll grow up to be a beauty, and all she’ll remember of you is a rude lad who hurt her feelings.”

Raven seemed to be struggling for words, but he didn’t think of what to say before they’d entered the inn and reached her room. No longer caring how much noise she made, Ceylon slammed her door and tossed her purchases on the bed. The pulse in her temples throbbing, she retrieved her herb kit and unrolled it while the fury in her mind kept her too animated to think.

Once it was open, she selected a very special vial and carefully uncapped it, mixing it with a little liquid from another vial, just enough to make a dough. This she quickly rolled into a ball, pinching it to flatten it. When it was done she placed it in the locket and quickly washed her hands, tossing the water out the window. With hands that hardly trembled, she lifted the locket and fastened the ribbon around her neck. The metal nestled chill between her breasts.

No matter what happened, she would never suffer another thing at Eville’s hands.

“What is this?” Uric held up a tiny blue vial to the light. Ceylon had given one to each of them.

Ceylon pushed her dinner plate away and took a large swallow of wine. She had her hair up tonight, and her crystal tipped hair sticks winked at him. There was nothing flirtatious in her manner, however, as she told him, “I have a substance, that when swallowed, will make a body seem as if it is dead. If the antidote is not given in time, the subject will, in fact, die. That is the antidote.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why would you give this to us?”

She exhaled heavily. “Accidents happen. In the remote chance that I should be captured by Eville, I would rather he thought I was dead and leave my body by the road than ... the alternative.”

His jaw locked. “You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

“If that were true I wouldn’t have given you the antidote.” She held his gaze. “Women are wary creatures, my lord. We like to make ourselves as safe as humanly possible, so we surround ourselves with people we trust and take precautions. It is no more than that, and it ... eases my mind.”

My lord, was it? Apparently she was trying make herself safe from more than Eville. He slipped the vial in his pocket and flicked a glance at Roland.

Roland stood and stretched. “Come, Crow. I’ve a mind to practice swordplay tonight and you strike me as an excellent target.”

Raven gave him a suspicious look, but rose just the same. “I’m not that easy a mark.”

Roland snorted. “We’ll see.”

Raven hesitated before leaving. “I found these. Thought you could use them.” He dug something out of his pocket, placed it on the table before Ceylon could say anything and then vanished.

Ceylon picked up one of the carved disks rocking on the table. “Buttons. He carved me buttons.”

Uric studied the intricate carvings. “I’d noticed he seemed to be out of favor tonight. So did Roland. I suspect the boy will be sore tonight. Roland likes you.”

She looked stricken.

He chuckled. “Perhaps I should have said ‘respects’? Although I have to wonder why the idea alarms you. Most woman would be flattered to receive the attention of a warrior like Roland.”

She toyed with the buttons. “He is sweet--”

“Sweet!”

A feminine glare speared him. “But he’d have no real interest in me.” The words ‘a woman like me’ remained unsaid.

He heard them just the same, and understood what blocked his own way. “Why? Do you have a lover we don’t know about?”

“No!”

“Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “You’re secretly pledged to a nunnery?”

She folded her arms.

Enjoying himself, he said softly, “You’ve tasted the pleasures of lovemaking and found them not to your taste?”

Hot embarrassment painted her cheeks. “You know I ... I d-don’t....”

He winked. “Sorry. An unfair tease. Still, you haven’t answered me.” Careful not to threaten her, he took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips, giving her the lightest of butterfly kisses. “Don’t you want to experience the joys of marriage? Of children?” he murmured.

Transfixed by his gaze, she stammered, “I ... it’s impossible.” She blinked as if fighting against a spell. “I would have to be in love. To trust him. And how can I? All men leave in the end.”

A slight frown puckered his brow, as he tilted his head. “Who left?”

“My father. Her lovers....” She shook her head as if coming out of a trance and pulled away. “It doesn’t matter. Who would want me?”

Uric had never liked games, and he sensed that toying with Ceylon would get him no where. Hands folded in a businesslike manner on the table, he leaned forward. “I’ve seen many beautiful woman, Ceylon. I know you’ve heard of my past, of the women I’ve brought home as potential brides. The ones that ran. What you might not know is that none of them were beautiful. Not even remotely.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I chose them for their sweet tempers, thinking to counteract my mother’s poison. It didn’t work.”

She didn’t say a word.

“My point,” he continued doggedly, “Is that looks don’t sway me. I had my choice of pretty brides and didn’t take them, because when I looked inside I saw nothing of value.” He paused to underscore his words. “That’s not what I see when I look inside you.”

She looked at her hands, still resting on the table.

He covered her hand with his. “You’re a beautiful woman, Ceylon. You could make a wonderful bride.”

“You hardly know me.” Her voice sounded strained.

“I know you as well as I knew the others, and I like far better what I see.”

Yes, but a man who had already offered for five women ... how fickle was that? She pulled back, took a deep breath. “Perhaps I’m not convinced of your sincerity.”

“You want to be convinced? Find me a priest right now.” He’d had enough of testing women against his mother. Far better to lock them into wedlock first.

Tension built in Ceylon’s features. “So you can swear your undying love?”

That made him blink. Had he promised love?

“I didn’t think so,” she said heavily. She stood. “Good night, my lord.”

“Ceylon--”

“Good night.”

* * * *

“What did you do to make her mad?”

Uric took his eyes from the black river. The chunks of ice were small yet, but soon it would freeze, making travel this way impossible. Cold steam rose from the waters, fogging the gray winter’s light.

School was in session in the middle of the boat, for Ceylon had set out writing materials on a crate and was seated on a smaller one, teaching Raven to write.

She never glanced Uric’s way.

Feigning indifference, Uric ignored her in kind and said in the same discreet tone, “Why?”

Arms crossed, Roland stared him down with his one good eye, his hair stirred by the wind of their passage. “Give.”

There was no point ignoring him. Without visible distress, Uric said simply, “I asked her to be my bride. She refused.”

Roland’s eye widened. “She refused? But why?”

Annoyed all over again, Uric scanned the opposite bank, seeking distraction. “She claimed some need of love.”

“And you told her you didn’t have any?” Roland demanded incredulously and bopped him on the head like an erring boy.

Uric’s hand automatically gripped his sword hilt, a reflexive move, for he didn’t draw it. It was the first time since his youth that anyone had dared to make so light with him.

But Roland hadn’t finished. “Are you daft man? That title gone to your head? You don’t propose marriage and then tell the woman you have no feelings for her! How did you ever find a bride before this?”

Uric’s shoulders hunched. “The subject never came up.” Even he could hear the petulance in his voice.

Eye rolling, Roland shook his head. “I’ll be traveling on this bride quest with you until I’m an old man, won’t I?” Before Uric could say a word, Roland gripped his shoulder and turned him to look at Ceylon. “That’s as fine a woman as you’ll ever find and you know it. Saints know we’ve traveled the land and seen plenty of the wrong kind of woman. Swallow your pride and make her yours, man. Whatever you have to do will be small price to pay.” He squeezed Uric’s shoulder for emphasis and then left him alone to think.

Whether he liked to admit it or not, Uric knew his friend was right. Maybe the title had gone to his head, for he knew he’d botched it with Ceylon. Still, who knew she’d react so strongly? None of his other brides had ever had the least consideration for his feelings for them. They’d wanted his title. It was a small shock to discover that it meant nothing to Ceylon.

Which only proved that she was the right one for him. But how to win her? Judging by her chilly behavior, regaining her favor would be no easy thing. What did women want when they were in a snit?

Raven’s buttons came to mind, and he smiled. Of course! Gifts. If she felt so strongly about wooden buttons, how much more would she like the courting gifts he’d brought for the lady Anne?

Winning her favor would be a snap.

* * * *

“A fan?” Ceylon stared at him as if he were slightly mad. “It’s freezing out here, Ur—my lord.”

He frowned. All right, so a fan hadn’t been the greatest choice, but he’d had surprisingly little to work with. A man simply didn’t hand a woman jewels, and the ivory fan had been his best bet.

At least she’d almost forgotten to call him ‘my lord’.

“It’s Uric,” he persisted, and patiently held out the fan. “And you never know when we’ll have a sudden warm spell.” It sounded crazy, but it accomplished his objective. She took the fan.

Though she held it as if wondering how soon she could give it back.

Encouraged by his small success, Uric sat on a crate near her and cast around for something to talk about. “Have you ever been on a boat?”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

For the first time he noticed how intently she watched Raven with his chalk and slate. “Are you afraid of the water?”

“The cold.” She shivered.

This wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned the cold. “Have you been hurt by it before?”

She shook her head and turned slightly, shutting him out. “It’s not the cold outside I fear.”

And how was he to interpret that cryptic remark? Later. For now she was turning away from him, and the best defense he had against that was gallantry.

“Here.” He scooted closer and wrapped his cloak around her.

She stiffened and shot him a wide-eyed look.

He smiled softly. “This cold I can take care of.” He could feel her quickened breaths, and by the way she looked around at the mildly interested men on the barge he knew she was embarrassed but too unsure of herself to strenuously object.

After all, he thought smugly, he was being gallant.

When no one raised a fuss she settled down a bit, though she refused to relax into his embrace.

That would come with time, he assured himself.

* * * *

Ceylon wasn’t sure about anything. Not his strange behavior this morning or why she allowed him to embrace her. Sure, he was warm, and it was sweet of him to....

Her eyes narrowed. Yes, he was being sweet, wasn’t he? Too sweet.

Which meant he was angling for forgiveness or that he’d given up on making her his bride and was trying simple seduction. Neither goal endeared him to her.

It still stung. At least the men in the village had wanted her for her face. As far as she could tell Uric was simply tired of searching for a wife and thought she’d do as well as anyone. Had her friend Callion or the village idiot come along he’d likely have done the same thing.

The icy river breeze caressed her face, its touch as impersonal as Uric’s offer. She wasn’t special. He didn’t care for her.

He didn’t love her.

She left the fan on the crate when they disembarked.

The instant Uric saw it hurt lashed his heart. Fierce, slashing pain. And memory.

“You’ll never be good enough!”

His cheek still stung where she’d smacked him, throwing him to the wall, but that wasn’t good enough for his mother.

She kicked him. “Worthless, just like your father. I could have married a rich man! I could have had a son who’d amount to something; who could take care of me. Instead I had you!” She threw a chair at him and stomped away.

The remains of the flowers her small boy had brought her lay crushed under her feet.

Roland took one look at Uric’s face and retrieved the fan. He stopped Ceylon before she descended the gangway. “You don’t want to lose this, mistress. Take better care.” His expression was both a warning and a message.

Very slowly, her gaze locked on Roland’s, she took the fan.

It was only as the pressure in his chest relaxed that Uric realized he’d been holding his breath.

* * * *

Ceylon lay in her room, a tiny loft curtained off by drying laundry. The moisture made the room cool and damp, and she remained fully dressed under the covers.

She kept replaying Roland’s expression in her mind. He’d been so stern and disapproving, as if she’d done something inexcusable. She felt angry and chastised at the same time. So now she wasn’t allowed to refuse Uric’s suit? Worse, she felt guilty beyond measure. It had seemed a subtle enough refusal of Uric’s attentions by leaving the fan behind, but Roland had treated it like a much greater crime. Maybe it was where they came from.

A groan rose from her chest, and she rolled over. What did she know about men, especially men like these? The more she learned, the less it seemed she knew. In any realm but romance she did just fine, but in this situation she was in way over her head.

Why couldn’t people just be like sheep, she thought, only half serious. Come together once a year, do their business and then live peacefully side-by-side for the rest of the time? Sure, they weren’t the brightest animals, but as far as she could see, her intelligence wasn’t doing much for her.

“It’s all so difficult,” she muttered to the ceiling. “Why can’t you take it out of my hands? Men are confusing. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ll gladly let you drive this cart if you’ll do it.” She laughed at her own foolishness. Surely God had better things to do than arrange her love life. Still.... “Consider it an invitation, if you’re interested. Amen.”

* * * *

A cloaked figure stared at the log home where Ceylon slept, then turned to study the noisy tavern. Shadows flickered against the oiled paper windows, and the shadow smiled. Throwing back its shoulders, the tall youth turned to the tavern with a confident stride, seeking a means to an end.

* * * *

A breath of fresh cool air stirred the atmospheric pool of human sweat and spilled beer. Uric looked up, startled out of his conversation with a local guide. A lanky young man with queued dark hair and rather fine clothes tossed back his cloak. His gaze locked unerringly on Uric, he presented a dazzling smile.

“My lord Baron,” he swept a dramatic bow, sweeping off his hat. The long feather dragged on the floor.

“Word of your heroic presence has traveled around this poor shire, drawing my humble self hither. Have you a moment, my lord, to hear a poor traveler’s tale of woe?”

The lad’s face was so expectant, and the night so dull, that Uric couldn’t help a reluctant grin. “Why not?”

“So you good of you, my lord!” The beardless youth grinned and leapt atop a table, drawing gasps and a chuckle or two. Men hurriedly cleared their tankards out of harm’s way.

“It was a dark and moonless night.” He paused to make certain he had everyone’s attention. Someone passed wind, but other than that all was quiet.

“I had just finished performing at a wedding and was heading home. It was late, true, but that place was known as a peaceful shire.” He swept his arm in a slow arc, the picture of relaxation, while excitement hummed in his voice.

“When all of a sudden, there arose this awful sound....” His volume dropped to a near whisper and built to a crescendo, ending in a blood-curdling cry.

“Oh!” a woman squealed, startled.

His voice grew staccato and fast. “My horse panicked. I fought to hold on, but alas, to no avail. My steed ran, and I haven’t seen him since.” He paused until someone called, “What happened?”

“Ah, well.” The youth’s voice returned to normal as he gracefully waved his hand and sat down on the tabletop. “I fell on me bum and limped the rest of the way here.”

The crowd laughed. Someone handed him a pint.

Uric and Roland exchanged glances. The bard was good. “Bring the boy a dinner,” Uric called to the tavern master. “He’s earned it.” He studied the green-eyed boy with interest. Dressed the way he was, he looked more like a lord’s son than a bard. “What’s your name, boy, and where are you from?”

“Odell the Silver, named for my tongue,” he said with another small bow. “Of late I’ve come from everywhere, but once hailed from a cabin in the woods like many of these folk.”

“You dress awfully well for a peasant,” Roland observed with suspicion.

“My patrons are most kind. In fact I was on my way to visit a lady I’d hoped to entertain, a woman said to be most kind and beautiful; the lady Allyson of River Dell. Would you be going that way, my lords?”

Roland grunted. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Ah.” For a second the Odell’s face flashed brittle, but a blink dismissed the fleeting shadow. “No matter, for half way there I changed my mind. There is this small matter I must attend to in Queenstown, and I’ve put it off for much too long. My mother resides there,” he explained as if anyone had asked, “and it’s been many months since last I looked upon her smiling face.” His expression grew wistful and slightly distant. “A man should not neglect his mother.”

Uric eyed the pretty lad skeptically. On his own, the boy would likely be robbed, or worse. The odds were high he’d never see Queenstown or his mother on his by himself. No doubt, it was the reason he’d sought them out to begin with.

A glance told him that Roland had reached the same conclusion. “Then travel with us, Odell the Silver.” Uric smiled crookedly. “If nothing else you’ll provide entertainment for our lady.”

“It would be an honor, my lord.”

Chapter 4

Odell and Raven mixed like a bottle of rum and a lighted match. Their very nature guaranteed some explosions.

“Fairest damsel,” Odell said as they were introduced. He bowed over her hand. “I am honored to travel with such a vision of loveliness. Truly you shame the dawn.”

Part of Ceylon’s smile was for Raven, who rolled his eyes in disgust. Odell was a little overdone, but she was willing to enjoy his poetry.

She curtsied. “How kind you are, sir.”

“How very much time he wastes,” Raven muttered as he steadied her stirrup. “If you’re ready, mistress?”

Ceylon mounted the sturdy speckled gray, relieved to find he only stirred a little as she mounted. The last thing she’d needed was a spirited mount, and she’d been worried about what Uric could find on such short notice.

Apparently he was resourceful.

Uric finished his conversation with his men and walked toward her. He smiled up at her and gently grasped her booted ankle. “Let me know if you get too cold or need to stop. The road will gradually get rougher as we climb toward the pass. We need to make good time, but not at your expense, understood?”

The warmth of his hand was hard to ignore, but Ceylon gave it her best effort. If only his concern were so easy to forget.

She nodded. “I won’t slow you down.”

Everyone knew the hazards of the sudden storms that swept the bare mountains. Snow could fall so fast and so thick that a man could be blinded and snowed over. But she trusted Uric. He’d been on top of things every step of the way, and he’d never take this risk if he didn’t.

“And you’ll tell me if you’re chilled?”

“Of course.”

Uric eyed her and vowed to check her hands and feet himself. Even as he mounted Behemoth and moved the party out, his thoughts remained on her. It was well known that a woman chilled easier than a man, and she seemed to be more fragile in that way than most. The way she was bundled today, and her habit of nearly hugging the fire when she came in from the cold was enough to worry him.

This trip wouldn’t be easy for her.

She’d bluffed about her skill with a horse, as well. By the stiff way she sat in the saddle she had little more experience than Raven, who at least had youthful exuberance on his side. Ceylon’s grim expression and the way she gripped the saddle horn told him that she was more concerned with falling off than impressing him with her feats of horsemanship.

“Ease back in the saddle, mistress,” he told her gently. “You’ll find your balance quicker that way.”

“I feel like I’m falling off,” she muttered, but leaned back a little.

“Don’t worry, Ceylon,” the bare-headed Raven advised her cheerfully as he bumped along on his own buckskin nag. “You’re wearing so many clothes that it won’t hurt if you do.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“’Tis a shame, milady,” Odell commiserated with her. “Such a delicate flower should rest on velvet pillows, sheltered within a carriage and warmed by quilted blankets.” He seemed to have no trouble with his own well-bred gelding. The black beast’s white fore stocking and dazzling socks made a high contrast against its gleaming chocolate coat and fine-boned head. He was very fortunate to have tracked down the beast after it ran off. Most men who might have found it would not be eager to let go of such a prize.

Its tack looked suspiciously nice for a wandering bard.

“Been there,” Ceylon sighed. “It has its own hazards.”

Ah, but it had been warm.

At first Ceylon barely noticed the cold. She was dressed warmly and mounted on a horse that generated great heat. Besides, the snowy forest track was beautiful in the gray light. Now and then their horses would startle a fat snowbird, which Uric or Roland brought down with a flashing blade.

“You never miss,” Ceylon said wonderingly as a man ran to collect the birds for dinner and to return the knives.

Uric shrugged. “It’s good practice.” He didn’t say against what. She knew.

Once they surprised a fox. Ceylon smiled as it ran off into the woods. “You didn’t kill it.”

“There was no need. You wouldn’t like fox.”

She blinked. “You’ve eaten it?”

Uric gave her lop-sided smile. “You’ll eat a lot of things when you’re hungry. On campaign is not the place to be picky.”

“They say your conquests are many, my lord,” Odell said. “Lands, castles, women....”

“Lands and castles, yes,” Uric agreed, with a glance at Ceylon. “But woman are much harder to conquer.”

“For you.” Roland smirked.

Odell turned his attention to him. “Ah. So you are the lord of the ladies. Are your conquests many, my lord?”

“You couldn’t count them,” Uric answered on his behalf. He smiled mischievously. “Not picky, either. Just before you met up with us Roland seduced the ugliest wench you ever laid eyes on.”

“Yeah,” Raven jumped in. “She had breasts like a ship’s figurehead and a face like the tree it was carved from.”

“Raven!” Uric said sternly. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady.”

Instantly, the boy sobered. “I’m sorry, Ceylon. I got carried away.”

Ceylon rolled her eyes and looked away.

Just in time to see Odell’s eyes darken.

* * * *

“They were joking, you know.”

Odell raised his brows politely. “Beg pardon?”

Ceylon didn’t know why she felt the need to explain, but something in Odell’s manner compelled her to. She’d waited until they’d stopped for lunch and had moved away from the others.

“I heard noises coming from what I thought was Roland’s room one night. It was very loud, and I left my room. Uric had also been disturbed, and we talked about how annoyed we were. The next day I had words with Roland.” She grinned. “Turns out it wasn’t him at all, but a very large woman and her gnome of a lover.”

Odell smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that knightly purity still reigns, or seems to.” He slanted a glance at Roland, who was occupied with his horse. “Or does it?”

The boy seemed to be an old fashioned romantic, worshipping the knightly code. It made sense, given his penchant for gallantry, and Ceylon didn’t want to burst his bubble. “If it eases your mind, I haven’t seen him seducing any ladies.”

“Perhaps he is discreet.”

Ceylon held her hands palm up. “Even if he is, it’s not as if he’s married.”

Odell nodded sagely. “Of course.” He shifted a bit under her considering stare. “My sister was seduced by shiftless knave once. He left her with child and a broken heart. She is happily married now, but I worry about you, my lady,” he said earnestly. “It is the damsels most in need of love that the predators choose to chase.”

It was a moment before Ceylon could speak with the emotion squeezing her throat. The boy spoke the truth. “You are very sweet, but let me put your mind at ease. Roland shows no interest in me.”

“And what of the Baron?” Odell nodded toward the man who approached, careful to keep his tone low.

There was no reason to answer him. Uric’s possessiveness told the tale well enough.

“Stand by the fire, mistress. You must be cold.” Before she could answer, he pulled her gloves off and felt her chilly fingers. “They’re like ice,” he said accusingly. “Can you even feel them?”

The next thing she knew he’d unbuttoned his coat and placed her hands under his tunic.

Fire leapt and roared in her belly at the feel of rock hard muscle dusted with curling hair around the navel. Oh, she could feel all right, though at the moment she was distinctly weak in the knees.

“I....” She swallowed hard. “You don’t need to do this.”

“You need to warm.” He backed toward the fire, pulling her with him. The moment he reached it he turned her hands over, warming the icy backs.

“That’s got to feel awful,” she protested weakly. If someone had put their icy hands on her, she would have jumped out of her skin.

He flashed her a smile. “I like it. I’m often overheated, and your touch feels good.”

Ceylon looked at the fire, the snow ... anything but at his face. Her cheeks stung with the blood warming their chilly surface.

“Hm. Looks like color has returned to your face.” Uric’s voice held definite amusement. “Have a seat on this pack and I’ll see to your feet.”

The feet were even worse. No one had ever touched Ceylon’s bare ankles before. The sensation shot jolts of awareness straight to her heart. Places that had never felt the heat of desire roared to life, leaving her with quickened breath and shaky hands. “I think I’m ... quite warm now,” she gasped.

“I haven’t warmed your other foot yet. Be patient.” A roughish gleam entered his eyes. “Rush a warming, ruin a warming. I want you toasty before we leave here.”

She gulped. It seemed Uric was done being subtle.

God help her.

After lunch the trail took a determined slope upward. Ceylon thought it was difficult to cling to the saddle as her horse plodded up. She changed her mind when they got above the tree line and they were forced to dismount and lead their beasts upward. By the time they reached the pass she ached in every muscle. Her clothes were wet with melting snow and she trembled with fatigue. Never mind the view. It was all she could do to lift her head when Uric called her name.

He swore when he saw her face. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to stop?” He swung her up in his arms, set her on Behemoth, and mounted behind.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as they entered the tall pass and the cool air closed around them. It was nearly dusk and the long shadows made it even darker. Several torches sprang up.

“A storm is coming up,” Roland reported as he rode toward them. He’d scouted the route in advance. “We were wise to push ahead, it looks like a bad one.” His gaze fell on Ceylon. “How is she?”

“Exhausted. That’s the last time I judge her strength by my own. I was just beginning to tire, but she--”

“I’m fine,” Ceylon slurred, but no one listened to her.

“They’ll have shelters and fires at the end of the pass by the time we get through. I left the boys there to help under the eye of a soldier. We’ll have her dry and warmed up in no time.”

But Ceylon was warm. Pleasantly so. And so very sleepy ...

Uric shook her when they reached the camp. “Wake up, Ceylon! This is no time to sleep.” He was furious with himself for not guessing her condition earlier, but every time he’d asked she’d insisted that the walking was keeping her warm.

This was the last time he’d trust her smiling assurances.

She barely moved as he dismounted. “Mm?”

Fear snaked a cold arm around his heart, making his voice gruff. She didn’t look so good. “How are you doing?”

“F-fine.” She hadn’t spoken in some time, and the stutter in her words alarmed him. “J-just keep walking. We’ll n-never get there if we stop now. B-besides,” she looked around at the tent shelters, her eyes glazed. “There’s no place.”

Jaw locked, Uric scooped her up and entered the largest tent. A soldier held the flap open for him, letting it fall after he’d passed.

“Out,” Uric ordered Raven and Odell, who were arguing about the best way to arrange the bedding. They took one look at his face and obeyed.

Dull and sleepy from chill, Ceylon squinted at him as he set her on her feet, next to his bedroll. “What are you doing?”

He took off his coat, spread it on the blankets, and reached for the fasteners on her coat. “Getting you warm.” Despite her protests, he had her stripped to her undergarments and under the blankets in moments. It didn’t take much longer to shed his own clothes and join her.

“It’s freezing in here!”

“It will warm quickly,” he assured her, pulling her close. By now it was pitch black.

“You’re naked!”

In spite of everything, he grinned. “Hardly.” He placed her chill hand on his flannel long-drawers. “See?”

She snatched it back, so he settled for enfolding her in his arms, easing his thigh over hers for good measure. Her back settled nicely against his stomach.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“It’s good to hear you becoming more animated, Ceylon-sweet. I was worried about you.”

“I was just tired.” She tried to squirm away. “There’s no need to--”

His arm locked around her like a steel band. “Stay. You will be fine when I say you are fine. Do you understand?”

She remained stubbornly quiet.

“Ceylon?” His tone held stern warning.

A little of her stiffness eased as she gave in. “I hear you.”

“Good.” He stroked her hair away from her face and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Now that I know you’re not about to die of cold sickness, why don’t you get some sleep? You had me very worried.”

A little sigh indicated that she was all ready drifting down. “You’re a very bossy man.”

“Comes of being an admiral,” he whispered, teasing her with her own words. He kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, sweet Ceylon.”

Her even breathing told him she was already asleep.

* * * *

Deep in the night, a restless heat woke her. Eyes open on the darkness, Ceylon shivered, and not with cold. Low on her belly, masculine fingers were tracing tiny, lazy circles. For a moment she stiffened, but when they moved neither higher nor lower, she squirmed in protest. Against what, she wasn’t certain.

He said nothing. Just continued to slowly drive her mad.

“Uric,” she whispered urgently, and covered his hand with her own. It didn’t stop him.

Conscious of the snoring bodies nearby, she tried to keep her voice low and firm. It didn’t quite work, and she despised her breathy, wavering, “Uric....”

His fingers slipped under the band of her long drawers, tangling in the very fringe of her woman’s down.

Petrified, she clasped his hand tighter, but as the moments slipped by, she couldn’t sustain her frantic grip. Soon her hand was tentatively cupping his, fearful, yet wondering what more there was to feel.

For she was in heat. The slow movements--too close for propriety and far too distant for satisfaction--had her breathing like a runner. Her body shook, her skin shivered, and soon her hips were moving against him, wordlessly urging that taunting hand to do something productive.

Instead, he settled her lap firmly within his, hard against something she instinctively feared and desired, and wrapped his arm around her ribs, under her shirt. Slowly his thumb began to play the same game with the underside of her breast that went on below.

Ceylon twisted, fought to get more of what he doled out so sparingly, but he held her too tight. She couldn’t break free, couldn’t persuade him to do more. In agony, fighting not to shout her frustration to the world, she hissed, “Are you going to do something or torture me all night?”

He smiled against her hair. “Do you want me to ‘do something’?”

If his hands hadn’t started a fire, his smoky tones would have sparked it. Still, she could hardly invite him to--her helpless moan cut that line of reasoning short. Unconscious of anything but the need to feel his hand against the slick heat dampening her thighs, she arched, attempting to trick him into satisfying her.

He chuckled and moved his hand out of the way.

“Uric!” Blast the man!

Without warning, he flipped her onto her back and pressed his hard length against her. “Say you’ll marry me and I’ll give this to you every night.”

Before she could do more than stiffen, he wedged his knee between her thighs, high against that which ached for him, and kissed her deep and hard.

Ceylon shattered against his mouth. Only his full weight and the muffling of his lips on hers kept her from waking the entire camp with her scream.

It was a long time before she came down. He held her all the while.

When she was conscious enough to move, she licked her lips. She tasted blood, but the absence of pain told her it wasn’t hers.

Eyes wide, she felt for his lips, so close above hers. “I’ve hurt you.”

He kissed her fingers. “A happy memento. Believe me, I’m not complaining.” He rolled to the side and pulled her close against his hard body.

Lulled by the feel of his warm, hard body and sated by her first climax, Ceylon drifted off to sleep.

It was morning before the full realization of what they’d done sunk in. When it did Ceylon wanted to hide under the covers and die.

He’d touched her. She’d let him. That was bad enough. But he’d proposed marriage again, and without one word of love spilling from his stubborn lips.

Uric still wanted a business deal. Disgust curled her lip as she stared at the gloomy tent ceiling. He wasn’t going to get it.

* * * *

“She looks sore today.” Roland nodded behind them and took another bite of roast hare. Since Ceylon wasn’t heading their way he made no move to rise from his squatting position beside the fire.

Uric grinned in sympathy as he followed Roland’s gaze and winced as his lip pulled against the scab. His little healer walked with a very stiff gait, her mouth set in a flat line. Warmer feelings softened the smile. How he wished he had the leisure--and the privacy--to continue where they’d left off last night.

By the speculative gazes of Roland and his men and the way they noted his pleasant mood, Uric knew his efforts to preserve Ceylon’s reputation had been hopelessly shot down. It was regrettable, but all Ceylon had to do to maintain their respect was agree to marry him. Hardly a hardship. Besides, if he’d had any qualms about forcing her hand that way, her little passion gift reminded him that she’d definitely enjoy the benefits of more than his name and money.

Hm, she is a beauty, he thought as his eyes wandered over her. The fur jacket covered her from neck to ankles, but his hands remembered the shape of her. He hadn’t known a woman could be so responsive. The way she’d clung to him, as if to prevent his escape, and the sweet moans she could barely contain ... It had done more than arouse him. Now he wanted her with a hunger that went far beyond desire, because he knew, felt to his marrow that she wasn’t the kind of woman who could give her body without her heart. The need to possess her, all of her, spurred him on as he followed her to—He frowned. What was this? Why was she going to the other campfire?

“Ceylon?”

Eyes on the fire, she answered him, “I prefer to be addressed as Mistress Ceylon, or healer, if you prefer, my lord.”

His brow rose, along with a spurt of irritation. Where was the soft kitten of last night? “Then kindly grant me a moment of your time, mistress. We need to speak.” He took her arm and strode away from the fire and the men collapsing the tents until they were just out of earshot. “Do you mind telling me why you’re all cockles and briars this morning?” He thought the request came out rather well considering his mood.

She looked him square in the eye. “Just because you made free with my body last night doesn’t mean I’m your woman.”

The force of her accusation hit him like a lance blow. He staggered back a half step, but she wasn’t done.

“Whatever desire I felt for you was a passing thing, as it must be, for you never touched my heart.” She looked away a moment, and her throat worked. “I won’t marry a man who has so little interest in my heart.”

Silence. Taunt, ugly silence. He felt the pulse pounding in his temple and the pain of her rejection seared his throat, making words impossible for several heartbeats. How had he been so blind as to her true character? Apparently the wench was able to divorce the needs of her body from any tender emotion.

The desire to return like for like prodded him to lean in and say hoarsely near her ear, “Woman have no hearts. Just empty, greedy hands.” She flinched, and he smiled in savage, empty satisfaction as he stalked back to his fire. Let her hurt. She was so adept at stabbing him. Let her feel the dagger’s bite for a change.

Raven shot him an ugly look as he left the fire and stomped to his mistress’ side. Uric ignored him. Even Odell’s defection to the enemy camp raised little more than a silent snarl from him. Let them rally round the little witch, though he could have told them they needn’t have bothered. The girl was deadly enough with words to keep even the most randy berserker at bay. Her frosty words had certainly shriveled him.

“Are you going to run off and defend her, too?” he couldn’t help snapping at Roland. He kicked a stick into the fire, raising sparks.

Roland raised one brow and sipped his steaming drink. One glance took in Uric’s ravaged lip and foul expression. “From all appearances the girl is more than able to defend herself.”

Uric’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take anything she wasn’t glad to give, Roland.”

A shrug communicated Roland’s unconcern. “Hadn’t thought otherwise.” His mouth quirked. “I’m a light sleeper.”

A grunt was Uric’s only comment.

He avoided her all morning, but there was no escaping her words. They ran round and round inside his skull, bitter and cold. Made free with her body, had he? He shot her a poisonous glare. Who did she think she fooled? They both knew she’d been willing. As for her being his woman ... he gritted his teeth. Company aside, he should have finished the deed last night. Then there’d be no crazy talk this morning about who was whose.

It was hard for a woman to deny possession when her man had been inside her.

In spite of the pain she’d caused, her resistance just made him more determined. Yes, he wanted her. Maybe she thought her little speech would cure him of it, but she’d misjudged her man. Maybe if she’d made it before he’d made love to her it might have worked, but she’d made a strategic error. He’d tasted her now; knew her passion for him. Nothing she could say or do would stop him from pursuing her.

And as for her heart ... He shook his head, ignoring his unease. All women talked of hearts and flowers, likely because they didn’t want to admit they felt the same lust as men. It was a cover, just a way to ease their guilt when they gave it to a man. Experience had taught him that the woman interested in him had expected something material in return. They had no tender hearts. His mother had taught him that. No one who’d come after had changed his impression.

His eyes narrowed. She might not want to admit it, but she craved him. Like it or not, she would have that craving satisfied. He’d see to it.

Personally.

* * * *

“Cheer up, mistress Ceylon! Baron Uric has assured us that we will reach a hospitable shepherd’s house in a mere two hours.”

Ceylon answered Odell with a strained smile. The young bard had been trying awfully hard to raise her spirits and deserved for her to make an effort to be appreciative. “I’m counting the minutes, trust me.”

At the mention of Uric’s name, Raven, who rode on her opposite side, growled. Even worse, his eyes narrowed to hot dark slits. Somehow, he knew. They all knew.

She fidgeted in the saddle, causing her horse to snort in annoyance. The blisters on her abused bottom throbbed in angry protest and her stiff muscles creaked. Everything hurt, especially the tender organ in her chest.

When Uric had addressed her as Ceylon in front of his men she’d seen their expressions, and hated him for it. With one word, one possessive word, he’d turned the speculation she’d feared into confirmed fact. It had been that more than anything that had fired her temper. True, she’d needed the distance from him anyway, but his utter disregard for her reputation had galled her. Thank God she hadn’t let him go any farther last night.

Guilt pricked her at that thought. Very well, so he had never pressed her. Why was a mystery, unless he’d feared that the others would hear. But if that were so, why call her Ceylon this morning, in that tone?

Her angry thoughts were interrupted as her horse abruptly stumbled on the slick trail and collided heavily into Odell’s mount. The black lurched, tossing the unprepared bard off with his desperate twist to avoid falling. There was a sickening thud as the boy hit a bolder.

“Odell!” Ceylon was off her horse and at his side in moments. “Where are you hurt?”

He drew in thick breath and gasped. “Shoulder.” His voice was taunt with pain.

She nodded and quickly undid his coat, reaching for the buttons of his undershirt. Uric and Roland were headed their way, and those closest to them crowded round, trying to see or help.

Odell grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. “No.” He gritted his teeth. “I can wait until we get where we’re going.”

She shook her head. “If it’s dislocated it will be easier to set right before the muscles harden. Trust me. I’m a healer, remember?”

Sweat popped out on his upper lip as he cut his gaze to their audience. “Then send them off, up ahead a bit. I don’t need anyone standing over me.”

“You might need help,” Roland started to object.

“Please!” Odell’s voice rose to a high pitch and cracked. He cleared his throat and held Ceylon’s eyes as he said harshly, “A man has his pride. I don’t need witnesses to my hollering.”

Resignation swept Ceylon, as well as familiar frustration with all things male. She shut her eyes and sighed. “Leave us.” When no one moved, she fixed Uric with a firm stare. “Just up ahead. It will only take a few moments. Trust me, I won’t need you.”

His jaw flexed at that unintended barb. “As you say.” He jerked his head at his men. “We’ll be just around this bend.”

A disk of pain sliced a raw spot inside Ceylon’s throat as he moved away. Now was not the time for this. “You, too, Raven,” she ordered when he made no move to leave. “I haven’t got all day.”

With great reluctance, he took their horse’s reins and followed the others.

As soon as they were out of sight, she opened Odell’s shirt and impatiently flipped it open. And froze. Her eyes slowly rose to meet the bard’s.

“Remember you oath of discretion, Healer,” Odell challenged him. The pain made the youth grimace, ending his silent challenge.

A nod was all Ceylon felt capable of as she did what she had to do. The sight of Odell’s chest explained so much. Now that she’d seen what she had, she had a few ideas as to why a young man would chose to brave the storms of winter to escape over the mountains. She just wondered what Odell was running from. Or who.

Odell didn’t scream as Ceylon set the shoulder, but Ceylon wanted to moan in sympathy. She really made a far better herbalist than a surgeon. “There. I’ll pack compresses around it when we reach the shepherd’s place. In the meantime I have some syrup in my kit that will help with the pain.”

Shaken and pale, Odell accepted her hand up, then held her gaze. “And the other?”

Ceylon nodded in acquiescence. “I’m always discrete.”

“I thank you.”

The rest of the ride was very quiet, and everyone paid careful attention to the way they guided their horses down the slopes. Though he said nothing to her, Ceylon saw Uric glance back often. It wasn’t until they neared their destination--as indicated by a distant smoke plume--that he signaled her to move up the column.

“Odell is amazingly quiet for a boy who was worried about broadcasting his cowardice,” he said mildly.

Surprised by his calm tone, it took her a moment to respond. “He’s tougher than he thinks, my l--”

He interrupted her before she could get the honorific out. “Is he up to travel?” His jaw tightened. With the shadow of two day’s whiskers and his wind-burned cheeks he looked rather grim. “We enter my lands shortly, and we can be at my castle in Shardsvale by dark if we press on, but if you think the boy isn’t up to it....”

“I’m sure he’d rather rest, but no, his injury isn’t life-threatening. There are herbs I can give him for the pain, though I can’t dose him too much without making him wobbly in the saddle.”

“Then we’ll press on so everyone can sleep in comfort tonight. I’ll have things to see to in Shardsvale. He can take time to heal there before we move on.”

“I’ll tell him.” The shepherd’s house and barn came into view, and she frowned. She’d heard of, but never seen houses built into hillsides. These earthen shelters were completely covered with sod and snow, except for the front, which was built of stone.

“It’s more hospitable inside than it looks,” Roland assured her.

Ceylon soon discovered that it was plastered inside, and the shepherd’s table was waxed and polished, the benches free of slivers. A cheerful fire crackled in the hearth, and she couldn’t fault the simple meal of cheese, bread and cottager stew. Still, as far as she could tell the most hospitable element of all was the shepherd’s blond daughters.

“Here you are, mistress,” one buxom sister said with a smile as she topped off Ceylon’s steaming mug of cider.

The smile turned positively hungry when turned on Uric. “Anything else you require, my lord?” The husky purr was made more obnoxious by the way she leaned over the table, giving him an excellent view of her abundant cleavage.

Uric glanced at her offering without apparent interest. “Perhaps later.”

Roland grinned at the other sister, who pressed against him in an unseemly manner. “I’m always up for dessert.”

Ceylon bit her lip to retain the sharp words itching to get out. She looked away, and saw Odell staring into his cup as if misery itself sat on his shoulder.

She could sympathize. “Sometimes life bites,” she muttered for his ears only.

Odell smiled and slanted a jaded glance at their companions. “I notice your Uric is misbehaving.” He slid his good arm around her. “Maybe we should give him something to think about?”

Raven half-rose and opened his mouth to snarl, but sat down at Ceylon’s sharp signal.

“He’s funning, Raven. Relax.” Even so, Ceylon couldn’t help the heat that crept into her cheeks.

“You don’t need to entice that slippery handed lord into a jealous temper,” Raven hissed under his breath. “And by the mark on his lip I’d say you’ve already tasted it enough.”

Her shoulders hunched. Ceylon wanted to squirm in embarrassment. Still, it wasn’t fair to Uric for Raven to think he’d mauled her. Before she could open her mouth to correct him, Uric’s head snapped around. Blue eyes sizzling with wrath, he glared at Odell’s arm around her shoulders.

* * * *

Roland looked up at the sound of Uric’s low oath. His brows rose in surprise. “Well, thank the Most Holy. I was beginning to have doubts about that boy.”

“He’s dead.”

Roland jerked him back down before he’d gotten half-way up. “She’s playing with you,” he said sensibly, then frowned as Odell caressed Ceylon’s cheek with the back of his hand while looking deep into her eyes. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. “Or not.”

Uric’s look could have smelted metal as he stalked to Ceylon’s side of the table and took her hand. “Rise, Ceylon. It’s time to go.” He burned Odell with his stare. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling so much better, boy. You’ll need your energy to keep up this afternoon.” Because he would be hanged before he’d slow down to compensate for him. He fixed Ceylon with a no-nonsense stare. “You’ll ride up front with us to Shardsvale.”

Ceylon slanted several cautious looks at him as they rode, but Uric pretended not to notice. Not only was he still annoyed with her, but the closer they got to Shardsvale the more tense he became.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Roland said, “I don’t know about you, but I plan to take my dinner in the village. Dinning with your mother always gives me indigestion.”

Uric gave him a black look.

“Don’t bother, man.” Roland grinned. “You know I’m beyond redemption. Besides,” he tilted his head in Ceylon’s direction. “She doesn’t look up to interrogation tonight.”

It was true. Even in the dim light Ceylon appeared a hollow-eyed. By the way she slumped in saddle and gripped the horn, it was clear she was on her last reserves. Besides, there was Odell to think of. Now that his annoyance had cooled, Uric was ready to have pity on the lad. A glance back showed him to be holding up, but the flat line of his mouth indicated pain.

“Fine.” Uric turned back around. “We’ll eat at the Dog and Cat.”

A snort of amusement warned that Roland was about to start.

“Don’t,” he warned him. “You know they make the best beer and have the best cook in Shardsvale.”

“Sure. Just don’t ask what’s in the kettle.”

“Roland....”

“Meow.”

Uric ignored him. In truth he felt more relaxed already at the thought of delaying greeting his mother. Homecomings were never the pleasantest thing, and he’d rather not deal with her on top of a long day.

He was glad the minute he walked into the Dog and Cat.

“Uric! Lord Uric’s back!” Glad cries and a blast of cheerful warmth met him as he walked in the door. The innkeeper himself, a one armed veteran of middle years, met him at the door with a slap on the back. “Are you back to stay, yet, commander? Faith, but you’re frozen through! Brandy, bring your lord a platter of our best!” While his servant girl scurried off, the innkeeper turned his attention back to his guests. “Ah, Roland. How much trouble have you gotten yourself into since last we met?”

Roland grinned. “Not enough, Murdock. Not enough.”

Murdock laughed and caught sight of Ceylon. Instantly his mirth vanished, replaced by smoky appreciation. “And who is this lovely lady?”

Before Ceylon could answer, Uric touched his hand to her back and guided her to a table. “My guest,” he informed Murdock once she was seated. “And off limits.”

Madoc laughed and shook his head. “I might have known. You always get the pretty ones.” He winked at Ceylon. “And what can I get the loveliest lady to ever grace my poor tavern? We have all manner of fine wine. Sweets fresh from the pasty maker. Stuffed goose, succulent quail ... Your wish is my command.” He bowed.

Amused--and tired--enough to forgive his assumptions, especially since Uric had deliberately planted them, Ceylon managed a polite smile. “Anything hot sounds good just now. I’ve forgotten what my feet feel like.”

Madoc met Uric’s gaze and nodded. “A hot pan of water for your feet then, and a platter of quail, apple fritters and toasted parsnips for this one.” He relayed her order before turning his attention to the others.

Brows raised, she waited until he left to oversee preparation before she told Uric, “Is your castle staff half as efficient as this fellow? Because if so, I might just have to marry you after all.”

“Sorry, only one Murdock, and he refuses to come near the keep. You’ll just have to find another reason to wed me.” He gave her an ironic look.

The servant girl, Brandy, quickly returned with the pan of water and helped Ceylon to take off her boots, carefully avoiding her eyes the entire time. Ceylon noticed that she made eye contact several times with Uric, but was smart enough to do no more. Roland was another matter. For him she had sweet smiles and more than one flutter of lashes. She was subtler than the shepherd’s daughter’s all out vamp, but Ceylon saw Odell’s eyes narrow just the same.

Uh, oh.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get diseased, flirting with something like that?” Odell said acidly the moment the girl left.

Roland kept the smile on his face and sipped his beer. “Less likely than the types you sport with, I think.”

“What would you know of my sporting habits?”

Roland pinned him with a look that raised the hackles on the back of Ceylon’s neck. “I know that if your gaze touches my backside again I’ll rip your eyeballs out and use them to dice.”

Odell froze in mortification. Hot color bloomed in his face. Without a word, he rose and left.

“It’s not what you think, Roland,” Ceylon tried to defend the boy.

Those frightening black eyes met hers. “You’ll not be telling me what to think, mistress. I’ve a better idea than you of what he’s about.”

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. She turned her attention to her food.

Not surprisingly, Odell chose to stay the night at the inn. While uneasy with his choice, Ceylon also knew it was better to let the matter lie. Roland wasn’t about to tolerate the boy, and Raven had grown very antsy since the disturbance. It didn’t take a great mind to know that the bard wouldn’t be welcomed by him again.

Actually Ceylon rather envied him the privilege of staying where he willed. Her own night would be spent under the roof of the ogress. Well, actually it was Uric’s roof, but he didn’t look any happier to be going there.

‘There’ turned out to be a long, winding trail up a cliff. Since Ceylon was stuffed, exhausted and didn’t have the eyes of a bat she saw little beyond the column of riders and torches. A cold wind had sprung up, and she huddled deeper into her coat, shivering. Sometimes it seemed as if warming up and leaving a warm fire made venturing out into the cold more annoying. At least there would be a warm bed waiting for her tonight. Uric had sent word to have their rooms prepared, and she could hardly wait. It felt as if they’d been traveling forever.

They entered the gates and rode through the torch lit bailey. It felt like every bone in her body creaked as she dismounted, glad for her groom’s assistance.

“I don’t care if his mother is the antichrist herself,” she muttered once her feet hit the ground. Her legs wobbled, but grudgingly supported her weight. At this point she’d curtsy to a screaming madwoman if it meant a soft bed and a long night’s sleep.

She needn’t have worried. Uric’s mother barely noticed her. No, her proud, cold eyes were fixed on Uric and Uric alone. The rest of them might have been so many gnats.

“Uric, my son.” A cold parody of a welcoming smile stretched her still-handsome face. “What have you brought me this time?”

Ceylon stiffened. What have you brought me? Not, “How are you? Would you like something to take the chill off? Just “What have you brought me?”

As if it were a ritual, Uric dropped a small velvet pouch into his mother’s palm. It clinked. He watched with a jaded expression as she opened it.

“Oh. Pearls.” She made a disappointed moue as she withdrew an exquisite pearl necklace and a matching ring. She draped them across the back of her wrist and appraised them with a practiced eye. “Well, I suppose it was the best you could find in the back of nowhere.”

Not a flicker of expression betrayed Uric’s thoughts, but Ceylon more than burned for him. No wonder they called the woman an ogress!

The woman flapped a hand and sighed as if terribly put upon. “Your rooms have been aired and baths prepared for you and Roland. You can stick the woman in the laundry until you have use for her. I don’t want the sheets soiled with her dirt. She smells like horse.” Her nose wrinkled, ever so slightly.

Before Ceylon could voice the hot retort on her tongue, Uric placed a hand on her back and drew her stiff body forward. His tone cold, he said, “This is the Queen’s healer, who has been summoned to serve her Majesty at Queenstown. I ordered a room prepared for her, and it had best be ready. If it is not she will take your room, and you can fend for yourself.”

His mother’s eyes bugged. She stared at Uric as if she’d never heard such a tone in her life.

Roland coughed. Repeatedly.

A gesture from Uric brought one of the waiting servants running. “See to Mistress Ceylon’s needs. Whatever she desires for her comfort, do. You are responsible to no one else while she is here, is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord.” The woman curtsied and waited for Ceylon to follow.

Teeth clenched, Ceylon nodded to Uric. “Goodnight, Uric. Pleasant dreams.” Some wicked impulse made her stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Satisfaction flowed through her as his eyes widened, and she smiled in victory. The man deserved a homecoming kiss, after all. High color in her cheeks, Ceylon met his mother’s eyes, curtsied, and kept her back straight as she followed the servant up the curving stairs at a dignified walk.

Roland’s low, delighted chuckle followed her up.

Uric was left below to deal with his mother’s scathing look. He actually smiled. With one kiss Ceylon had made her allegiance abundantly clear. She would not choose a subservient attitude to save her own skin. Instead she’d chosen to stand up for him. It was the first time in his life a woman had chosen to stand by his side, and against his mother, no less.

Even her sour attitude couldn’t completely kill the light in his heart.

“Brazen chit,” she said, then drew herself up, mouth pinched. “No matter, she won’t be staying. Breakfast is at the usual time. Don’t dally.” She flicked a cool look at Roland and left.

“She doesn’t mean dally, does she?” Roland asked wickedly. “For if Ceylon’s willingness is in question....”

Uric shot him a suppressive look. “You know why she did it.”

“Aye, and bless her twinkling green eyes. The girl’s got the soul of a Valkyrie. You chose well with that one.” Roland clapped him on the back. “I’m off to bed.”

In a thoughtful mood, Uric followed him up. The irony of tonight did not escape him. The one woman he brought home who wasn’t eager to be his wife was the one most suited to stand up to Maude. Judging from her reaction tonight, she was also the one most likely to be driven to his side by Maude’s behavior.

He smiled. His mother might just be the best ally he could find in his campaign for Ceylon’s heart.

Chapter 5

Ceylon woke up warm and cozy and immediately wondered why. He eyes flew open. One look at the opulent purple and gold bed hangings was enough to make her smile. Ah, yes. Uric’s sumptuous bedchamber. Not the dungeon as she’d been dreaming.

A cautious stretch ascertained that the hot soak last night had worked out much of her stiffness. The maid’s generous massage had done the rest. The stout woman was a wonder, and Ceylon had told her as much. The woman had seemed surprised--shocked, really--at the praise, and bloomed under it. Ceylon resolved to spread around more smiles and kind words. This place seemed to need it.

Humming with good humor, she eased out of bed and found her slippers. Before she could think about searching for her clothes her eyes fell on a gorgeous cream woolen gown. Closer inspection showed the back had been woven with a black Celtic knot that extended from shoulder to knee. Combined with the black trim it made for one of the nicest dresses she’d ever seen. Dare she wear it? What would Uric’s mother think if she realized?

A snort of humor expressed Ceylon’s thoughts on that. Nothing she could do would convince the ogress that Ceylon wasn’t her son’s plaything. With that in mind, why not?

Cheered by the knowledge that Uric wasn’t going to stay here a minute later than he had to, judging by the pace with which they’d traveled here, she left her room and went in search of something to eat.

Her search ended in the kitchens with a chatty cook, who was kind enough to let her break her fast at his worktable once she explained that she didn’t want to be caught at the table with his mistress. The man smiled, but chose not to comment on that.

Half-way through her honeyed porridge, Roland showed up.

“Oh, no,” he said with a scowl. “If I have to brave the witch’s den, so do you.” He snatched up her bowl and took her elbow, hauling her under protest to the table.

“But Roland--” she got out before he towed her into earshot of the high table where Uric and Maude waited. She smiled politely as Roland plunked her bowl down and seated her between his place and Uric’s.

Maude eyed her coldly. “I suppose we can begin now.”

Ceylon smiled boldly. “How sweet of you to insist on my presence, mistress. What a generous hostess you are.”

Said generous hostess ignored her and turned her attention to her breakfast, which the servants now served.

“You seem have slept well,” Uric observed with a smile. “My house agrees with you.”

“Your house is very nice. And yes, it agrees with me very much.” She added sweet emphasis on ‘it’.

“It wouldn’t be all that agreed with you, given the chance,” he murmured in her ear.

In spite of herself, Ceylon smiled.

“It’s vulgar to whisper at the table,” Maude proclaimed. She considered her son, her expression calculating. “Much has happened while you were away, Uric. I’ve taken care of a certain matter that has long vexed you.” She paused until all eyes were on her. “I’ve chosen a girl for you.”

A muscle ticked in Uric’s jaw. His tone might have cut steel. “Have you?”

Equally as cool, Maude said with the assurance of one who rarely lost, “I sent to the queen for permission.”

Very deliberately, he set down his fork. “Then I will write her and explain.”

“My application was granted.”

Blue fire ignited in his eyes. He stood. “One of these days, Maude, you will learn not to interfere in my affairs.” He stalked out, presumably to begin drafting a letter.

Maude smiled, not least concerned. “These young men are so easily ruffled. And so touchy about the subject of wives.” She looked pointedly at Roland.

“Let it lie,” he warned. “Unlike your son, I’m willing to bring up equally intimate subjects at the table. Say, talk of your former lovers—”

Maude flicked a hand, cutting him off. “Rubbish. Eat your meal, Roland.” It was clear Roland had found the way to deflect her.

Rather queasy now, Ceylon poked at her food. Porridge covered bits of dried fruit and nuts plopped quietly back into her bowl. Hesitant to crack the conversational ice, yet avidly curious, she asked Roland, “So when do we leave?”

As if depressed by his answer, he sighed. “Not for days. Uric has some things to see to first. Besides, the river crossing hasn’t frozen yet.”

“No bridge?” She had the sinking feeling she was stuck.

“None, though Uric’s working on it.”

“God speed to him,” she said fervently, and rose. “Your pardon, madam. I’m unwell.”

Maude flicked her fingers in dismissal.

Only too glad to be gone, Ceylon went in search of Uric. She found him in his study, conferring with his steward.

“I’ll come back later,” she said, backing out of the book lined room. Uric looked to be in a dangerous mood. She’d never seen so many books in one place before, but she had days to explore if he’d allow it.

“Stay.” He uttered that one word and then seemed to forget her as he continued his discussion with his man.

She took it as permission to explore, at least until someone said otherwise. Still, as caught up as she was in his books, a portion of her attention remained on him, so she heard him went he dismissed his steward and came to her. “These books are very fine,” she murmured. “Did you buy them all?”

“Many of them came with the keep. My mother keeps her private stash locked in her room.” He stopped behind her.

“Books on witchcraft, no doubt.” Ceylon snapped the book shut and turned around, immediately contrite. “Sorry. You deserve better than that.”

He looked aside. Said nothing.

“I will watch my tongue,” she promised.

“This becomes you,” he said, fingering the sleeve of her dress.

To her surprise her voice lowered a fraction. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thank you. It was sweet of you to let me have the use of it.”

“Ceylon.” He tipped her chin up.

“My lord.” The man at the door inclined his head respectfully as two heads whipped his way.

The man averted his eyes. “You wished my immediate report, sir?”

Uric stepped a safe distance back. “What is it?”

“It is as you suspected, my lord. No messengers were sent.”

A muscle ticked in Uric’s jaw. “Thank you. That will be all.” He turned his back on Ceylon. Tension radiated from him.

Unsure what she should do, Ceylon started to ease out of the room. He didn’t look like he wanted to be disturbed just now.

“My mother. She lied about writing the queen.”

Ceylon stopped. “Why?”

“To torture me.” He faced her. “She lives for it.”

“Why?” she whispered, confused. Why would his mother deliberately hurt him?

“Because she can.”

She drew a deep breath. This was happening too fast. She wasn’t ready for this kind of exchange, or for the need to comfort him. Somehow she wanted to fix it, but she had no real power here. Didn’t he realize that he didn’t have to put up with Maude’s abuse? “You don’t have to let her stay here, you know. This castle is yours. Make her leave.”

“What kind of man leaves his mother to fend for herself?”

“She’s hardly a feeble old woman, Uric. Give her a house of her own, preferably far from here. Grant her an allowance, if it eases your mind. She can survive without you, no matter what she wants you to think.”

“Leave it, Ceylon.”

“You’ll never be able to love her enough to make her stop. Her kind of woman--”

“I said leave it!” Silence rang loud between them.

She nodded and headed for the door. It was really none of her business. So why did it hurt?

“Ceylon?” He sighed. “Feel free to read any of these books you like.”

It was a peace offering, and she accepted it with a nod. A lump in her throat prevented her from saying anything more.

Unsure what to do with herself, Ceylon wandered down to the kitchens and got a snack. While there she noticed a woman crushing herbs in a mortar. Intrigued, she peered into the stone bowl. “Is it a healing salve?”

The woman shook her head and mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?”

The maid sighed. “It’s a lip balm, mistress. It’s for the my mistress Maude.” She added crushed flower petals, tinting the paste pink.

Fascinated, Ceylon said, “I’ve never seen that done before. Is it a beauty ointment, then? By the way, you can call me Ceylon.”

The cosmetician nodded. “Anne Wright, late of Dunbar. I mix all my mistress’ beauty creams and powders. She goes nowhere without them.”

“Aye, and she’s a fright without them,” an older maid muttered as she mixed a batch of biscuit.

“Watch your tongue, Mitsy,” the cook warned. His eyes flicked to Ceylon.

Ceylon grinned. “But not too closely. I’m none too fond of your mistress myself. But this,” she looked to Anne for permission and dipped a finger in the balm. “I’ve never heard of such a clever idea.”

Anne smiled. “Not that you need it, mistress Ceylon, but you might try it. Cosmetics can hide a lot of evils, and improve upon what’s there until you hardly recognize yourself.” She winked. “The master is sure to look your way then.”

“Rumor has it he’s a great admirer,” the older maid added, smiling in a friendly way. “We could use a young mistress around here.”

Heat rose in Ceylon’s cheeks and she laughed in embarrassment. It seemed Uric’s guards had been talking. If she knew servants there was likely a wager going as to how things would turn out between her and their master. “I’m hardly lady material.”

“I don’t know about that. Here,” Anne sat her down on a stool and fetched a lamp. “I can always use the practice on a young unwrinkled face.” She withdrew other jars and tins from a cabinet and began to experiment with different colors, occasionally directing Ceylon to close her eyes or pucker her lips. Once finished she handed a small mirror to Ceylon.

One look and Ceylon gasped. Her hand flew to her face to make certain that was really her in the mirror. Mouth open, she stared at Anne to confirm what she saw. “Is this really me?”

Anne and Mitsy nodded, smiling. Cook whistled. “It’s been a long day since anything like you walked these halls, mistress.”

Still dazed, Ceylon jumped off the stool. “I’ve got to tell Uric!”

The servants exchanged knowing glances. Uric, was it?

Unaware of the hopeful speculation she left behind--for surely a new mistress would insist that Maude be sent to a dower house-- Ceylon dashed from the room.
Three flights of stairs and a stitch later, Ceylon finally connected with him as he rounded a corner. Literally.

“Oof!” Uric’s arms came around her to keep her from bouncing off his chest and onto her behind. “What’s the....” He trailed off as he got a look at her face. Stunned was a mild word for his expression. “What....”

Ceylon gripped his lapels. “Your mother’s maid Anne is a genius. Do you see what she did? We have to take her with us to the queen.”

“Okay.” It was clear he had no idea what he was saying.

Ceylon capitalized on it. “Promise?”

He nodded.

On impulse, she kissed him. “Thank you, Uric! You won’t regret--umph!” His urgent kiss completely made her forget her thank you. He didn’t seem to care. Long, steamy minutes later she found herself backed up against a door with no idea of how she got there.

“Uric?” She tore her mouth away, panting. Every nerve was afire. “Someone might see.”

“Good,” he muttered in her ear. “They can fetch a priest.” He claimed her mouth again, nearly driving away all thought, but one spark of question remained.

“Why a priest?” she gasped, nearly beyond thinking. Her knees quivered, her insides were jelly and she couldn’t see straight. Still, the answer seemed very important to one dim corner of her mind.

“Because I’m going to bed you. The priest is for later.” He turned the knob behind her and swung her up into his arms, kicking the door shut behind. In seconds they were by the bed, and he was kissing her, stroking her. Thought fled and there was only the moment, the need. And then she was naked, her back on silk as he covered her, teasing her with the promise of his hard body. Only a moment more, just one moment....

The door flew open. “Uric! What is the meaning of this?”

Uric looked up and whipped the cover over Ceylon. “I was--”

Maude’s eyes narrowed. “It’s plain what you were doing, and you can bed your slut later. I want to know why my maid thinks she’s going to Queenstown!”

“This is not happening,” Ceylon moaned under the covers. She was not hiding naked in Uric’s bed while his mother rang a peal over his head. Even worse, someone had heard them earlier. Just how long had they been kissing, anyway? Surely not long enough to make their plans castle news. She cringed. If Maude had known where to find them ... She moaned again. Today seemed like a very good day to die.

Uric sat up, careful to keep the quilt around his hips. “We can discuss this later.”

“We can discuss this now!” Maude’s shout echoed like a thunderclap. “My maid is not leaving my side, not for the queen, not for county, and not for God!”

Ceylon flinched. It was a wonder Uric had any hearing left if he’d grown up hearing that.

The grinding of his teeth was almost audible. “Train another maid--”

“There will be no training. Anne is mine. Her secrets are mine. She will not leave!”

Pressed up against him as she was, Ceylon felt Uric’s lungs heave.

“Anne Wright is not your slave, woman. She will go where she decides to go. No be gone before I have to force you out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

His feet hit the floor and he tossed off the quilt. There was an indignant noise, and Maude stomped out.

Ceylon peeked at Uric. His face was flushed bronze, either with fury or embarrassment. He strode over and slammed the door.

Completely out of the mood, Ceylon inched over and reached down to snag her dress. Uric looked her way, saw what she was doing. His eyes narrowed before he turned away as if disgusted.

Sick shame leached into Ceylon’s heart. She’d wondered all along if this was how he’d behave once his craving for her was satisfied. Well, now she had her answer. He thought she was beneath him after all. At least he kept his back turned as she dressed. Not that he hadn’t already seen everything she had.

“Word of this will get out,” he said as she fumbled with her buttons.

“Aren’t you full of good news?” she snapped to disguise her choked sob.

He turned to her. “I’m offering you my name. It was my intention all along. Don’t let my mother--”

“Your mother! I think you ‘let her’ enough for all of us. Besides, it wasn’t your mother who dragged me in here and ruined my reputation,” she finished bitterly.

Three strides brought him to her side. He pulled her against him. “I didn’t hear you objecting.”

His hard, naked body burned into her, just like the truth of his words. They threatened to re-ignite the flame she’d just escaped. “I should have,” she whispered. “I’m not the wife you want.”

He adjusted his grip to bring her closer. “Why don’t I show you what I want?”

It took grit, but she twisted her head to avoid his kiss. “I need time.”

Uric looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“To think. Please,” she pushed firmly against his chest and he reluctantly let go. A quick glance down set her cheeks to burning. It was clear his body had released her under vigorous protest.

“You’re going to think?” he clarified as he turned away to scoop up his pants.

“Long and hard,” she promised before she thought how the words would sound. Her gaze dropped again to his fascinating ... part. “I must go,” she squeaked, and hurried to the door, hot with embarrassment.

“Ceylon?”

She paused with her hand on the door and risked a glance back.

He was clad, barely. The buttons on his pants were still open, revealing a faint-inducing amount of male skin. His arms were crossed over his bare chest, and those eyes of his fairly devoured her. “Don’t think too long.”

Ceylon found Raven in the stables, sharpening his hunting knife. He looked up when she entered, then went back to his task without a word.

She sat on a bench near him and watched him work. For a moment the only sound was the rasp of steel on stone. “I haven’t seen you lately,” she said finally.

“I’ve been about. You didn’t seem to have a need for me.”

She laughed without humor. “You were mistaken. I’m in sore need of a familiar face. Someone sensible to talk to.” She grimaced. “The servants here all look at me as if I’m the answer to a prayer, or hope I’ll be.”

“You’re to marry him, then?” His manner said he wasn’t surprised.

“No. I don’t know. He asked.” She sighed. “I can’t decide if I’m a bigger fool for putting him off or considering it. I just can’t help fearing he asked out of desperation. They tell me he’s had several broken betrothals now. I can understand why, after seeing his mother. One of us would have to go. I can’t live with a woman like that. Imagine how she’d be around children.”

“Progressed to children, have we?”

For the first time Ceylon noticed the resentment in him. “What’s eating you, Raven?”

The blade slammed home in its sheath. “Nothing.”

“Raven....”

“Raven.” He smiled bitterly. “Yes, Raven. Scavenger. Son of a dead woodcutter. Nobody and nothing. Never was, never will be.” He spat in the packed dirt of the aisle.

“That’s not true. You’ll be knight someday—”

“Wake up, Ceylon! It takes money to be somebody, noble birth to be a squire. The best I can ever hope to be is a man at arms; another nobody scrabbling to make coin and getting chopped at for his troubles.” His eyes narrowed. “Not all of us can marry into fortune.”

She stiffened. “I would not marry for that, Lancet Duloc, and well you know it.”

At the sound of his given name, he flinched.

“If I decide to wed, it will be because I respect and care for the man who asks and will have nothing to do with his wealth or lack thereof. Frankly I consider Uric’s rank and position to be a mark against him.” She looked away. “Who would expect me to carry off the rank of lady?”

“He wasn’t born noble.”

“So? He’s a man. Men can earn these things. Best you remember that.” She left him there to brood. Thoughts in a tense swirl, she nearly missed the baker’s frantically waving hand.

“Mistress Ceylon!” He called, distracting her from her mood. Beefy hands smoothed down his apron. “Come inside and enjoy some pastry for a spell. It’s a cold one today.”

As if to underscore his words, a cold gust kicked up, swirling snow down her coat collar. Suddenly a visit to a warm baker’s house seemed a grand idea. “Thank you.” She didn’t question how he knew her name. It seemed everyone knew who she was here. Stranger in a small town, and all that.

With a wide smile, the muscular fellow seated her at a small table and fetched her hot fruited buns and fruit tarts. “They’re my specialty,” he said, twisting his hands in his apron.

Pretending her smile was for his kindness and not his mannerisms, she took a bite. “My, these are good,” she complimented him, surprised at the richness of the buttery, flaky pastry. “I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. And worth every penny, too.”

He beamed. “Oh, no, mistress. Call it a welcoming gift. We all want you to like it here.”

The shine dulled on her smile just a bit. “How generous of you.”

He smiled and winked at her. “Word has it that you might be staying on a bit. It’s a good thing, too. It’s high time....” He let the last sentence dangle meaningfully.

Ceylon could finish the sentence from memory; she’d heard it enough lately. High time our poor lord took a wife. And the silent implication, And high time the ogress took a sabbatical. Maude was not well liked. Her son, however, was regarded with high esteem and a good dose of sympathy. Everyone felt that all would be right in Shardsvale if they could just get another woman installed in the keep.

It took some tongue biting, but Ceylon kept her opinions to herself. Nobody wanted to hear her thoughts. Though she agreed that Maude had to go, she couldn’t quite see herself as the woman to do it. After all, Uric was lord here. If anybody ought to kick his mother out, it should be him. What did they think she would do; challenge the woman to a wrestling match? Winner take all and Uric, too? She grimaced. No. Uric had to choose.

Not that she could tell him such. What was she to say? It’s her or me, man. Pick one. How could she be so callous? Besides, from what she knew of him such a proclamation wouldn’t go over well. The man was too loyal for his own good.

Tension made her rub the area between her brows. Loyalty was good, wasn’t it? Well, yes, when given with discretion. She suspected that guilt played a hand in his actions, too. Heaven knew his mother wielded that weapon with a practiced hand.

Maude. It all came back to Maude. And then there was this tangle about Anne going to Queenstown. Maude was behaving like a spoiled child. She rolled her eyes. At least Uric was holding firm to his promise that she might go. It couldn’t be easy for him, and in the last two days Maude had become more and more cold, while he had withdraw to the point of missing several meals. Four days they’d been here, and already Ceylon longed to leave.

Besides, she was worried about Odell. The bard received her visits, but was becoming more and more withdrawn. Nothing seemed to draw him out of his shell. She suspected that he would ride out the minute the ice bridge was confirmed safe, with or without company. His rashness would put him in danger, but what could she do? She could scarcely force him to wait on them.

Afternoon found her staring out of a solar window, frowning at the incoming storm. The light had gone all hazy-white, and in the window she caught the shadow of a man.

“Longing for sunshine?” Uric asked.

“Restless. I’m unused to being idle so long.” She circled the room and eased into a chair, keeping him in her peripheral vision. She took up her crochet.

He took the couch opposite her. “That looks like doing something. Or would you prefer to read?”

She smiled wryly. “Busy work. Quells the nerves. And yes, I’ve explored your library. It’s magnificent, but I can’t spend all my time with books.”

“I’ve heard that Anne has been teaching you her arts.” His eyes moved hungrily over her face. “It seems you’re a fast learner.”

Shy color pinked her cheeks as she carefully avoided his eyes. “Hm. But not a master. I still need her.”

“You have her.” He propped an arm across the low couch back. “But what of your Raven? He must be even more restless with this waiting. Getting into trouble?”

“Ah....” She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase her concerns about Raven without betraying the lad.

“Perhaps I could offer him an alternative? I’ve been without a squire for some time--never had one, actually. Maybe he could fill the position. As a trial thing, you know,” he hastened to say. No doubt he was leery of promising too much to a lad who might prove hard-headed and difficult. “Unless you are too attached to him ... why are your eyes welling up?”

He looked so concerned that she choked up even more. How could he know how much this meant to her? Would mean to Raven? “I’m fine. Really.” She offered him a watery smile. “You know women. We choke up at the silliest things.”

He frowned. “Not you. Should I get you something?”

The utter helplessness of his gesture made her smile. Even if she hadn’t known that he hadn’t been raised in the most nurturing environment, it wouldn’t have taken long to figure it out. “No. I’m fine, really. It’s just ... you’re very sweet to offer Raven such a position. It will mean a great deal to him.”

“And to you?”

His expression was so hopeful, so guarded, she just couldn’t resist. Needlework abandoned, she moved to kneel by his side. With all the gratitude she felt in her eyes, she cupped his face in one hand. “And to me.” Her kiss was soft, a brush of lips as fleeting as a butterfly’s wing. He groaned and tried to deepen it, but she eased away.

“Are you torturing me?” He sounded both sulky and perplexed.

One hand on the doorframe, she tossed him a coy smile. “I’m still thinking over your proposal. Until then a kiss is all I can offer in good conscience.” Even if she had nearly given him everything the other day.

Very serious, he said, “What do you want, Ceylon? A room full of silks and furs? I’ll have one prepared. A carriage and six white horses? They are yours. Anything you desire that is in my power to give you, I will give it. Name it.”

She smiled softly. “More of what you just did will win my heart, knight earnest. It will warm me better than any fur or flash of diamonds.” Since he still looked doubtful, she added mischievously, “It might warm me so much that I might be forced to disrobe and share my heat with your cold, poor self.” It was worth her blush to see the sudden intensity in his expression. By all appearances he was a man convinced.

The low rumble of his voice confirmed it. “Now that is a quest worth winning.”

Had she said he was cold? The heat in his eyes belied it. Ceylon retreated before the flame could leap out and consume her.

The temperature dropped all day and continued into the night. By dinner time Ceylon had put an extra shift under her dress and added a shawl. Her own dress wasn’t nearly as fine as the one Uric had lent her, but she could hardly wear it every day.

His mother didn’t fail to comment on it. “Rather rustic for dinner, isn’t it, girl?” she said, eyeing the serviceable woolen.

“Is it?” Ceylon blinked innocently.

Maude scowled over her wine at Uric. “The least you could do is buy the girl some decent gowns for her ... troubles, boy. The thing she’s wearing is little better than a rag.”

“Enough, Maude.” Uric was getting visibly annoyed with her constant picking.

“Surely you’re not going make her beg for every scrap as you do me?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Perhaps you would be happier in a house of your own?”

Aghast, she stared at him. “A dower house? You’re threatening to send me to a drafty old dower house?”

“The thought is crossing my mind.”

Her eyes narrowed, first on him, then on Ceylon. “You. You’re the reason behind this.”

Uric stopped sawing at his steak. “You know, Maude, I’ve become very tired of dining on a sour stomach. So unless you wish to take your meals in your room, kindly desist from torturing us, won’t you? Thanks so much.”

Maude inhaled, her eyes round with horror. She looked from Uric to Ceylon, who watched with unabashed interest. Without a word, she left the table.

Back teeth clamped, Ceylon kept her attention on her plate and suppressed the urge to laugh in triumph. Her man was making it. Uric just might turn out all right.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Ceylon went in search of Uric, only to be told that he and Roland had gone hunting for a pack of scavenging wolves. Disappointed, she thanked the servant and wondered what she could possibly do to pass the time. As it happened, Maude had plans for her.

“There you are,” Maude said as she spotted Ceylon alone in the solar. Eyes glittering with triumph, she said, “I’d wondered where the castle slut had been hiding herself.”

Ceylon refused to dignify that with a response, though it cost her dearly to hold her tongue. Still, Maude was pushing it.

Most likely thinking that Ceylon was too cowed to fight back, Maude attacked. “My son tells me you’re the by blow of a country lord and his squire’s wife.” She paused a heartbeat to enjoy herself. “I only wonder how long it will be before he tires of you.”

Eyes hard with fury, Ceylon said, “Your son said no such thing.”

Maude smiled. “You will address me as Lady Maude. I will have nothing less from a base born bastard such as yourself.”

For the first time Ceylon felt a shiver of dread kiss her spine. The light of madness glittered in Maude’s eyes. Still, what could she do? Uric would be furious if Maude did anything foolish. Besides, it was time someone stood up to the ogress. She quirked a brow. “Kind of haughty for a farmer’s wife, aren’t you?”

Maude slapped her. A sliver of blood opened up on her split lip.

Having never been struck in her life, Ceylon was too shocked to react at first.

Cold as frosted steel, Maude watched impassively as scarlet trickled down Ceylon’s chin. “You will address me as Mistress Wormhurst. Guards!” she threw over her shoulder. She smiled as men poured in the door at her command. “Take this one to the cellars and lock her away. A few years in the dungeon should teach you some respect.”

The corner of Ceylon’s lips twisted in snarl as rough hands seized her arms. Furious at her own stupidity and Maude’s gall, she snarled as she was dragged out, “Evil hag! How’d you like to drink poison?” For the first time in her life she felt like the witch she’d been accused of being.

The cellars were a long way from the solar, and Ceylon had plenty of time to steam. Hot with fury, she muttered on the way down, “If I were a witch I’d turn her into and old bat! Wait, she already is one.” The air was clammy and dank in the windowless sub-level, and three cells, all empty, waited for her in gloomy silence.

“No worries,” one of her guards said cheerfully. “The baron will come for you in a few hours. If not, I’ll keep you warm.” He winked and shut the cell door with a squeal of hinges, locking her in.

“Not likely,” she retorted, referring to his offer to join her. She surely hoped that Uric would get home soon. The moment he let her out she planned to steal a horse and keep on riding. Nothing was worth putting up with this madwoman and her delusions.

If Maude had done nothing else, she’d given Ceylon plenty of time to think. Much as she cared for Uric, his mother was crazier than a three-sided coin. There was no way she would consent to live in the same house as that bitter madwoman. Uric had said at their last dinner that he was thinking of sending the woman away. Fine. Let this be the test. If he couldn’t pass it then this relationship was never going to gel. The dragon had to go.

Hours passed. Weariness set in, and gradually her pacing slowed. It hadn’t been doing much to keep her warm, anyway. Too cold to ignore the guard any longer, she said, “What will it cost me to get a clean blanket in here?”

“Use what’s there. It ain’t worth my head,” he said in a bored tone.

She looked at the ragged, dirty blanket and shuddered. Ugh. It was probably full of lice, and certainly full of mouse droppings. “I’m g-good for the gold,” she chattered, doing a little dance to keep warm.

He yawned and tilted back in his chair, absently scratching an armpit. “Only thing keeping you from being warm is you.”

Inevitably, she was forced to use the blanket. As she sat there shivering her fury turned on Uric. He might have asked her if she’d have liked to ride in his hunt for the ravenous wolves, but no. He had to go and leaving her there. For that matter she’d still have been safe at home if he hadn’t made it his business to escort her to the queen. Had she been given the choice she would have put off the trip indefinitely, perhaps long enough to for the queen to forget her entirely. No doubt she already had. Wouldn’t surprise her a bit if the queen frowned in confusion when Ceylon was introduced and ordered her thrown out of court.

Somehow that was all Uric’s fault.

* * * *

They rode back to Shardsvale at a steady clip, fresh wolf skins tied behind their saddles. Hunting dogs and men on foot followed behind. Raven, who’d accompanied them, beamed for all he was worth. It had been a good hunt.

Uric eyed the boy and considered Ceylon’s words. Was it really possible to win a woman’s heart with good deeds? The idea seemed far-fetched, but his lady was no ordinary woman. Perhaps she truly preferred all that romantic drivel to coins in her pocket and silk dresses. Since Raven had known her the longest, he asked him about it.

The boy shrugged. “If she says she wants romance, then that’s what she wants. She’s not like to beat around the mulberry.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Though I know for a fact she likes flowers and female frippery. Just never had the money to indulge.”

“I’m trying to change that,” Uric muttered with disgust. If the woman weren’t so stubborn....

“You’re still trying to buy her, fool,” Roland said impatiently. “Woo the wench. It’s what she wants. It’s what all but those paper maidens you’ve been towing home want. I vow I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it. She’s half yours already; if you’d just give her a little push she’d fall right into your bed.”

“Hey!” Raven snapped. He still took his job as Ceylon’s protector seriously.

“Marital bed,” Roland corrected. “Not that Uric looks anywhere near achieving it on his own.”

A hot glare was Uric’s only reply. He knew why he resisted the romantic courtship Ceylon craved. It meant opening himself up, risking rejection. The very thought turned him cold. And why shouldn’t it? As a boy he’d tried to court his mother’s love and failed miserably. As a man he’d discovered the only way to satisfy her was to fill her open palm. He knew the rules of that game, yet Ceylon was asking him to take the losing path again.

He couldn’t bear to fail twice.

Still in a quandary when the reached the castle, at first he didn’t hear his steward frantically calling his name. It took the man several tries to gain his full attention.

“My lord!” The man gasped. He’d been watching for Uric and come at a run when the lookout had spotted riders. “It’s mistress Ceylon. You’re mother had locked in the dungeon this morning. She’s still down there, my lord, and--” He had to run to keep up with Uric’s long strides as he advanced on the castle at a near run. “Your mother has locked herself in her room--”

“Her only smart move this day,” Uric snarled, boiling with white hot fury. What harpy had possessed his mother that she thought she could get away with such a thing?

“She threatens to harm herself if Ceylon is released,” the man continued.

Uric jerked to a stop and stared at the man for three long seconds. “Then let the devil give her a warm welcome.” He slammed open his door and made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He had no tolerance for his mother’s games just now.

He’d lost patience altogether, and she’d live to rue it.

“Ceylon.” He slowed to a halt in front of her cell’s bars. He didn’t have to say a word. The guard hurried to unlock the door. He winced at the squeak of hinges. This was no place for a woman.

She gave him a biting look, tossed off her blanket and stalked out the door. When he tried to reach for her, she said coldly, “Don’t touch me unless you fancy lice.”

He took an involuntary step back. It was his death knell.

Her lips tightened. “I need to cut my hair. Tomorrow I am crossing that bloody river if I have to learn to walk on water to do it.” Back ramrod straight, she walked off.

Uric snapped. In that moment he became the Baron of Shardsvale, and no longer a son. As he watched Ceylon mount the stairs, he said to Roland, “Bring Mistress Maude to me in the judgment hall. I will pronounce her sentence there. And Roland,” he smiled without humor, “don’t hesitate to break down her door.”

A savage smile in place, Roland followed Ceylon up the stairs, one hand on his sword.

The lord was still firmly in place when Maude was escorted into the judgment hall. He didn’t blink when she fixed him with the full force of her contempt.

“I refuse to live in the same house as that woman any longer,” she told him haughtily. “She is disrespectful, cloddish and is subverting my staff. I want her removed immediately.

Cold slits of blue fire regarded her from her lord’s frozen face. “It is well you do not wish to share a home with her,” he agreed silkily. “It is our opinion that you are unfit to share a home with anyone.”

The first trace of panic fluttered in her eyes. “What--”

“Henceforth you will be exiled to our property in the middle of the lake. There you will pass the rest of your days, blissfully unbothered by company.”

Maude’s jaw dropped. “I will not--”

“Oh, you will. Beginning immediately. We’ve just had word that the ice has frozen fully.” His smile held the chill of endless arctic night. “Enjoy your stay.”

His guards seized her and dragged her away. His last view of her was of stunned eyes and an astounded expression. It was the first time the ogress had ever lost.

Cold silence reigned in her absence. Memories played before Uric’s eyes. This moment had been a long time coming. He had Ceylon to thank for pushing him into it. He owed the girl.

It wasn’t hard to find her. She was in her room allowing Anne to wash her newly shorn hair. Although she was in her shift she made no move to cover herself when he walked in unannounced. Anne was quick to bring her a robe. She draped it over Ceylon’s shoulders as Ceylon bent over the tub, dripping water.

In complete silence, Anne tossed the towel in the bath water to be boiled. A pungent smelling grease was rubbed into Ceylon’s hair, which was then wrapped in a rag turban. At Uric’s silent nod, she left the two of them alone.

“I banished Maude to the lake isle,” he told Ceylon, who sat beside the fire. “As the injured party you had a right to know.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t look at him.

“Maude has been stripped of her jewels and finery. She won’t be needing them where she’s going.”

“How long?” The words came out stiff, as if she close to tears. Whether of fury or humiliation for the loss of her hair, he didn’t know.

“Forever.”

She looked at him then. “Forever is a long time for a cruel but not fatal injury.”

“You are not her first victim. You would not have been her last. Her things are yours. You are a woman of no small means now. You may go anywhere or do anything you want. Nothing is beyond you.” And no one, though he didn’t expect her to choose him. Not now.

She blinked and went back to staring at the fire. He left as silently as he’d come.

* * * *

To no one’s surprise, Odell left before they rode out that morning. According to Murdock, he’d left the moment the ice had been declared stable.

“Not to worry, mistress,” he reassured Ceylon. “He seems like a steady lad. He’ll get on fine.”

Ceylon clamped her jaw shut and just nodded.

Her head felt funny without the weight of her hair and there was a constant prickle in the back of her eyes. More than once she caught herself staring at Uric and brooding. Even the prospect of riding in a sleigh with covers to her chin and a hot brick at her feet didn’t cheer her. Uric wouldn’t look at her. It hurt.

“Buck up, woman,” Roland advised her in his rasp. “He’ll come round. He always gets this way after spending time around the ogress. Not that we’ll have to worry about that again now, will we?” He winked at Anne, who shared the sleigh with her.

The older woman returned a dour nod and chose to ignore his playfulness.

Rather than cheer her, the reminder just sank Ceylon deeper into gloom. After all, it was her fault that Maude had been exiled. Surely Uric must resent her for being forced to choose between them.

“We’ll cross three rivers before we get to Queenstown,” Roland told her just before they started out. “Yell if you get cold.”

“Put on your mask,” Uric told her, nodding to her fur tie-on. “The wind will burn your face in no time at a fast clip.” It was the first thing he’d said to her since the night before, and he immediately turned his attention elsewhere.

Still, she was a little cheered.

“Lord Roland speaks the truth,” Anne told her kindly. “Baron Uric will be back to his old self soon. I can tell you no one regrets what he did, least of all me.” She pursed her lips, likely recalling unpleasant memories.

“Thank you.” Ceylon waited until she was sure Uric was out of earshot. “Uric, um, lord Uric mentioned something about Maude’s other victims? What did he mean by that, do you know?” When Anne just bit her lip, she prompted, “Did Maude mistreat others around the castle? Is that why they hated her so? Because if so, I don’t feel right in keeping all of her estate. Truly, it was a great deal to take from Maude just for--”
“Don’t trouble yourself on that account, mistress,” Uric’s cool voice cut into her speech. “Maude knew better than to take her wrath out on anyone here. And in the future I’d appreciate it if you asked me your questions. In private.”

Ceylon flushed beneath her mask, unaware he’d come up beside them and ashamed to be caught discussing ... well, it hadn’t been anything scandalous, had it? “I’m sorry.”

“Fine.” And that was the extent of conversation for the next three hours, other than the usual inquiries after her welfare.

It was the blood on the road that finally broke the silence.

Chapter 6

It hadn’t snowed in two days, and there was no drift of snow to cover the scarlet stains on the blanket of white. Uric and Roland rode ahead to join the outrider and reined their horses in before they could obliterate the spot. They looked at each other.

“Stand ready,” Uric ordered his men, and rode ahead, alert for danger.

Just around the bend they found the bodies. Two dead men and a horse. Odell’s horse.

One mitten flew to her lips. Ceylon felt the blood drain from her head. Where was Odell?

Roland dismounted to examine the scene. “Cold, but not frozen,” he said as he rolled one man over and examined the gaping edges of his throat.

Ceylon gulped and shut her eyes tight. It was a moment before she dared open them. Still, she’d already seen the worst, and it stayed with her in the darkness of her mind. The other man had been pierced through the eye. Gruesome, but quick.

The mercy of it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Odell?” she croaked.

After circling the area and the horse, which had been felled with an arrow to the heart, Roland nodded. “He stumbled off ahead. Dog tracks follow him, and I see bite marks on this one man. Did he find a pet while he was at Murdock’s?” he muttered to himself. “Looks like these two were on foot.”

“He was stupid to travel alone,” Uric said flatly.

“What did you expect?” Ceylon snapped. As if his pride would allow him to stay after Roland made his contempt known. How she’d love to enlighten Roland with a few facts! “We’ve got to find him!”

“There’s a farmstead just ahead,” Uric told her. “Ride on.”

The farm was surrounded by weathered wattle fences. A plume of smoke drifted out of the sod roof of the stone dwelling.

“Odell!” Ceylon rushed forward the moment she spotted him.

His split lip made his smile as ironic as it must have been painful. “Lo. Saw the wreckage, did you?”

The farmer and his wife looked relieved to see them. “He won’t let us tend him. Said you’d be along in a bit to clean him up.”

One swift look around the dirty hovel convinced Ceylon of his good sense. “I’ll—” she broke off with a hiss as Odell turned his head slightly. There was a human bite mark on his cheek. “No,” she whispered, fearing the worst.

His eyes glistened, and he hid it by ducking his head. “Come, Dog,” he said to someone under the table. A scruffy collie heeled as Odell limped toward the curtained off doorway to the only other room.

“Boiled water, soap and a basin,” Ceylon told the farmer’s wife. “Anne, I need my pack.” She took the oil lamp with her to the tiny bedroom. As soon as she had her supplies she told Anne to stand watch on the other side of the curtain. “I don’t need onlookers,” she said sharply to the others. Worry made her tense.

Odell groaned as he sat down. “My arm slowed me up, and I took a bad tumble when my....” His voice broke. “horse was shot down.” He swallowed. “Dog here saved my hide. He got the one I didn’t. Gave me time to stab the dirty bugger in the eye.” He flinched as Ceylon gently cleansed the bite. There was silence for a moment before he answered her unspoken question. “He didn’t,” he said gruffly. Beat of silence. “But he tried to.” This time when his eyes welled he didn’t fight it.

“Shh....” Ceylon gathered him to her bosom and rocked him, her own pain squeezing her throat. “Sh....”

* * * *

Ceylon dosed him heavily and stood guard while he was loaded into the two man sleigh with Anne. Their warmed robes and bricks were placed around him. Ceylon rode with Uric. It was another two hours until the next town, the last before Queenstown. They didn’t even consider staying at the farm any longer. It was no place to stay, not with the town so close.

“He’s shivering a great deal.” She bit her lip. “Shock, I think.”

“It’s normal,” Uric assured her. “Happens to me after every battle. Just the body shaking out, and down.” He was careful how he phrased his next question. “Are you certain he wasn’t....” He wasn’t certain a boy would admit to such a thing, even to a healer.

“Yes. He wasn’t. He would have told me. And there are other signs.” A shudder wracked her. “I’ve had to deal with such before.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was. Sorry there was evil in the world. Sorry he couldn’t shield her from all of it. And most remorseful that she hadn’t given him the right to soothe her in the best way a man could. Both of them could have used it right now.

“He misses his horse. He loved him, Uric.” She sniffed.

He tightened one arm around her, drew her back into the shelter of his larger body. “I know, sweet one. I know.”

Uric shut the door behind him, sending a curl of cold to swirl around Ceylon’s ankles. “It’ll be a cold trip tomorrow, but quick enough. Three hours and we’ll be in Queenstown.”

Ceylon shivered and drew her lap robe up closer. The guest parlor was drafty even with the fire going. “How cold is too cold to travel?” The closer they got to Queenstown the more she wouldn’t mind a delay. She was just now beginning to thaw.

Anne patted her knee sympathetically and resumed her knitting. “Don’t fret dear. It’s only a few hours to town and then you won’t have to travel again. No doubt her majesty will offer you a position at court after you cure her sisters.”

Although she appreciated the vote of confidence, Ceylon wasn’t nearly as easy with her upcoming visit. Still, she smiled as if nothing were wrong.

Uric gave her shoulder a little squeeze and whispered in her ear, “I promise it will be all right.”

She looked up and gave him a worried smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” Eager to change the subject, she asked Odell, the last occupant of the room, “What will you do when you get to Queenstown?”

The young man, who reclined on the only couch at Ceylon’s insistence, stared at the ceiling a moment more. “Why, visit my dear mother, of course.” Heavy brooding laced his answer. “And attend to a small matter of business.”

“Perhaps you would care to join me after you’re done? I could use an entertainer around the house.” Not that she had a house to keep him in. They’d be staying in Uric’s townhouse for a time, since he assured her it was better than the cramped quarters she might be offered at the castle, if less prestigious. Nor could she imagine the elegant bard installed permanently in her little place back home. Still, she wanted Odell to feel he had a place to go.

“Your kindness speaks well of you, mistress, but if all goes as planed I will soon be traveling again.” His eyes grew dreamy, and he murmured something that sounded like, ‘a sailing away’.

“Where to?”

“Someplace warm. I need some time to thaw in the sun. Did you know there are isles where the people bask in the sunshine and do nothing all day but eat coconuts?”

“Sounds deadly dull,” Anne said.

He just laughed. “Believe me, I’ve more than earned a little laziness. A chance to dream.”

“You could stay here, find a nice lass and live a dream,” she said sensibly. “Chasing about after rainbows rarely lands one a pot of gold.”

There was little humor in his chuckle now. “Marriage isn’t a winning gambit for me, I assure you. More like a nightmare. No, I’m quite certain a lover would be more to my liking.”

“Sir!” Anne rebuked.

He only smiled.

By now Ceylon was thoroughly curious, but she bit her tongue. She’d made a few guesses about the close-mouthed bard, and it took all her will not to ask. Surely he knew she was curious, and if he wished to talk he would.

As if reading her mind, Odell glanced her way. He held her gaze for a moment, then closed his eyes and resumed his nap.

* * * *

They rode into Queenstown by noon the next day. Huge statues of lions guarded the massive iron gates of the main city. Even more magnificent was the intricate ice palace a stone’s throw from the walls. It was surrounded by huge ice sculptures on every side, too many to count.

“I’d heard of this,” Anne said eagerly from the sleigh. “The Queen sponsors a contest every year. People travel from hundreds of miles around—even from other countries--just to see it and participate.”

“You’ll have more time for it later,” Uric promised. “Just now I’m sure you would like to get warm.”

“Please.” Ceylon shivered against him and he tucked his cloak around her.

“It’s not far now.” He was ever aware of how easily she chilled. Anne didn’t seem to suffer as much from the cold, but Anne was sturdy stock.

Messengers had been sent ahead, and Uric’s staff was waiting to greet them. The ladies were fussed over, Odell was given a room to rest and the lot of them and they were served a hot meal with liberal amounts of spiced mulled wine. By the time they were finished Ceylon was sleepy eyed, so he wished her a good rest while he turned his attention to business.

The first thing needed was to inform the queen of their arrival. A messenger was dispatched to see to it. The queen would arrange an appointment at her leisure. Possibly within the week.

He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous about it. Possibly because Callion might offer to let Ceylon stay? He hoped she wasn’t tempted, for it would play havoc with his plans to woo her. And woo her he would, for he’d finally given in to the inevitable. Ceylon was going to get the courtship she’d hinted of, and hang his insecurities.

Uric called for his butler. He had plans to make.

* * * *

“You’re a woman of means now,” Anne insisted the next day as she practically dragged Ceylon out shopping. “Besides, you’ll be making several appearances at court, and you must look your best.”

“I have enough clothes.” Part of Ceylon’s feet dragging came from her constant twisting to stare at the many round windows and doors. She’d never seen the like. And so much colored glass ... Glassworks were something this city specialized in, and the multitude of rainbows around her from the many glass prisms proclaimed it. It was quite the loveliest thing she’d ever seen, and surprisingly clean for a city. Queen Callion and her father before her were renowned for their refuse management programs and educational programs. The city glowed.

The one track Anne kept her pace steady and her arm looped through Ceylon’s. “Not for court, you don’t. Trust in my good sense, my dear. It’s vital that we start on your wardrobe. It’s a pity that you didn’t start the seamstress at Shardsvale start on your dresses immediately. They could have shipped them here. Besides, once you are lady of Shardsvale--”

Ceylon started. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“What great nonsense. You’re going to marry that rich, sweet, handsome man and don’t pretend otherwise. I know what it is you’re crocheting, even if he doesn’t.”

Ceylon pinkened. “Um.” She hadn’t realized that Anne was familiar with the lace bridal gowns common to her area. The women of her station might be poor, but they were also talented. It was amazing what a bit of string, a hook and some patience could accomplish.

Brows raised in a knowing expression, Anne swept into a dressmaker’s shop, the first of several. By the time they were finished, hours later, Ceylon was just about ready to let the two servants escorting them carry her home. Never had she spent so much money, or had such a dizzying amount of attention paid to her. It was enough to make one long for quiet backwater villages and comforting anonymity.

It was good to go home.

There was a gift basket hanging on her doorknob when she came in. Charmed, for it had been a long time since she’d received a gift, Ceylon looked inside. “Oh, look! Honeycomb candles! And scented soap, and ... oh....” She inhaled deeply of the small bottle of scented oil, then passed it to Anne.

“Lovely,” Anne agreed with a smile.

“It was so sweet of him to—” she broke off as she opened her bedroom door. A cheval mirror, prettily wrapped with a ribbon, stood in the center of the room. A sealed letter dangled from the ribbon. It read, “To the loveliest lady in the land. Your devoted knight, Uric.”

Feeling slightly faint, Ceylon collapsed onto her bed as Anne let herself out. Still clasping the letter to her chest, she felt a silly smile sweep across her face. Uric was courting her!

She did not see him all that night, but the next morning when she got up and stepped into the hall, something crunched underfoot. Afraid she’d crushed something fragile, she jumped back. Someone had strewn a trail of dried flower petals across the floor. The trail led to a wrapped parcel tilted against the opposite wall, circling it once.

Fragrant flower scent rose around her as she stepped over and pulled the string on the package. It was a book. A beautiful, leather bound, gold leafed tome on medicinal flowers. Mouth open, she carefully leafed through the pages. Inside were some of the most beautiful illustrations she’d ever seen or hoped to own. A slip of paper fell out. It simply said, “Your knight.”

It was the cramps in her legs that made her realize she’d been kneeling a long time, marveling over her book. Still dazed, she picked it up and took it with her to the breakfast table.

“Wonderful,” Anne pronounced it, and Odell agreed. The men were absent. As usual.

“He’s occupied with business, mistress,” the butler told her apologetically when she asked. “But he left instructions that anything you require is to be yours.”

What she desperately wanted was to see him, she thought, biting her lip. She wanted to thank him, and ... she missed him. Where was he?

Uric was hiding. There was no dignified way to put it. He quite simply couldn’t face her. The very thought gave him the cold sweats.

“It’s going well,” Roland reported with glee as he took the chair at Uric’s table. The small pub was quite at this early hour, and conversation flowed freely. “Anne says that Ceylon hasn’t moved from her reading chair in the parlor since she found your book.”

Relieved, Uric nodded. His mother would have sneered at a book for a gift, no matter how rare. By all reports Ceylon had loved the toilet things and the mirror, too.

It was hard not to simply find the most expensive things he could and throw them at her. It was what he was trained to do. The soaps had seemed like the worst foolishness to him, but Anne had insisted. The mirror had been a back up. Women loved to look at themselves, so he’d felt pretty safe there. Each correct guess was boosting his confidence.

“You’re a clever man.” Roland grinned and took a swig of ale. “This hiding yourself is only whetting her appetite. She was disappointed not to find you this morning.”

“Great.” How nice to know there was an up side to his cowardliness.

“So what’s next? Have you an idea for her next gift?”

Not a clue.

Because if you don’t, I have some ideas....”

* * * *

This time the trail of potpourri led to a door. A key on a ribbon hung on the doorknob. Ceylon opened it, holding her breath. Inside was a sunny room with multiple cupboards, a work table, writing desk and jars and jars of labeled herbs and oils. More books were stacked on the bench.

“I thought you might enjoy a workroom,” Uric said uncertainly from behind her. One hand was on the jam and he didn’t quite enter, as if unsure of his welcome.

Ceylon ignored the moisture in her eyes and launched herself at him, enfolding him in a ferocious hug. She couldn’t speak.

One tentative hand came up to stroke her back. “You like it?”

She nodded against his chest. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Then why are you crying?” He sounded bewildered. And worried.

“I’m happy.” She gave him a dazzling smile and drew away to apply her handkerchief. “How did you think of it?”

“It came to me,” he said evasively. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s wonderful. And oh! I have something for you, too.” She rummaged in the satchel she carried and withdrew her latest project.

“You made this for me?” Uric examined the socks, knitted in shades of blue and black. They had all manner of checks, diamonds and stripes. “Thank you. I’ve never had such a colorful pair before.”

She beamed. “I’d heard the ones you had were full of holes.”

“Who said that?”

“Your servants are very protective of their master’s honor. Darjeng was happy to tell me of your need for socks when I asked.” She hooked her arm through his and allowed him to escort her toward breakfast.

“You’re on first name basis with my butler?” he asked with mock jealousy.

“Only so I can dazzle him into spoiling me. Actually I think he has his eye on Anne.” She winked.

Not quite willing to relinquish their privacy, Uric danced her around until her back was to a wall. “You know it’s good manners to say thank you with a kiss.” His smile was pure invitation.

Slightly breathless, she said mischievously, “To everyone?”

“Only to me.” He lowered his head.

“Well—um ... .” His kiss was sweet, and very, very persuasive. It had been a long time. Ceylon melted. And when he drew his knee up between her thighs she moaned and clutched him tighter. She was very near to dragging him off and having her wicked way with him when she suddenly remembered her wedding dress. It wasn’t done.

“Wait!” she gasped as she broke away.

His lips trailed down her temple and caressed her neck, sparking fires.

“Uric!” She grasped his head with both hands, desperate to make him stop before she lost all sense. “My dress isn’t finished,” she blurted out before she could think.

He frowned at her. “Your dress?” He must have drawn his own conclusions from her pink cheeks, for his face lit with joy. “Your wedding dress?”

Suddenly shy, she looked down and bit her lip. It didn’t stop her smile. Still, she couldn’t quite say it out loud. It was too scary. Instead she nodded.

“We’re getting married!” he shouted, and spun her around. In the middle of the whirl he stopped and kissed her dizzy. “Married,” he whispered with wonder.

The servants and Anne came running. “Is something wrong, my lord?” the butler asked uncertainly.

“We’re to be married!” Amongst their congratulations, he grabbed Ceylon’s hands. “Where is it? Where’s your dress?”

She led him to the parlor and pulled a scrap of lace about a foot square from her work basket.

He stared at it in dismay. “These things take a long time to do, don’t they?”

She nodded. “Months.”

Even more disappointed, he held it against her chest. It barely covered the essentials. “You could make it short sleeved.”

“I could.”

“And what if,” he looked around somewhat desperately. “Anne could help.”

She smiled. “Yes, if she likes.”

Uric fixed Anne with a look of stern command. “She likes. In fact, we could hire others—”

Ceylon shook her head. “It’s traditional for the bride herself to work on it, and maybe her family or one close friend. I wouldn’t feel right if others made it.” He looked so crestfallen that she had to smile. “Don’t worry,” she said as she patted his cheek. “With Anne’s help I might have it done in a month, perhaps six weeks.”

“Six weeks.” He nodded, grimly. “I can wait six weeks.” He glanced at her body. “Maybe. Why don’t you get started?” Conscious of their chaperones, he kissed her hand. “Until later.”

The moment the parlor door closed behind him, Anne squealed and hugged her. “You minx! Six weeks indeed. You’re bound to make the man suffer, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

Anne snorted and pulled the real, nearly completed wedding dress from the bottom of the basket. “I peeked.”

Ceylon took the gown and held it lovingly against her body. She could hardly wait to see herself in the cheval glass. “I wanted to give him time. To be sure.”

“That man was sure a minute after he saw you, I’m certain.” Anne sat down and took up her own needlework. “The only one uncertain about this match is you.”

“A woman should be careful,” she said defensively as she carefully folded the gown and wrapped it in paper. “Marry once, but slowly,” she quoted the old proverb.

“Scratch not with chickens when you can fly with eagles,” Anne countered. “Fate has handed you a dream, child. Don’t play with it.”

Sound advice. If only she had the courage to stop thinking and start leaping.

* * * *

Uric changed overnight. Now that he was sure of her he was much more relaxed. Even playful. The atmosphere around him was charged with joy and energy. Affectionate to the point of earning Anne’s censorious looks, he was in constant contact with Ceylon, either touching her shoulder, her hair and occasionally putting his arm around her—usually when Anne wasn’t looking.

Ceylon loved it. And the kisses he gave when no one was looking absolutely threatened her virginity. He never said as much, but she could feel from the hunger in his kiss his eagerness to speed up the marital rights. If he knew about the dress ... Best not to think of it.

“The queen has sent word,” Uric told her that morning. “You’re to appear at court in two days.”

Ceylon paled. “All right.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her as he took her hand. Anne was in the room, so he dared nothing more. “I’ve been to court many times.”

“You have,” she muttered. She fingered her locket.

“I wish you would stop wearing that,” Uric said irritably. “My men have orders to watch for Eville, you’re never without an escort and he’s unlikely to pursue you this far anyway.”

“I know.” Still, she didn’t remove it. Just as she never removed her steel hair pins, except to sleep. One couldn’t be too safe.

In the mist of all this anticipation, Odell disappeared. Ceylon didn’t know he was gone until a maid brought her a note. It read,

Dear Mistress Ceylon,

I’ve deemed my face healed enough to dare popping in on my mother. Thanks to Mistress Anne’s remarkable cosmetics I daresay she won’t even notice. Then it’s off to explore the tropics. I thank you greatly for all your help and hospitality.

Your servant, O.

It was very abrupt, and Ceylon couldn’t help but worry as she folded the paper. She seriously doubted Odell had a mother anywhere near the city. Whatever he was up to, it was bound to involve more than the light hearted lark he made it out to be. Still, she didn’t know what she could possibly do to help.

“What’s this? Why the frown?” Anne asked as she popped into Ceylon’s workroom and sorted through the cupboards. After a moment she withdrew her own stash of cosmetic supplies and set up her equipment. The concealer she’d used to cover Odell’s bite mark showed remarkable potential to cover facial scars, and she was perfecting it.

“Odell has left.” She carefully folded the scrap of paper and tucked it in her skirt pocket.

“Hm. Well, couldn’t expect the young scamp to hang about here forever, could we?” Anne frowned as she measured a pale powder. “Still, one worries. A young boy like him should not be running about unescorted.”

A glass vial clicked sharply as Ceylon set it down to stare at Anne.

Anne shrugged. “I’m a woman, my dear. How could I not notice?” Unlike our traveling companions, was left unsaid.

Ceylon just shook her head. Their density had proved a mystery to her, especially Roland’s. Just what had he thought Odell was, anyway?

* * * *

“You’re sure?”

Roland nodded. “Raven and I have kept a sharp eye out at the hostels and taverns. We haven’t seen him, but word is he’s in town.” He smiled without humor. “I took his sword hand before he slunk away the last time. He’s easy to spot.”

Grim with the weight of Roland’s news, Uric leaned back in his office chair. “Wonderful. This on top of rumors of trouble in the far lands. If they prove true the queen will want to send me to investigate. I’m not easy about leaving Ceylon without the protection of my name.”

A carved octagon puzzle box caught Roland’s eye. He hefted it thoughtfully. “Speak with her. She’s promised herself to you. Surely she’ll see the reason in hastening the wedding.”

Uric’s jaw locked. “She doesn’t seem eager. With my history I’m not hot to rock the boat.”

“So get sneaky.” He put down the puzzle box and helped himself to a nut from the nut bowl, cracking it in his hand. “You’re a tactician. Think of a way to back her to the wall. Personally I favor compromising her.” He winked and popped the nutmeats in his mouth.

A grunt was Uric’s only answer. Roland’s plan was good in theory, but he needed something more sure. Something guaranteed to succeed.

An idea came to him, and he smiled.

One look at his diabolical expression and Roland grinned wickedly. “Found the solution, have you?”

“Hm.”

Roland chuckled and cut a sharp salute. “Never doubted you, lad.”

* * * *

“Just breathe,” Ceylon told herself. She was so nervous she was shaking. Even Uric’s strong hand on her back didn’t calm much. What was she doing here? A country healer had no place in court. Surely the queen’s finest physicians had seen the princesses, and if they were expecting a miracle she was fresh out.

“What is taking so long?” She bunched the material of her skirt in her hands. She’d chosen the dress she’d first met Uric in today, partly to give her heart, and because she felt more comfortable in something she owned independent of him.

People talked about women who received gifts from gentlemen.

“Relax.” Their bodies blocked the soothing action of his hand as he rubbed her back. “You’re at court. Things move at their own pace here.”

“Yes, at a snail’s crawl,” a man waiting in the chamber with them muttered. The courtier bowed to Ceylon and smiled. His slightly uneven teeth shown white against his silver shot goatee and chin length, silver streaked hair. He looked familiar somehow, though Ceylon was sure she’d never met him. “I am Sir Dante Inferato, lovely lady. And you would be?”

“My betrothed, Ceylon, soon to be of Shardsvale.”

Whispers started in the room as people looked their way, some covertly, others with open interest. Ceylon swallowed. Oh, dear. Were they wondering if Uric would finally get a bride to the altar? As annoyed with him as she felt for just announcing it like this, she felt an equally strong compulsion not to embarrass him. Judging from the startled, then speculative look on Dante’s face, it would be so easy to do.

Uric’s cool stare must have served as a warning, for the man was noticeably more deferential when he bowed again. “An honor. And congratulations.” His gaze darted to her stomach, as if wondering what prompted the wedding. “And when is the happy event to occur?”

Already she disliked him. It wasn’t hard to guess that a countdown had started from this minute to see if she was already with child.

As if unaware of the undercurrents, Uric answered, “I’ve left the choice with my lady.”

Soft snickers came from the avid spectators. It made Ceylon burn. They expected her to refuse him at the midnight hour, as had all the others. Emotion made her rash. “Actually, we were just waiting until after my audience with the queen. Uric was nice enough to let me get over this and calm my nerves before making me a bride.”

Dante stroked his dark, pointed beard and eyed her doubtfully. “Tomorrow, then?” He looked certain she would bolt long before dawn.

“Right before breakfast,” Ceylon informed him as if she’d planned it for weeks. “You may come if you like.”

The whispers became a buzz. “The Berserker to take a wife? Not for my gold.”

“She’ll run, never fear.”

The audience doors swung open and Ceylon was called in before she could voice any of the retorts she was dying to say.

“Mistress Ceylon of Marksheath,” the herald called.

Uric squeezed her hand and winked. “You’ll do fine. Be brave for me.”

The minute the doors closed behind her, he turned to Roland’s brother Dante and clapped him on the back. “Well done, you old rascal, you.”

Dante smirked. “Who’s old? I can still drink you under the table. And it’s nice to see you with a woman of loyalty for a change. And lovely. She makes all your other betroths look like day old meat.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Speaking of birds, there’s a rumor that my brother’s estranged wife has finally flown her coop and alighted a court. Apparently she’s in seclusion, for no one has seen her, nor does anyone know what brought her here.”

“Hm. Can’t be good for Roland.” Although he was privy to the details of Roland’s disastrous marriage, Uric couldn’t see an easy out for his friend. His wife was rumored to be a tyrannical, tempestuous wench who ruled their lands with an iron hand, though he was in a position to know the rumors were greatly exaggerated. Still, there was no doubt she held men--lords at least--in ill favor. More than one of Roland’s neighbors had complained to the queen, though nothing had come of it. As long as the woman didn’t annoy the queen herself and continued to send her generous yearly tribute the queen was unlikely to investigate the doings at Riverdell.

“I’ll tell him myself, if you don’t mind,” Dante said. “He’s not likely to take it well, and we’ve some catching up to do. I’ve just arrived myself. Is he staying with you in the city?”

“He has his own place.” Uric gave him the directions. “Though he might be hard to track at the moment. He’s taking care of a bit of unfinished business with an old friend of Ceylon’s.”

Dante appraised Uric’s dark expression. “Come to my rooms and share a drink. I think I’d like to hear about this business.”

Uric glanced at the closed doors.

“Don’t worry about her. Rumor has it the queen will drown her in gold if she succeeds. And if you have confidence in her....”

Uric nodded. “You’re right. Best to stay out of her way and let her work. Lead on.”

A quarter hour latter they were in Dante’s room, seated at a small table. While comfortable enough, the room was far from lavish. Elegance, not ostentatious display, was the style.

“I’ve word on the situation on the border,” Dante said as he refilled his glass of watered wine. “One of the queen’s dukes is gathering an army. There’s been no official notice given, but he’s made noises often enough in the past about his desire to see a king and not a queen on the throne. Could be war.”

Uric said nothing. He knew the duke in question. An older man with military training and an intense craving for power. His hatred for women was a convenient excuse to invade and conquer.

“She’ll send you.”

Yes, Queen Callion would send her best, and he was that. More, he wanted to go. It was his duty to ensure peace in the land, and he did not want to see his sons and daughters suffer at the hand of a cruel overlord. If a summons was not waiting for him at home, it would be there on the morrow. Callion would not waste time dealing with this threat. Already he was planning the campaign, reviewing what he knew of the terrain and their enemy’s supporters.

The only question was, what would Ceylon think of her new husband marching to war on the heels of their wedding?

* * * *

Her Majesty was not what Ceylon had expected.

Except for the guards at the door and flanking her throne, she sat alone in the audience chamber. Ceylon had expected crowds of courtiers; this personal interview was a profound relief.

At thirty she was still youthful and as beautiful as her sisters were purportedly ugly. Blue eyes set in flawless skin. A sparkling tiara set in her upswept black hair. Her robe flowed in silken lines about her, and the rich scarlet and gold cloth dazzled the eye.

A fluffy white cat sat in her lap, and the queen casually stroked it, her signet ring flashing against the snowy fur. “Rise,” she told Ceylon, who had knelt down, head respectfully bowed. “So you are the famed healer, the one my sisters put such hope in.”

“I am a healer, my lady, and hardly famed, but I have come at your command.” It was the only safe answer, and as much of a disclaimer--and complaint--as she dared.

One slim brow rose. There was a beat of silence. “So tell me, have you truly cured warts?”

“I have.”

“You burned them off with hot pokers? Frozen them with ice...?”

Horrified, Ceylon recoiled. “Never! What kind of idiots would do such a thing?”

“The royal physicians highly recommend it for one of my sisters, though I have resisted their advice,” the queen said with the ghost of a wry smile.

“Good! Such ‘treatment’ would only cause the warts to spread, as does cutting into them.”

A pained expression crossed her Majesty’s face. “Where you were last spring?”

Ceylon stared at her, sickened. The princess must have scars.

Queen Callion waved her hand, dismissing the past. “What would you have done instead?”

“I use a resin and bloodroot. I’ve yet to find a wart which can resist it.”

“Interesting. And for boils and pimples?”

“Diet, herbs, cleanliness. It depends on the patient. While they may not disappear, I’ve significantly reduced their vigor in several people, while improving their health.”

“No expensive lotions or creams?”
Ceylon shrugged. “They serve little purpose but to line the pockets of the unscrupulous. Sometimes they even cause harm. I believe a body must be healed from the inside out.”

“Really. And what about the mark said to have once been on your cheek? Was this removed with diet?”

Heat rose in Ceylon’s cheeks as if she’d done something wrong. “No, your Majesty. It was an exception, as are wounds, of course, and external parasites such as lice.” She couldn’t tell what the queen was thinking, and desperately wanted to fidget, but didn’t dare. Where were the princesses, anyway? Surely this was some kind of test.

At last Callion raised a finger. Instantly a servant came forward. “I have decided to give you a trial, Mistress Ceylon. Succeed and you will be handsomely rewarded, but I warn you, I must approve every measure you take with no exceptions. You will be taken to my sisters now.”

The servant led Ceylon down marble corridors and hallways lined with works of art and tapestries. The ceilings were arched and decorated with plaster medallions, scrollwork and paintings. Never one who was good with directions, Ceylon was sure she’d need a guide to find her way back out.

The princesses were waiting in plush sitting room with their companions. The youngest, a girl of perhaps fifteen, jumped up the moment Ceylon was announced.

“Oh, she is beautiful,” she said breathlessly. One slim hand went to her horribly pimpled face. It was hard to tell with all the redness, but it looked as it might be scarred. “Tell me there is something you can do for me, too. Oh, I’m Pendallea, but please don’t call me that. I prefer Penny.”

Before she could reply, the middle sister rose and looked closely at Ceylon’s face, though she didn’t invade her space. “Annadelle. Anne,” she said absently. She had lovely eyes, but her hair was dull, with the appearance of straw, and she wore a veil over the bottom half of her face.

“Iona,” the largest of the three said as she heaved herself from her settee. She eyed Ceylon’s figure appraisingly. “And what do you recommend as a slimming diet? Bread and gruel?” she asked with a grimace.

A little overwhelmed, Ceylon took a step back and raised a hand. “One at a time, please, your highnesses. “I need to ask some questions, take some notes. I do think I can be helpful to you, but it will not happen in an instant.” She rummaged in her bag and brought out a sheaf of paper, ink and paint brush, which she clutched to her chest. “Is there a place where I might write?”

Princess Penny led her to a small table, quickly gathering a hodgepodge of books and dumping them in her sister Ann’s arms. “There.” She plopped down in the seat across from Ceylon, clasped her hands in her lap, and waited expectantly.

“All right, then.” Ceylon tapped her pages neatly together and took her time about setting out her ink and brush. The extra seconds helped her to gather her thoughts. “Princess ... Penny.” The name tasted strange on her tongue. What an odd nickname. “Tell me what you eat every day.”

“Oh, we have the best pastry chefs and sweet makers,” Penny said fondly. “Fine white bread, pastries, sweet puddings and dumplings....”

“And those divine confections,” Iona added reverently. “I eat a plate of them every day. Our doctors say it helps keep a sweet temperament.”

Ceylon blinked. “And what about vegetables?”

“Vegetables?” Penny said the word as if it were a mystery.

“Peasants eat vegetables,” Ann said as if it were holy writ. “Our father forbade the serving of vegetables at his table, and we keep the tradition.”

Well, that explained the king’s early demise. Stunned, Ceylon said, “You eat no vegetables? What about fruit then?”

“Of course! Fruit is served in dessert.”

Well, mystery partly solved. Ceylon poked her bottom lip with her paint brush and considered. What were the odds the princess would accept her diagnosis and go against tradition and the established medical community here? Perhaps if she showed promise in one area they would be more likely to trust her in another?

She considered Princess Ann’s face. “Would you remove your veil, please?”

Slowly, eyes downcast, Ann untied the veil. At least a dozen warts covered her chin and jaw.

Compassion welled in Ceylon. She knew what it was like to have a marked face. The bottle of wart remover she’d brought was in her pocket. She gave it to the princess. “Use a small brush to dot this over your affliction. Gently cleanse your face daily, and be careful not to pick at or vigorously disturb the infection, or it will spread.”

Ann held the bottle as if it contained liquid gold as her sisters stared hopefully at it. “How much?” she asked softly.

“I’m sorry?” Ceylon thought she had misheard the application directions.

“For the bottle. What will it cost?”

“Oh.” Ceylon named the price she normal charged. Well, would charge if her patients ever paid in anything but chickens.

Anne’s eyes widened. “So little? Did I mishear you?”

“I’m not going to rob you, your highness. For that matter I never accept payment for this kind of thing unless it works.”

“What about me?” Penny asked eagerly. “Did you bring something for me?”

“I’m sorry. I’d heard of your sister’s affliction, but I had not yet seen you. I will have to consult my books and notes, but I can come back—Oh!” She blushed. How could have forgotten. “I’m getting married tomorrow. But the day after--”

“Who are you marrying?” Penny asked.

“Baron Uric.” Just the thought made her blush. Would he expect his marriage rights directly after the ceremony?

Silence greeted her words. “Baron Uric?” Penny repeated carefully. “The one with the wicked mother?”

Ceylon’s hand went to her shortened hair. “He banished her.”

Princess Iona, who had not missed the gesture, frowned. “You do know he’s a berserker?”

“Who would never harm a woman,” Ceylon said quietly. “I’ve traveled with him, seen him in battle. Only his enemies and those of the queen need fear him.”

No one argued with her, but neither did they look convinced.

“We wish you happy, then,” Ann said politely.

“Best of luck,” Penny seconded, but her voice cracked.

Iona just gave a doubtful nod.

No wonder Uric found it so hard to get married, Ceylon thought wryly. Perhaps she should find a way to change his reputation.

Chapter 7

Uric was waiting to escort her home when she finished with the princesses. “How was it?” he asked as she took his arm.

“I think I can help them,” she said with relief. All along she’d feared that her trip would be useless and that her failure would anger the queen. Now that she’d seen the princesses and found that they were neither two headed nor horribly deformed, she felt her journey might not be in vain.

“If you can, you’ll be doing better than the doctors here. I wouldn’t have a dog treated by the idiots who call themselves doctors here.”

She looked at him, concerned. “Who treats you in the field? When you are wounded?”

He shrugged as he helped her up into their couch. “Mostly we treat each other. Roland has patched me up, or whoever was free.”

Ceylon blanched. “Tell me you know about washing your hands and which herbs to use for healing.”

One arm stretched against the back of the seat behind her, Uric smiled. It was clear he had other things on his mind. “Why would we wash our hands?” he asked, toying with a loose strand of her hair. “Usually we just slap a bandage on and occasionally a bit of salve.”

Completely horrified, she drew back and turned sideways to look at him. “Have you any idea how much misery and infection you could prevent if you just used soap and water?” Determination hardened her jaw. One day infection would kill him if someone’s sword didn’t. “That does it. I’m interviewing for a personal healer for you first thing tomorrow.”

A roguish smile tilted up his mouth, made his eyes heat. “You’ll be busy tomorrow.”

The reference made her blush. “Fine. The next day, then. There’s no time to waste. The queen could call you away tomorrow, for all we know, and you’re not traveling without someone there to look after you. I’d go myself, but--”

“I’d never permit it,” he said fiercely. “You have no idea how ugly battle can be, and I’ll not have you find out.”

“But,” she continued stubbornly, “I doubt the queen would let me go. At least not until I’ve done my best for her sisters.”

One raised brow expressed his thoughts on that, but he said nothing else.

* * * *

Uric sought her out in her workroom later that evening. At the sound of his entrance she looked up, smiled, and shut the book she was studying.

“Hello.” He kissed her hand, then her cheek. His lips lingered at the corner of her mouth, teasing.

Giggling, she broke away. “Uric!” she chided, but she was smiling.

“Mm.” He eased her out of her chair and coaxed her over to the settee he’d placed in a sunny corner of the room.

“Are you being bad?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Definitely.”

And bent on seduction. Their wedding was tomorrow. She’d promised to be his. As far as he was concerned, she was.

Ceylon was content in his arms as long as he only kissed her, and her moans could only be called encouraging. But the moment his hand strayed to her breast she broke the kiss.

“Uric--oooh....” Her grip on his hand slackened. Long moments passed as she let him touch her. When she was squirming in his arms, he let his hand trail lower.

A small feminine hand stopped him. “I can’t--”

His deep, reassuring kisses calmed her, hazed her mind as he lay her back and eased a hand under her skirt and along her thigh.

This time she stopped him with more force. “No! It’s wrong.”

“Our marriage will be blessed in the morning,” he reasoned. “I only want to touch you, give you pleasure. You have my word.”

“You will not....” She bit her lip.

Touched, he kissed her temple and withdrew his hand. Who was he to spoil such innocence? It was only a few hours until she became his wife, and he would not press her if it would make her feel shame. “I will not.” For a time he simply held her, until, lulled by the comfort of his arms, she fell asleep.

* * * *

The sound of boots on the stairs and voices woke her. Ceylon sat up and darted a glance at the moon. Still well before dawn, and she was in her own bed. Vaguely she recalled Uric carrying her here, and shooing him out before she changed into her nightgown. Now the warm flannel was twisted about her thighs, indicating a restless slumber.

Before she could light a lamp, the door opened and a parade of people came in. She squinted at Uric in the light of the lamps they brought with them. “What’s the matter?”

“We need to speed up the wedding,” he said implacably. “I’ve received word from the queen; I’m to lead the army into war. I don’t know when I’ll be back, and I’m not leaving without giving you the protection of my name.”

A question hovered on her lips, but before she could voice it a priest stepped forward. Anne, Roland and Raven stood respectfully behind him as witnesses.

“Do you take this woman as your wife?” the robed priest asked.

“I do,” Uric answered without hesitation.

The priest looked at Ceylon. “Do you take this man as your husband?”

“I do?” Sleep still hazed her mind, but she knew this was highly irregular.

“Then I pronounce this union blessed. Sign here.” The priest handed her a document and a paintbrush. Still in bed, she balanced it on her lap and glanced at Uric to ascertain the reality of her situation. Slowly, she signed it.

Her new husband signed the document with much more alacrity. Finished, he escorted the priest to the door.

“Long life and happiness,” Anne said as she kissed Ceylon’s cheek.

“And many babies.” Roland kissed her cheek and winked.

“Congratulations, Lady Ceylon,” Raven said with good cheer as he slapped her on the back. He filed out after the others, leaving her alone with Uric.

The minute the door was closed, Uric locked it and shed his clothes.

She swallowed hard and pulled the blankets higher. This was happening way too fast. His pants hit the floor and she looked away, her cheeks on fire.

The bed creaked as he slipped under the covers and took her in his arms. Male heat poured from his naked body and through her nightgown. A fine trembling took over her body and would not stop.

“Shh,” he soothed her. “I am in a hurry, but I will not maul you, love. I want you to enjoy this.” He trailed kisses down her temple, teased the corner of her mouth. “I’ve dreamed of this so long, and the queen can wait a bit more. I won’t spoil this for either of us.”

Slowly his kisses and soft words thawed her. A building passion replaced the fear, especially since he kept his touch light. A craving, incessant, urged her to turn into to his arms, to place her hands on his shoulders. Such smooth skin. Had she ever felt such hard strength?

“Yes, love.” He continued to encourage her as he slowly explored her body, showing her pleasure she hadn’t known a man could give. Each touch, each tender caress of his mouth, made her pulse drum faster in her ears.

The nightgown was too hot. She was burning.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he eased it from her, causing tremors of fire as he kissed each section of bared skin. When he reached the apex of her thighs and continued the kisses to their most intimate conclusion, she cried out in sheer pleasure. She would die. He would kill her with this loving.

Amazingly, she lived, but her heart was still pounding when he moved up and made her his. It hurt. He was so big. But he was gentle and mindful of her pleasure, and in the end she found joy in her deflowering, because it was him.

The climax he gave her didn’t hurt, either.

“Sweet love.” He kissed her forehead and rolled off her, tucking her close. “You don’t know what you do for me.”

Happiness bubbled inside her, and she smiled against his chest. “If it’s anything like what you just did for me, I think we’re even.”

He propped his head on one hand and grinned. “Liked it, did you?”

Ceylon blushed. “Can we do it again?”

For a moment he hesitated. Then he muttered, “The queen can wait,” and rolled her to her back.

* * * *

He was gone when she awoke late that morning. A single red bloom lay on the pillow next to her.

Love welled in her heart as she caressed the petals and breathed in the rich scent. Her new husband was proving to be quite a romantic.

And tireless. A sharp twinge between her thighs made her wince, but she wasn’t sorry. He’d been worth it.

A knock on the door caught her attention and she called, “Come in.”

Anne opened the door with a smile. Two servants bearing a tub and water came in with her. “I thought you would appreciate a hot bath this morning. I remember the sore muscles which came with my own wedding night.”

Ceylon smiled and ducked her head. “Thank you.”

When the servants were finished Anne assisted Ceylon by washing her hair. “Lord Uric left word. It seems some upstart duke is rebelling against Queen Callion. Lord Uric is being sent to crush him. Rumor has it her Majesty will reward him with the duke’s lands and titles when he wins.” She winked. “You’ll be a duchess, love.”

Ceylon sighed. “Wonderful.”

“Now don’t be like that. It’s a great honor the queen will do your husband. And just think of all the people you can help as a duchess. Why, you could sponsor orphanages and schools, improve the lives of your tenants ... the world is open for you to do a lot of good.”

The idea was immensely appealing, and Ceylon perked up. Imagine, a school where children like Raven could learn to read and write. Libraries full of books for lending, schools for healers ... Anne was right. The best was that she needn’t wait. As a baroness she already had the ability to start these changes. Even better, if she gave Uric the credit she could completely change his image in the eyes of the people.

What a wedding gift!

Speaking of Uric....”Anne, I need to find a healer, a good one, to send with Uric. Maybe even two. By the sounds of things the medical help at the sight of a battle is awful.”

“Better round up a bushel, then. Think of all the poor soldiers who may suffer for lack of proper care,” Anne said practically.

“Good idea.” Ceylon sat down at her writing desk. “They’ll need supplies. Extra food. Should we send them by wagon, do you think?”

The day went quickly. By the time it closed she’d made good progress on rounding up healers and a few likely apprentices. She’d set a scribe to copying her text books on healing and hired another to accompany the healers to the battle grounds to record what went on there.

“The queen’s surgeons will not appreciate our presence, my Lady,” one aging healer said with concern. “Our methods are very different.”

“Work where you can,” she advised him. “If in doubt, ask the wounded who they’d rather choose. It may be that surgeons will be better at one kind of healing, and you at another.”

He bowed his head, but not before she saw the doubt in his eyes. Maybe she should bring this up with the queen?

* * * *

It was a grim and tired Uric who came home late that evening. He smiled when he saw her and gladly returned her shy embrace. “Ah, sometimes I wish I could take you with me, love. But I’m glad you’ll be here where it’s safe.” He gently rubbed her stomach. “Perhaps carrying our babe inside you?”

She blushed. “It’s not my fertile time yet.”

He frowned. “You know such things? I hadn’t thought there was a way to tell.”

The blush grew more fierce. “A woman’s fertile time comes when she is most slippery, and nature smoothes the way. A practiced touch can feel it in her pulse, and she can be trained to notice the difference in her feelings. Some women are more irritable, while others find themselves craving....” She cleared her throat and averted her eyes.

Delighted, he nuzzled her ear. “Craving their man?” he whispered. He hummed with delight when she gave a little moan. This marriage business was definitely agreeing with him.

“Oh!” she said breathlessly as he sought a kiss, “I almost forgot. I found some healers to send with you to battle. So you’ll have someone to look after you,” she added earnestly.

He frowned. She had the oddest timing. “Okay.” He tried to kiss her again, but she pushed on his chest.

“Are you pleased?” She bit her lip.

“Very,” he said with a grin, then attacked her lips with playful ferocity. In moments she’d forgotten whatever else she might have said to stall him--he suspected shyness and a lingering fear of discomfort of making her apprehensive about his attentions. Pleased that his kisses could make her forget her fears, he lifted her in his arms and hurried up the stairs.

He was one bridegroom who didn’t need coaxing to do his duty.

Later, after they’d exhausted themselves, he told her, “The army leaves tomorrow.”

A distinct pout made her lips puff. It was so cute, so uncharacteristic, that he just had to nibble on them.

“Uric!” she laughed, and swatted at him. “This is serious.”

“Seriously tempting,” he waggled his brows as he tugged down the quilt, exposing her breasts.

“Stop that!” She wrestled with him for the blankets, then gave it up when he rolled on top of her and cradled her breasts, loving each in turn. “Again?” she asked in breathless surprise.

“And again. Who knows when I’ll get another chance?” He stopped and looked at her, concerned. “Unless you’re too tender?”

She laughed and pulled him down for a kiss.

* * * *

“Write to me,” she whispered the next day as she cradled his jaw. They stood in the foyer. Raven was nearby, nearly dancing with his chance to go as a squire to a real battle.

She looked so beautiful looking up at him that in nearly broke his heart. “Often. Your letters will be the highlight of my day. Write down everything you do. I want to hear everything.” He was leaving men to watch over her, and Dante had promised to keep an eye on her at court. She’d been annoyed, then amused at when she’d found out who Dante was, but had promised to send for him if she were in danger. Roland was riding at Uric’s side, for which she’d expressed relief. She said she’d wanted someone trustworthy protecting his back.

The sentiment warmed him. “Stay busy, stay safe. Go nowhere without two of the men I’ve assigned to guard you,” he said sternly, then smiled and kissed her quickly on the lips. Reluctantly he stepped back. “I’d better hurry off before they think I’ve defected. Take care, wife.” He took on step away, stopped as if he’d forgotten something, and returned to whisper in her ear, “I love you.”

Her joyous expression was just the memory he needed to take with him.

* * * *

He loved her.

Ceylon walked around in a daze for half the day, reliving his words. Ah, to be loved. And not just by any man. Was there ever a woman more blessed?

If her conviction of blessing wavered a tad when she met the old king’s sister, well, it was to be expected.

The crabby elder woman sized her up through her lorgnette as they were introduced, her mouth puckered as if she’d been sucking alum. “So you are the village witch with the so-called ‘miraculous cures’. I suppose you claim the ability to cure tumors, too?”

Ceylon straightened from her curtsy and blinked. The woman reminded her of a grumpy village granny. Fortunately, she had a soft spot for grumps. “There are herbs and seeds which will do so, Lady Payne, but none of your nieces have that unfortunate condition.”

“Oh, Auntie Winne, don’t torture her,” the princess Penny begged. “She’s come with something to help my face today. You have, haven’t you?” she asked Ceylon.

Ceylon smiled. “Indeed I have.” She opened her satchel and withdrew her notes and blue jar of tea. A paper label dangled from a string tied around the neck, identifying the contents and instructions for use. “This is for your skin, but it will only work if you follow the special diet I’ve set out for you as well. The diet will seem quite sparse at first, but it will be temporary. After your skin improves we will expand it to include more of your favorite things.” She handed each princess a copy of the healthier diets she’d devised for them.

“But ... theses have vegetables in them,” Penny protested. “I can’t possibly--”

“Where are my sweets?” demanded Iona. “You must have forgotten to add them,” she said with conviction as she headed for the writing desk. “I’ll just make a note in the margin.”

“Why should I need a diet?” If Ann hadn’t been a princess, one would have called her tone a whine.

“Spinach?” Penny interrupted. “What is that? It sounds very disagreeable.”

“Stop!” Ceylon commanded just as Iona reached the table. She had very little temper, but their childish behavior was pricking it. “Not one word is to be added to or taken from the diets. I am the healer. I did not travel across a country to be ignored. If your highness will not work with me, I shall pack my herbs and my ointments and be on my way.” She snatched the tea jar from Penny and stuffed it in her satchel. The parchment was an easy matter to slip from the shocked girl’s slack hand. No doubt they were unused to hearing that tone from anyone.

When she reached for the paper in Ann’s hand, however, Ann slapped it protectively to her chest. “Now, wait! I didn’t say I wouldn’t cooperate. I was merely ... surprised. We were all surprised, weren’t we, sisters?”

“Oh, very,” Penny agreed hastily, her longing gaze on Ceylon’s guarded satchel.

Iona was slower to agree, but at last she sighed and nodded glumly. “Yes. I suppose I won’t die from eating these ... vegetables for a short while. “ She glanced unhappily at her menu. “How long did you say it would be?”

“One month.” Ceylon held up her hand against the collective groans. “After which, if you don’t see vast improvement, you may feel free to send me packing.”

“You’ll need to speak with the chefs,” Ann said without enthusiasm. “They may not know how to prepare these dishes.”

“Do you think?” Iona asked hopefully. She tempered her response at Ceylon’s frown. “That is, whatever will we do if they don’t?”

“I’ll teach them.” A little thing like incompetent cooks wasn’t going to stop Ceylon.

To her surprise, the royal chef wasn’t just resistant, he was mutinous. “No! I will not stoop to this preparing of vegetables for the royal table. I have worked here since the old king ruled, my lady, and I will cook as he would have it done. There will be no peasant’s food served here.”

“You can be demoted,” Ceylon said pleasantly. “I’m certain I can find a chef more willing to be innovative. Or, if you prefer, we can simply have someone else prepare the special dishes while you do the dishes you are accustomed to. I’m told your skills are considerable. I’d hate to see the royal house lose you after these many years of service.”

He eyed her distrustfully. “This new man will be under my command?”

“New woman.” She smiled at his look of outrage. “For the things I have in mind, only a good country cook will do.”

“I can not allow a woman in my kitchen!”

“Women have excelled in the kitchen long before men ever learned the art,” she said over her shoulder as she left. “You’ll love her.”

* * * *

“I hate her!” he screeched the next day, after the royal dinner. Ceylon had been invited to sample the dishes and found them to be a smashing success. Even the queen had sampled several dishes, and the princess had expressed surprise at finding several things to their liking.

“It’s not as dreadful as I’d expected,” Princess Ann had declared.

But now their pampered chef was set on ruining it.

“She takes up too much room.” He gestured to Bettina, the woman Ceylon had supplied from her own household to train a resident undercook. Unfazed, the woman looked up from her work and went back to what she was doing.

“You have only to take over her tasks here and she will go,” Ceylon pointed out.

“I will not cook peasant food!”

“Then I suggest you stay out of her way.“ She stared the man down. Finally he looked away. What else could he do? She outranked him and they both knew it.

He sent an evil look toward Bettina.

“Mess with her and you mess with me,” Ceylon told him softly. “And think about who I am.” Only a great fool with mess the wife of the queen’s berserker.

Eyes on the floor, jaw tense, he nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

She’d just made another enemy.

As if that weren’t bad enough, when she arrived home she was informed that a dead kitten had been nailed to the front door.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Darjeng said gravely. “No one saw the miscreant.”

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then said with a sigh, “Thank you, Darjeng. Please arrange for the female staff to travel in pairs for the time being, or to be accompanied by a manservant on their errands. If this is Eville, as we feared, he’s an ugly person. There’s no telling what he might chose to do to torment me.” And now she’d have to write Uric of this. One more pressure he didn’t need, and it wasn’t as if she could keep it from him. He needed to know the good and the bad.

And the good was very good. Over the next week Penny’s face showed marked improvement. Anne took heart from it and continued to use her medicine. Iona was put out by the loss of her sweets and restless, so Ceylon decided to give her something constructive to do.

“I still say this chill air isn’t good for us,” Iona complained as they strolled the gardens. She was swathed from head to toe in thick furs, and it was doubtful a gust of cold air could reach her, short of rushing her.

“Actually, I find it rather pretty,” Penny ventured. “I never realized the new snow was so special up close. Look.” She caught a snowflake on her mitten, where it promptly melted.

Ceylon smiled at the girl’s pleasure, then frowned. She still couldn’t believe how cloistered the princesses had been. Never encouraged to go out lest they catch a chill, discouraged from exercise of any kind ... It was no wonder poor Iona was heavy and Anne so scrawny. “Trust me, ladies. Men enjoy a sleekly curved woman, the beauty of a well toned body. You, Princess Anne, will not believe what it will do for your figure. I can see tremendous potential in your bone structure. Why, a bit of muscle will build your chest and even give lift to your, um, assets.”

Anne, whose face was wrapped in a scarf, ducked her head, but her sisters giggled.

Aware that she was being rather frank, but desirous of encouraging her charges, Ceylon added, “It will also help your sister to slim down and showcase her own fine figure.” Not that anyone could guess at the kind of figure Iona had under her voluminous gowns, but surely slimness couldn’t hurt. Even a comfortably voluptuous body was better than one that could hardly waddle.

“What about....” Penny trailed as she stared at an approaching rider. Their wandering had taken them near the stables, and a lad had noticed them and nudged his gray toward them.

Closer inspection of the rider with fur hat revealed a woman’s eyes. When she pulled down her scarf, Ceylon’s eyes widened in recognition, but she decided to let the newcomer handle the formalities.

“Your highness,” the rider nodded her head to the three.

“Lady Riverdell,” Anne inclined her head. “Have you met Lady Ceylon de Shardsvale?”

Lady Riverdell, the late Odell, grinned. “We’ve met. Congratulations on your wedding, my lady. I hope you’re not disappointed in his recent departure?”

A flash of longing distracted Ceylon for a moment. “I miss him. We write as often as possible.” She gestured to the ladies. “I’ve been teaching their highnesses about the benefits of exercise. You look like an expert on it.”

“At your service,” somehow she managed to bow, certainly a challenge on horseback.

Ceylon caught Penny eyeing the magnificent gray with longing. She glanced at Lady Riverdell for permission.

“Would you like a ride, your highness?” Lady R. asked.

“Do you mean it?” Penny asked breathlessly.

For answer Lady R. guided her horse next to a bench.

“Up you go, your highness,” Ceylon said as she helped the girl mount on back. The horse took off at a trot, then broke into a canter, Penny’s delighted whoops trailing behind.

One down, two to go, Ceylon thought smugly.

Iona’s downfall turned out to be ice skating, of all things. Once Ceylon had shown her the basics, she took to the ice like she’d been born for it. It was the funniest thing, watching her struggle to master the blades, but she was so determined Ceylon cheered her on with good heart.

Since Ann was indifferent to horses and lukewarm about skating, Ceylon decided to give the matter a rest for the day. Once they returned to the palace, chilled and happy, she joined Lady R. in her room for a meal.

“Since war has delayed my appointment with her Majesty, I’ve been struggling to stay busy. Not much holds my interest in the city, so I take my rides, fence, and visit the local orphanage to burn the time.”

“I’ve been wondering why you traveled with us instead of taking your own escort.” Ceylon took a delicate bite of quiche.

“Not local trouble, I assure you. And speaking of trouble, how goes your business with Eville? Word has it the wretch is still bothering you.”

Ceylon raised a brow, touched. “Checking up on me?”

“I do have a debt to pay.” She smiled and refilled Ceylon’s glass. “At least you have the good sense to travel with guards.”

“Uric insisted.” Not that she would have argued with him. Eville was no one to trifle with.

“Good show. It would have been even better had you had time to conceive before he left. Practically speaking, a child is a safeguard you could both use, especially coming from lower class backgrounds. Uric has enough enemies that I’d be uneasy about being left without an heir.”

Ceylon knew that, and she was. Not so much that she feared losing the power and the money, but Uric had worked hard for it; too hard to let those who disliked him simply have it.

“Yes, but I can’t just chase after him and get one,” she said, annoyed at the whole business. She wanted to be with him, not stuck here making women beautiful. There had to be more useful things she could be doing.

Allyson, as she’d told Ceylon to call her, raised a brow. “And why not? Believe me, if we wait on men to take care of everything for us we’ll be cooling our heels until we’re old and gray. Chase your dreams, Ceylon. You’ll get but one chance at life.”

“And if I’m caught by Uric’s enemies? How will that help?”

Allyson winked at her. “Trust me to look into it for you, hm?”

Even if Ceylon was interested, her fertile time had come and gone, so she would have to wait to try it. Allyson assured her it would give her time to plan, anyway. She was intensely interested in learning how to tell when one was fertile, and asked many questions about it. As a result it was very late when Ceylon got home. The outside lamps had been lit in anticipation of her arrival, and she relaxed at the thought of a peaceful bit of knitting followed by a long night’s sleep.

Flanked by her footmen and two guards, she mounted the steps as Darjeng opened the door....

... and was struck in the right shoulder by the quarrel of a crossbow, which sent her staggering to the stone steps.

Instantly her guards closed around her and, shielding her with their bodies, hustled her inside.

Shock and pain made everything pass in a sickening swirl. The guards cut her coat away and ripped the shirt underneath to expose the quarrel head. Maude came running, a dizzy blur of sound and motion.

Someone said, “At least the head went through. It would have proved a bloody mess to go after.” She was held while someone broke the head off. She cried out. A moment later they jerked it out of her shoulder. A scream tore from her throat. Blessed darkness descended on her, but it didn’t last, for she woke as someone lifted her. Her guard ascended the steps. Below them, in the foyer, she heard Darjeng swear a very un-butler-like oath. “Look at that! The bloody bugger left a note.”

“What’s it say?”

Darjeng’s tone was grim. “This is just the beginning.”

* * * *

Uric flattened his hands on either side of the missive and bowed his head. Only his harsh breathing sounded in his tent. Raven and Roland weren’t foolish enough to disturb him; not when he was this close to absolute fury.

The boy had become wary and deferential around him. Much of the youthful foolishness of his had passed with the sight of his first battle. Though he hadn’t participated, he’d gotten an eyeful. At last he was learning there was more to war, and being a man, than fire and glory. The moans of the wounded in the night were a reminder if he became in danger of forgetting.

But this ... He glared at the message. What kind of man attacked an innocent woman just for sport? At that moment he wished he weren’t the leader of his queen’s army, for he’d dearly like to rush home and rip the man’s heart out. Since he couldn’t, he chose to sic another demon on the stalker who tormented his wife.

He flipped over the paper and wrote one sentence on the back. Take care of this. Uric. Dante owed him, and would be more than happy to settle the cost this way.

Eville would regret ever casting eyes on Ceylon after the Inferno finished with him.

* * * *

Ceylon slouched in her chair. Her shoulder was still sore, and she wanted out of the house, but she wasn’t allowed out except to go to the palace, which she wasn’t expected to do yet, since her injury was too recent. Roland’s brother Dante had moved into the house at Uric’s request, and though he was personable, even charming, his presence reminded her that he was here and Uric was not.

“Cheer up, dear.” Anne handed her a cup of tea and joined her in the sitting room. “They say your husband already has this rebel duke on the run. I think he’s just anxious to get back to you.” She winked.

“Count on it.” Dante looked over the paper he was perusing. Dressed in a maroon shirt and a dramatic silver shot vest of deep purple, he looked quite at home in a lady’s parlor. Not that he was feminine in any way; his lean body testified to a love of exercise, perhaps riding. Still, his perfectly groomed, silver shot hair and ever-present cane almost shouted ‘dandy’. The ebony walking stick leaned against his chair, in easy reach. The silver knob on top gleamed like the mirror shine of his boots. “Any man forced to leave so charming and beautiful a bride would do his best to hurry back.”

Ceylon sighed. The man was as bad as “Odell” had pretended to be. While it was thoughtful of Uric to ask his friend to stay with her, she really couldn’t see what use such an obvious dandy would be if she were attacked. Maybe Uric had thought the mere presence of a man would prove calming. If so, he didn’t know her very well.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of tea. Silly creatures, men.

“You have a visitor, my lady,” Darjeng announced. “Her Highness, Princess Annadelle.”

“Oh, Ceylon,” Ann gushed as soon as she swept in. Her veil was off, perhaps for the first time in years, and there wasn’t a wart to be seen.

She knelt at Ceylon’s feet and gripped her hand earnestly. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Look! Just look at me. You’ve done so much for us, and now some madman is trying to kill you! How can we help?”

Moved, Ceylon squeezed her hand and smiled. She knew exactly what Ann was feeling right now. “I’ve just happy for you, your highness. I don’t need anything.”

“Ann,” she insisted, straightening. She sat on the sofa opposite Ceylon. “And we must do something for you. My sister Penny’s complexion has evened out, and once the redness fades she’ll be almost pretty. Even Iona has lost more weight than ever before, and in such a short time. Name your desire.”

Completely at a blank, Ceylon looked around for inspiration and settled for sidetracking the earnest young woman. Her gaze lit on Ann Wright. “Speaking of the redness in your sister’s skin, I have a solution, if you’re interested.”

The princess leaned forward.

“I can’t cure the scaring, but my friend here is a skilled beautician. She’s developed cosmetics that will do wonders for you all. Not only do they beautify, but her creations leave the skin soft, smooth and healthy.”

“Really?”

Anne Wright bowed her head respectfully. “I would be happy to show your highness right now, if you like.”

A half hour later, Anne finally let the princess look in the sitting room mirror.

Annadelle’s mouth dropped open. “Is this truly me?” she whispered. One hand rose to her face.

Even Ceylon was impressed. The plain girl who’d come visiting had utterly transformed. While she might not be the most beautiful woman in the realm, she was certainly pretty.

“You look ravishing, your highness.” Dante bowed over her hand and kissed it. “A veritable vision of loveliness.”

The princess blushed. “You are too kind, my lord.”

“You must hold a grand ball to unveil your new self,” he insisted, oozing charm. “And perhaps in honor of your benefactress, the new baroness?”

“Oh, no!” Ceylon said quickly. “That’s not necessary.” The last thing she wanted was to attend a ball, especially without Uric. It would scare her to death.

Obviously taken with the idea, Annadelle lit up. “Oh, what a smashing idea! We must start planning at once. And my sisters....” She grabbed Anne Wright’s hands. “You must come to the palace at once. You will be so popular, we shall almost have to hide you away! You can not imagine how....”

Anne sent Ceylon an amused look over the chattering princess’ head. “Only if I may return when I am finished. Someone needs to keep and eye on Lady Shardsvale.”

Reminded of Ceylon’s condition, the princess was quick to agree. “Oh, of course. It’s imperative that we keep the queen’s best healer in top health.”

Much like a favored horse, Ceylon thought with a private smile. Still, she was pleased to have been of service.

She went to bed early that night. The blood she’d lost still made her a little tired, and her body was working hard to repair her injury. Between Anne’s nursing--she was a fair herbalist herself, and was very interested in exchanging knowledge with Ceylon--and all the medicinal tea she was drinking, she’d remained free of infection and was mending well. Still, a wound was a wound.

Too bad Eville was set on playing with her. She knew very well that if he’d wanted to kill her she’d have been dead. No, he wanted her to suffer as he imagined he was suffering. If only she knew the reason for his hatred....

The floors were chilly at night, so she’d donned thick woolen socks over her inner socks. The padding muffled her footsteps as she passed Dante’s door, and her soft sleep pants and nightshirt didn’t even whisper. A light glowed under the door, but she didn’t wish to disturb her guest. She’d even forgone a candle, since the moon was high and spilling light into the house. Besides, she was going straight to bed.

With one hand on the door to her room, she froze. Had something just darkened the moonlight spilling under her door? Fine hairs on end, she listened, yet heard nothing. Unwilling to take a chance, even though she felt a little silly, she padded back to Dante’s door and softly knocked.

The door opened, and he raised his brows. He was dressed for bed in silky indigo sleep pants and nothing else.

Slightly embarrassed, she averted her eyes. “I thought I heard a noise in my room. I know it’s likely nothing, but....”

“Stay here.” He ducked back inside the room and grabbed his cane and doused his lamp, cloaking them in darkness. Once she was inside he shut the door.

Ceylon bit her lip as she listened. Maybe he wasn’t quite the dandy she’d thought?

Seconds dragged by. The need to know was killing her, but she wasn’t idiot enough to open the door. He didn’t need her distracting him. Besides, what could she do if there was someone in her room? One arm was in a sling, and she didn’t have a weapon. Instead she stood by the lamp, ready to light it and come running if needed.

There came a crash, as if her door had burst open. Shouts. A man’s scream. Moments later Darjeng, the footmen and guards came running, so she figured she was safe to come out.

Dante was in the hall. He had a man shoved up against the wall, his face mashed into the wood. The intruder’s arm was twisted up behind his back, and his temple was bleeding. By the amount of soot on his clothes, it was a good guess he’d come down through the chimney.

“State your business, man,” Dante said calmly.

“I don’t got nothing to say,” the man gritted.

Dante broke the man’s shoulder.

Ceylon cried out and one hand flew to her mouth.

Anne, who was dressed in a nightgown and wrap, put an arm around her shoulders and tried to lead her away. “This is man’s business, love. Best leave them to it.”

Another scream, followed by sobbing, convinced Ceylon to leave before she got ill. Part of her wanted to beg for the torture to stop, but she knew they needed the information. She also knew the man’s life was forfeit, for any fool knew he hadn’t been there to wish her wellness and long life.

But death and pain were a bitter pill for a healer to swallow. For the first time she wondered why she thought she could ever use the steel hairpins. To be really effective she’d have to stick someone in the eye ... The thought made her gag, and she broke from Anne and ran into her room, barely making it to Anne’s washbowl.

“There, there, love.” Anne wrapped an arm around her shoulders and handed her a damp cloth. As soon as Ceylon had rinsed her mouth, she led her to the bed and called a footman to take care of the washbowl. Another man was sent for tea and brandy.

“I hate brandy,” Ceylon protested dully.

“A shot now and again never hurt anybody,” Anne said firmly. She rubbed Ceylon’s back.

Another scream sounded and Ceylon jumped. Sobs she could not stop shook her body, though no tears fell.

Anne put her arms around her and rocked her. With one ear muffled against Anne’s chest, Anne’s hand against her ear and the woman’s soothing murmurs, she could hardly hear the cries. She was just glad it wasn’t Uric out there instead of Dante. She couldn’t stand the thought of the man she loved causing someone pain. Though wasn’t that his job? Killing people who rose against the queen was his business. Had he ever tortured a man as well?

“There, there, lass. There, there.” Anne rocked her like a young girl. “There, there,” she whispered. She sounded very sad, and her hands shook, just a little.

It was Darjeng who brought the news. Dressed in his pants and nightshirt, he looked less like a butler and more like a man.

“It was Eville who sent him, my lady. He was to exchange your soaps for ones spiked with acid. You would have been badly burned.”

She winced. “What did Dante do with him?”

He looked away. “He’s taken him to the authorities, my lady.” What was left of him, was left unspoken. His eyes lingered on Anne. “Is there anything you need, my lady?”

“Thank you, no.” A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. Budding romance could always make her smile. At least something was going right in her household.

Chapter 8

Ceylon had a hard time facing Dante after that. Though he was as polite and genteel as ever, she could not forget the other side she’d seen of him.

And when Uric found out ...

“It’s the talk of the town!” The Princess Penny gushed when she came to visit. “They say he was so angry, he finished off the duke in less than a fortnight. Callion is almost certain to award him the dukedom. Just think, you’ll be a duchess!”

“As long as he’s safe, that’s all that matters.” Ceylon didn’t care about titles, but she cared a great deal about her husband. Just thinking about the message he sent warmed her.

Wife,

I want two things when I return; a hot bath and you. Not in that order, but I doubt you’ll want me in my dust and travel grime. Wear your wedding gown. I want to see my bride.

PS Is it too much to hope you’ll leave off the under slip?

Every time she thought about his naughty request she grew hot. Just the thought of herself in wrapped in lace and nothing else made her squirm. She could just imagine the way his eyes would heat when he saw her....

“Oh, dear,” Anne said. An amused light danced in her eyes. “You’re looking flushed again, Ceylon. Is your wound paining you?”

Ceylon felt her face heat even more. “I hardly notice it, thank you. It’s just warm in here.”

Anne and Dante exchanged grins. He laughed, winked, and went back to reading his book.

* * * *

When the news came that Uric had entered the city, Ceylon could hardly contain herself. So energetic was her pacing that Anne finally took her by the shoulders, sat her down, and forced a teacup into her hand.

“It’s calming tea. Drain it,” she ordered sternly. A smile softened her order as she watched Ceylon gulp it down. “He’ll be home to stay for a long time, you know.”

The teacup clattered on the saucer as Ceylon set it down, emptied of its contents. “But what if he’s not? The queen could send him off at any time.”

“That’s not why you’re so excited, is it?” Anne asked knowingly.

Ceylon blushed. “No. We didn’t have much of a honeymoon,” she whispered shyly. Lovemaking still left her feeling a little nervous. Of course she liked it. It was just that the intimacy was so new, and she hadn’t had time grow accustomed to it. At the moment her heart was pounding with eagerness and a burning desire not to seem too eager. It was all very confusing.

With a motherly air, Anne patted Ceylon’s hand. “Calm yourself, dear. I’m certain your strapping husband is just as eager to see you as you are him. Men don’t like to go very long without the comfort of their wives.” She looked right at Darjeng, who was just entering the room, as she said it.

The butler’s gaze caught on her and held for a second before he turned his attention to Ceylon. “My lady, our lord has sent word. He requests that you have the bath waiting, for he’ll be here in minutes.”

It was Uric’s way of telling her to be ready. Heart skipping a jig, she tried to appear calm as she rose. “Send the water up right away, then.”

* * * *

Uric’s eyes flared as he opened his bedroom door and saw his bride reclining on the bed. Clad in a lacy white gown and nothing else, she lowered her eyes shyly as he slammed the door with his foot. “Sweet water and bright sun, woman. You look even better than my fantasies,” he breathed. His armor hit the floor, piece by piece. He couldn’t wait to get at her.

“Would you like help?” A rosy glow covered her skin as she half rose.

“Stay right there,” he commanded. “I want to look at you.” She was so beautiful.

The hot water on his chilled toes made him hiss as he got in the bath, but he hardly cared. Cleanliness was a luxury on campaign, and he’d traveled quickly to get here. No matter how much he wanted her, he wouldn’t come to his wife in all his sweat and grime. The only smell he wanted in his bed was her sweet perfume and the musk of their loving.

“Your shoulder,” he asked. “Does it hurt?” He would be doubly gentle when he took her, if so.

“The only thing that aches right now is the part of me which craves you,” she whispered.

The words inflamed him, and he made speed with his washing. “It’s a hurt I will tend to most diligently,” he promised fiercely. “I hope you are rested, for I’ve built a fierce hunger in the last weeks. It’s bound to be a long night.”

She laughed softly, and his body hardened to new painfulness. It was all he could do to rinse his hair before he stood. Water sheeted from his body as he grabbed a towel.

Still the shy bride, she averted her eyes. The quick rise and fall of her chest told him she was eager, though.

The bed creaked as he turned down the lamp and joined her. Firelight illuminated her curves, and he skimmed his hand over the lace. “I’ve ached to see you in this, love, to have a proper wedding night with you,” he whispered. Their lips met in a gentle caress. He rested his forehead on hers and grinned ruefully. “Yet much as I’ve dreamed of it, I think it has to be going now. Promise you’ll wear it for me another night?” The wrapping was so pretty, he just had to get at the present, now.

For answer, she sat up and raised her hem until she could cross her arms and pull it over her head. She carefully draped the dress over the end of their bed.

His mouth went dry. Oh, yes. Naked was even better. He pulled her down into her arms and greeted her with a proper lover’s kiss.

No doubt about it, he thought as he rolled her over. A married man was a happy man.

Life was sweet with Uric home, and one of the best moments came when he knelt before the queen and accepted his title of duke. Along with the title he received the Ring of Heroes, the kingdom’s highest honor. Tears welled in Ceylon’s eyes as she stood with the crowd and watched the queen slid the ring on his hand. Never had she felt so proud. Never had she loved him more.

Everyone wanted to toast the hero, and invitations flooded into their house.

“Look at this.” Ceylon thumbed through the cards. “We could eat for a decade on dinner invitations alone.”

“Or keep the fires going for a year,” Uric growled. He snaked an arm around her waist and playfully jerked her close. “They just want to see the bloodsucking berserker.” He pretended to snarl and latched onto her neck.

She giggled and struggled to get free as he tickled her. “Will you stop?”

“Too many people in this city,” he grumbled as he kicked the study door shut and tumbled her to the carpet. “How am I supposed to make love to my wife with people always bothering us?” His hand snaked beneath her skirt, and she moaned. “Hm, like that, do you?” he whispered, and kissed her. “What say we leave this place and go see our new lands? It’s warm down there in the south.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed breathlessly, hardly aware of what she was saying. The man had a way about him.

* * * *

She could hardly believe the devastation as they rode past the battle site. The earth was churned and blackened, pocked with graves. The cost to the land alone had been great, but it would heal much faster than the humans who populated it.

“They were fortunate the queen sent Uric,” Roland told her. “Many commanders lay complete waste to the countryside. Uric’s always found that unprofitable, since he’s the one who often is awarded the land. Even the soldiers are kept in check. Slaughtered, robbed and ravished villagers make poor subjects.”

Ceylon gulped.

Uric reached across their horses and took her hand. He said nothing, just looked at her in that way of his until she nodded and squeezed his hand.

War was his calling. It wasn’t pretty. Best she remember that.

They were fortunate in that the castle itself had not been touched, for the battle had taken place at the far edge of the duke’s lands. His duchess had been too terrified to keep the gates closed against Uric when he rode to the castle with her husband’s head on a pike.

The castle itself was located on a small island and connected to the mainland by a bridge. Ceylon shook her head when she saw it. “I can’t believe she just let you ride in here. Had she destroyed the center of the bridge you would have had a hard time crossing.” She peered over the side as they rode over. It was a long way to the surf splashed rocks below.

“Her heart was never in the battle,” Uric told her. “Fortunately for her the queen merely banished her and her children.”

“Merely,” she said with a touch of sympathy for the ex-duchess.

“She could have joined her husband,” he reminded her.

A group of men and woman was lined up at the other end of the bridge. Soldiers flanked the path, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. “I doubt these people will welcome us with open arms.”

“Not at first. But given time they will accept me, especially if I prove a better lord than their last master.”

“Is this past experience speaking?”

“Of course.”

She grimaced, but dropped the subject. He didn’t need to hear her fears.

The castle folk stared at them as they rode past. Most of them were dressed in dark colors, their clothes in various states of wear. They were a cleaner lot than some she’d seen in other places, but none of them smiled. More than one fearful look was sent Uric’s way, but no one looked happy to see her, either. Her husband was the man responsible for killing some of them. No matter that their dead men had fought in a rebellion against the queen. In their eyes he was a butcher and an enemy.

Suddenly she wondered if the queen had given him such a prize after all. How could one enjoy a dukedom while constantly watching his back?

The castle was clean and well kept, but the grim and quiet inhabitants made Ceylon uncomfortable. Since her husband was often busy doing his lordly duty--they would stay only long enough for him to finish his business--she spent her time exploring the place. Bodyguards went with her wherever she went.

As a result of the fearful stares she often received, she often spent her time poking in odd, and isolated, corners of the keep. It was in a little used storeroom in one of the towers that she stumbled upon a mystery.

“What is this?” she muttered as she pried open a dusty trunk. The clothes inside looked like someone’s castoffs and a good thing to give the castle servants, but that wasn’t what interested her. When she lifted the clothes she found several beribboned scrolls, not yet yellowed with age.

Curious, she studied the one on top.

Your Majesty,

I know you have the king hidden somewhere. My sources swear he is still alive. If you don’t release your hostage, certain parties might be moved to free him by force.

God never meant a woman to sit on the throne.

Duke Leister

Her eyes widened. Had the late duke been mad? Why would he suppose that the queen’s father still lived? Everyone knew he was dead, killed by a wasting sickness.

The scroll lay on her lap, forgotten. Eyes unfocused, she knelt by the trunk and considered the matter. True, King Ional had been still in his prime when it had struck, but she’d never heard a hint that he might still be alive. Even the thought was deeply disturbing, for if the rumor got out it would wreak havoc in the kingdom. Surely Duke Leister had been wrong, for what kind of daughter could lock away her father and take over his throne?

She gathered up the other scrolls and took them to their bedroom to show Uric. By the time he responded to her messenger she had read them all. They appeared to be copies of his correspondence with the queen, and ranged from the initial, stiffly polite inquiries to the strident tone of his last letter.

Uric read the letters without expression. When he was finished he held the scroll in his hand and stared at unseeing at the floor for a moment. Then he tossed it on the table and stared at her as he leaned a hip against the table. “Leister was mad and a power hungry fool besides.”

The silence lengthened.

“I’ve never heard any rumors about the king being alive,” she said tentatively from her perch on the settee. Why did he seem so cool? “Where would he get such an idea?”

“In the bottom of beer barrel?”

She frowned at him. It wasn’t like him to be sarcastic with her. “I suppose all the people who would know are dead.”

“I personally guarantee it.” His expression softened a bit as she drew back. He moved to her side and stoked her hair. “I’m sorry. Working in this atmosphere is making me tense. Fortunately we’ll be out of here in a week or less.” He gathered the scrolls and took them with him. “I think I’ll show these to Roland. He could use the amusement.” His smile didn’t hold its usual light.

“All right.” She stared as the door clicked shut behind him. Uric didn’t like the scrolls, not one bit. But why did the writings of a dead man disturb him so?

On a hunch, she followed him.

The study doors were thick, but the keyhole made a good place to listen. She just hoped that none of the servants wandered by and caught her. How mortifying! With one eye on the hallway, she tucked her hair behind her ear and strained to hear them.

Roland’s expletive scorched Ceylon’s ears.

“Paranoid buzzard would leave a record,” he growled. “That wife of yours has a nose for trouble.”

“I know it.” Ceylon peeked as Uric tossed the scrolls into the fire and watched the flames blacken, then consume the parchment.

Hey! Those were mine! she thought indignantly.

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. You know better than that.” He scowled at the fire. “This would all be so much easier if he wasn’t so vain.”

Roland propped his hip on the desk. “Can you blame him?”

Uric sent him a dark look. “I’ll admit I’m glad I’m not in the position to test what I would do.” One hand raked through his hair, the first time Ceylon had ever seen him do that.

Roland grunted his agreement. “What will you do about your woman’s curiosity?”

“Perhaps it will pass if no more is said about it.”

“And perhaps pigs will sprout wings and magically fly to the moon.” Roland nodded sagely.

The comment earned him a dark look.

Fearful of pressing her luck, Ceylon slunk away. No wonder she never eavesdropped. It brought more questions than answers. Who was the mysterious ‘he’ they had referred to? The late duke? But they’d spoken in the present tense. Obviously they knew more than they wished to share.

The puzzle made her itch to know more. She bit her lip and pondered. Might there be more documents lying around? Someone in the castle who knew something? And if there were, what were the odds of persuading them to speak with her? There was little time, for Uric planned to leave soon, and she wasn’t eager to stay her alone, even if he’d let her.

Not for a minute did she forget Eville. They’d hoped the rat would venture after her here, but so far there’d been no sign of him. Maybe he was smart enough to figure out the trap and was still waiting in the city. She doubted he’d given up.

* * * *

As she’d predicted, the remaining servants were too scared to talk, or they didn’t have any information. A thorough search of the castle yielded no more clues.

They had no more arrived in Queenstown when Uric received an urgent message from Shardsvale. His face rigid, Uric looked at Ceylon, who had yet to remove her coat. “My mother jumped from the cliffs on her island. The fall broke her back. She can’t move her legs.”

Tension made her body rigid. It seemed as if Maude had found another way to tug her son’s leash. Anger wiped away what pity she might have felt for her mother in law. If he didn’t go Uric would feel tortured. If he did go Maude would try to twist the knife, make him feel responsible for her own failings.

What could she say? After a deep breath, which she let out slowly, she nodded. “I am ready if you wish to go.”

He stared at her a moment, then blinked and looked away. “It might be better if you stayed here.”

No! She recognized that look. Fury made her grit her teeth, for she was not about to lose him to his mother again. “Where you go, I go.” Poised for action, she dared him deny her.

“As you wish.” This time he only partly turned away as he gave orders to the staff.

It was a small victory, but a start.

It was nearing sunset, so plans were made to travel in the morning. While Uric secluded himself in his study--his body language had made it clear he wished to be alone--Ceylon tried to relax in her sitting room with Anne.

She couldn’t seem to sit still, so she paced. “I’m worried, Anne. I’ve seen Uric like this before.”

Anne looked up from her mending and said quietly, “Just love him, girl. Don’t try to force him to take sides; his mother does that. Just love him with all your heart and hold him when he’ll let you. Take pains to let him know you care.”

“How can that be enough? His mother treats him like a dog, but still he cleaves to her side. How could I possibly just stand aside and watch her hurt him?”

Expression deeply troubled, Anne shook her head. “I see you’ve made your own mind up on this one. Just promise me you’ll remember my counsel later, should you need it.”

Already deep in her private war plans, Ceylon just nodded. Anne meant well, but nothing so submissive as passive love was going to win this battle. What she needed was power, the influence over Uric’s heart.

* * * *

Five months later....

“Right. I’ll put it on my list,” Uric snapped. “Exercise my horse, review the taxes, bed my wife.”

Ceylon inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t aware it was such a chore for you. There was once--”

His ale mug descended on the table with more force than necessary. “Yes. There was once, when you weren’t a nag and a shrew.” For a moment he looked as if he regretted the words, but he didn’t say it. They finished their meal in silence.

Ceylon blamed his mother for her decent into hell. The woman remained where she’d been exiled while they lived in Shardsvale, but not a week went by when Uric didn’t visit her. Always he returned in a dark mood.

The little things she’d done to try and lift his mood weren’t working. The one time he’d found her in his study, slaving to balance the accounts for him, he’d shut the ledger book, probably smearing the ink, plucked the brush from her hand and escorted her to the door. Then he’d firmly shut the door with her on the outside.

She grimaced and poked at her dinner with her fork. Very well, so maybe she should have asked first, but she’d only been trying to help.

Then there’d been the time she’d organized the armory for him. That didn’t bear thinking on.

Worst of all were his reactions to her advice. As a woman well used to taking care of herself and ordering her own world, she considered herself qualified to speak to him on any number of topics. There were so many ideas floating in her head about how to improve crops and provide incentives for the locals to try new things, but he seemed resistant to most of them.

Nor was he consistent, to her mind. He didn’t bat an eye when she redecorated their bedroom, but when she dared to remove his ratty old chair from their room with the intention of giving it away, he threw a fit. Then he went and got it from the junk pile in the spare room. Every time she looked at it she got annoyed. Why would he want such a battered thing when they could well afford a nice one?

Therein lay another source of friction. Uric was a giver. When their marriage was new he often surprised her with a new fur cloak or an expensive bauble she didn’t need. As kindly as she could, she’d explained to him that she didn’t need those things, would be happy with something simple like flowers or walk in the sunset. After all, she reasoned, why should she wallow in luxury when there were children dressed in rags in other parts of the land? It made her feel guilty. Besides, a part of her thought he was just working on his mother’s training. So she resisted his giving, and gradually the gifts, both small and big, stopped.

Just like their love life had stopped. Things had gotten so bad that she’d begun to wonder if he had a mistress, or wanted one. Certainly he didn’t seem to want her.

She said as much to Anne when she came to visit from Queenstown.

“I don’t know if he loves me anymore,” she said in small voice.

Anne, who had observed them for the last five days before this confession, sighed. Her eyes rolled under her half shut lids. “Child, that man doesn’t suffer from a lack of lust. My guess is he’s simply too hen pecked to play the rooster.”

Ceylon’s mouth fell open. “What!”

“Think about it. You’ve bossed and order the poor man’s life around, invaded his space, tried to take over his work, and expect him to do everything your way. No wonder he’s balky.”

“That’s not true!”

“Tonight at dinner you practically stood over him to make certain he ate his vegetables.”

“But they’re good for him. If he had his way he’d live on steak and beer. I’m surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out.”

“He loves onions and root vegetables.”

“Drowned in sauce.”

“If that’s the way he likes them, then that’s what you should serve. Set the more exotic dishes near him and let him choose. Eventually he’ll grow curious and find they’re good.” Before Ceylon could protest, he added, “He’s a fine looking man with all his teeth, and was perfectly healthy before he met you.”

That shut her up.

“You can’t treat the champion of her Majesty’s armies like a child, Ceylon. Think how you would feel if he were the one telling you how to dress, what to eat, how to conduct your affairs. Anyone would resent it.”

Ceylon swallowed. Suddenly she felt lowly. “But I care for him. I just want to help,” she said plaintively.

“He doesn’t need your help. He needs your love and respect.”

“But I do love him. I respect him.”

“Good. Show him in a way he can understand. Don’t question his judgments in front of others. Respect him by speaking about it in private. Anytime you argue in public he loses face. Another man would have taken you to task for it.”

A little mulishly, Ceylon asked, “But what about when I’m right?”

“Would you rather be right or happy?” Anne asked. “Besides, your husband is a smart man. You could do worse than to trust his judgments.”

Shoulders slumped, Ceylon sunk into her chair. Maybe she had been a little, well, critical lately. But it was only because she was so unhappy.

On the other hand, her way wasn’t making things any better. Maybe she could try Anne’s way, just as a trial.

When asked, Anne had other ideas about how to improve her marriage. Most of them made Ceylon nervous, such as the old fashioned notion of making herself softer, more womanly. Frankly it sounded suspiciously like submission, but at this point she was desperate. Once Uric responded--if he did--she could always reassert herself. Besides, she’d know she was only acting.

Since Uric hadn’t been coming to bed until after he assumed she was asleep, she couldn’t do much that evening, but she did leave a candle lit for him. Previously she’d snuffed them, both as ingrained economy and as a signal of her displeasure. It was a small thing, but maybe he would notice.

* * * *

Uric did notice, but his first thought was that she’d fallen asleep and forgotten to douse the light. It wasn’t really needed, since he’d managed to find his way across the room by firelight often of late. There hadn’t been much reason to join her in his cold bed these nights.

He stared at the shadowed ceiling as he lay down, careful not to disturb her by cuddling. She was prickly when woken from a sound sleep, as he’d learned early on. More often she pushed him away in the middle of the night or at dawn, preferring sleep over his lovemaking, so he’d finally given up initiating during those times.

At other times, when it suited her, she could be outspoken about her desires, like this evening. It still annoyed him. Instead of a sweet invitation her comment had come across as yet another demand.

He was tired of demands, tired of trying to please her, so he’d mostly given up. Occasionally he still tried, but she barely seemed to notice.

He still wanted sex, but not when she demanded it of him. He wasn’t her serf.

Full of frustration, he rolled over and tried to sleep.

* * * *

He woke to the tantalizing scent of roast venison and eggs. Certain he was dreaming, he opened his eyes. His wife stood beside the bed with a covered tray. When she saw he was awake she unfolded the short legs and fitted it over his lap.

“What is this?”

“Breakfast in bed.” She took the cover off and smiled as if unsure of his reaction.

He lifted the steak and eggs inside with his fork, certain this was another veiled attempt to sneak the dreaded vegetables into his gullet. When he found none, he eyed the steak, wondering if she’d suddenly found a way to disguise spinach to look like prime meat. It smelled like meat, tasted like meat. “Thank you,” he said warily.

She nodded once and sat on her side of the bed.

He noticed the dress she was wearing, a persimmon and gold silk he’d thought would look well on her. She’d smiled and said it was ‘too bright for her dark looks’. Disappointed, he’d vowed never to choose a dress for her again, lest he chose badly.

He gestured with his fork. “I thought you didn’t like that dress.”

A rosy blush colored her cheeks and she lowered her head. “I was too shy to wear it. I thought the bright colors would draw too much attention to me, but you were right; it does look good on me. I’m sorry I doubted your judgment. You have good taste,” she said softly.

Unaccustomed to her unqualified praise, he blinked. “Thank you.” Something was different about her this morning. It wasn’t the cosmetics, which made her skin glow or accentuated her lips, nor was it her unbound hair. Maybe it was the way she kept her eyes lowered or traced the pattern on the quilt. Directness was more her usual mode.

His eyes narrowed. Maybe she wanted something.

She took a deep breath.

Here it comes, he thought.

“Would you....” Another deep breath. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

That was what she wanted? He eyed her. “Would I get a lecture if I said roast, gravy and creamed turnips?”
“No.”

“Okay. Then let’s have it.” He waited. She didn’t argue, and for the first time in days, he smiled.

* * * *

“What did you do with your woman?”

Uric glanced at Roland, who was frowning. “What do you mean?”

He waved a hand. “The last time I was here you two were dancing around each other like wary badgers. Now she’s doe eyed and submissive.” He rubbed his chin. “Is she breeding?”

“No.”

Head tilted, Roland peered at Uric’s face and neck. “Odd, I don’t see any hen pecks.”

Uric’s look was droll. “Very funny.”

“Hardly.” Roland squinted across the room as he considered Ceylon, who was talking to a servant. Suddenly he frowned. “You haven’t taken a stick to her, have you?”

“Roland!”

Unrepentant, Roland shrugged. “Sorry. It’s just that you two seemed to be slipping deep into the ‘old married couple’ roles when last I was here. I’d half feared I’d find you with a new mistress and her locked in a tower.”

Blue eyes narrowed in dark anger. “Now you go too far!”

“Forgive me, then.” A wry smile crooked Roland’s mouth. “I’m not feeling too charitable toward the married state of late.”

Uric grunted, indicating both understanding and forgiveness. This time.

In truth he was also amazed by Ceylon’s change. Though she’d seemed to be biting her tongue, she hadn’t said a word about his requests for plain fare at the last few meals. Even though she’d had small bowls of odd vegetables prepared for her own dinner, not once had she suggested he try some, or worse, dished him any. She’d simply served herself and minded her own business as he took an extra steak just to torture her.

She’d ceased to cover his favorite chair with a decorative throw--which he always tossed off anyway. He had to admit that the thing looked battered without it, but he would be hanged before he let her choose another feminine chair to replace it. Not once had he complained when she’d redecorated their room in womanly style, complete with dried flowers. If he had to have another chair it was going to be something he wouldn’t be ashamed to sit in. Something black or brown, in leather.

There hadn’t been one suggestion about picking up his socks, even though he’d purposely left them in a pile for a week now.

Now he had one more test.

As soon as she broke off her conversation and came his way, he stood. “I have something for you,” he said. He withdrew a small box from his pocket and gave it to her.

Surprised, she glanced at it, then him.

“Open it.”

She did, and gasped. Inside was a blue diamond the size of a quail egg, one of his prizes from a battle.

“I hadn’t any use for it,” he said casually.

“I....” She gulped, glanced at Anne. “Thank you.” The words were a little faint.

He raised a brow. What? No protests? She didn’t think it was too extravagant?

Maybe she thought he was prompting her, for she said, “Thank you very much. It’s lovely,” and kissed him on the cheek.

Pleased, he smiled at her. “You’re welcome.”

* * * *

It was all she could do not to protest. Was he insane, giving her such a valuable gift? It ought to be locked in a vault somewhere, not casually resting in her hand. What if she lost it? How would she ever live with herself?

“You did very well, dear,” Anne whispered her praise as she pretended to coo over the gem. Louder, she said, “Blue diamond! How romantic. It looks just like Lord Uric’s eyes, don’t you think?”

Ceylon looked up at her husband and thoughtlessly said what she knew to be true. “Not even close. His are far prettier.”

He laughed at her, but it was a pleased laugh. “Men are not pretty.”

She looked at him through her lashes. “You are.”

At that he grinned and slipped an arm around her waist, something he hadn’t done in a while.

Things just got better. The more she kept her “helpful” suggestions to herself, the more he opened up. It was heady, but painful, too, as she began to see herself for what she was--a fearful, controlling fishwife. Trusting him was so hard. A part of her wanted to remain independent, ‘just in case’. In case he stopped loving her and kicked her out. In case she woke up and found this was all a dream.

The fear was so strong, her sense of unworthiness so great, she panicked when Uric started to give her rich gifts again.

“What will I do with it?” she asked Anne in private as she stared with a mix of awe and horror at a hideously expensive, gorgeous chess set of inlaid onyx and ivory. Each piece had gemstones for eyes, and the most detailed carving she’d ever seen.

“Play with it.” Anne looked amused.

The idea made Ceylon dizzy. “He’ll bankrupt us at this rate. I know it. I have to speak to him.”

“Do and you’ll be back where you started,” Anne said sternly. “Look about you. That man knows how to manage his property. You’ll not suffer as long as he breathes. Trust him.”

“Trust him,” Ceylon muttered.

* * * *

“Can I look yet?” The suspense was driving her crazy. Uric had blindfolded her and was leading her to a surprise he’d arranged for her. She couldn’t imagine what it was, but knowing him, it had cost a fortune.

“Why is it so hard to trust me?” he murmured near her ear. “Have I ever hurt you?”

A lump lodged in her throat. “No.”

“And I won’t start.” He stroked her arm. “I only want to make you happy.”

“I’m happy,” she whispered. “I just ... you do so much, and I give you so little. I can’t pay you back.”

“How can my wife owe me anything? And I get pleasure out of giving to you. It’s my joy.”

She bit her lip.

His arms slid around her, and he cuddled her back to his front for a moment. He kissed her hair, and she heard him sigh. “If you truly wish to repay me, give me a child.” The blindfold fell away as he untied it.

She turned in his arms and tilted her head up to search his deep blue eyes. “You’re ready?” The idea was scary and sweet at the same time.

Uric winked. “I’m always ready.” He bumped her hips with his suggestively.

Laughing, she turned slightly, then froze. They were in a glass house like the one she’d seen at the palace. It was full of flowering and fruiting plants and smelled like springtime. A table, chairs and a daybed furnished the room. A sunken tub, the kind with a firebox on the underside, steamed invitingly in the corner. There was even a cage full of quail softly cooing in the corner.

“Ohh....”

“You like it then?” He smiled at her, and for a moment she was taken back to the first time she’d seen him, his blond curls shining in the sun. Could any man be more beautiful?

“I love it,” she said, but her misty gaze was focused on him. He pulled her close and she twined her arms around his neck. Moments later he lifted her in his arms and took her to the bed.

She shot a panicked glance toward the windows, and he laughed. “There are curtains, my love. I thought they might come in handy.”

Ceylon grinned. “You naughty, naughty man.”

It only took him a few seconds to curtain the windows with airy, but opaque, fabric. A roguish twinkle sparkled in his eye as he pounced on her. “I like to plan ahead.”

Only one dark spot remained in their days: Maude. Eville hadn’t bothered them in so long that Ceylon had ceased to worry about him, but Maude was a weekly nuisance. A part of her longed to tell Uric to stop visiting her, but she knew better. The best she could do was to stay away herself. This wasn’t a problem until the day Uric returned bearing a message from her.

“She wants to see you,” he said without expression.

“Why?”

He ran a hand over his opposite biceps in a self-soothing gesture. “She says she wants to apologize.”

A huff of doubtful laughter escaped her before she could restrain herself. “Sorry. I’m having trouble picturing it.”

“She’s changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You did.”

The reminder made her look away. There was nothing in common between her and Maude. It wasn’t just a grudge. Every instinct she possessed told her to be wary of the woman. Experience had taught her to listen to her feelings in these matters, for she was never wrong.

She took a deep breath and searched for a way to explain. “I adore you, Uric. Completely, utterly. If you ask me to go see her, I will.” Her smile was crooked. “There’s little I wouldn’t do for you. But this....” She gazed without seeing at a point to his left. “I would be ignoring my instincts to go, something I’ve learned never to do. Do you understand?” Is it okay?

One step took him to her side. His arms slid around her as she looked up. “I’m not angry. In truth, I’d feel the same in your place. I’ll not make you go.” He drew her to him and smiled against her hair as he rocked her gently.

And Ceylon knew it was truly all right.

* * * *

“Again you fail, Ogress.” Eville’s crooked teeth showed in his snarl. “She was supposed to come.”

Maude’s eyes narrowed to icy slits. “She will. My son has yet to defy me for long.”

“Maybe your acting skills aren’t as smooth as you bragged. I think he’s suspicious.” One hip braced on a squat chest of drawers, he started to lean his weight back on both hands, then grimaced as his bandaged stump came in contact with surface.

Maliciously, she said, “What’s the matter, Stumpy? Can’t get comfortable?” His hand went to his sword, but she ignored him. He needed her, and she could use him. He was just twitchy since word came that his father was traveling this way. Perhaps Lord Tennyson had finally become wise to his son’s misadventures.

“Why would he suspect? Haven’t I fooled him into thinking I’m paralyzed? Wasting away while he wallows in guilt?” A humorless smile made her look like her namesake. “He’ll bring her, and you can kill them both. I’ve no need for him anymore. With Uric out of the way I can enjoy his riches for the rest of my life.”

Eville crossed his arms and smiled with anticipation. “Oh, I’ll kill him, all right. Slowly. But the woman is mine until I tire of her.”

Maude waved a hand. “As long as you take her far away as planned. She’s the one person who could destroy me.” And no matter what the fool thought, Uric’s duchess was not going to live. If he got in her way, neither would Eville.

* * * *

“You’ve been summoned by the queen,” Uric repeated, dead pan. Ceylon had interrupted him in the middle of balancing the accounts and he had yet to switch gears.

“I’m not joking.” She laid the parchment on his desk.

It crinkled as he took it up. He glanced at her inquiringly. “She’s summoned you to consult on a medical case?”

“That’s what it says. But I don’t understand; Annadelle and Iona have married and Penny is contracted to marry. Surely she doesn’t need me for their sakes.”

Pensive now, he tapped his fingers on his desk. “I don’t know. The last I heard, Callion herself was in perfect health.” The one other person he knew of that might be able to use Ceylon’s help was far too proud to ask for it. Even near begging on Callion’s behalf hadn’t moved him to send for Ceylon, and Uric doubted the man had given in now. “I suppose you should take all your books and herbs with you.”

“Of course. I just wish she’d described what was wrong so that I might plan for it. It’s hard to work in the dark.”

“I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure she’ll let you know as soon you arrive.”

* * * *

Two figures watched their Graces and their escort wind out of Shardsvale.

Maude stilled her horse impatiently as it stamped. She was risking a great deal to leave the island at this time. The girl who took care of her had been bribed to say that Maude wished no visitors; not that any ever came. With luck her disappearance wouldn’t be noticed for a long while, long enough to finish Uric and his mewling wife.

Chapter 9

Raven was growing, but his head was as hard as ever. “I don’t see why it must be done this way,” he complained. “It doesn’t look right.”

“But that’s the way it’s spelled,” Ceylon assured him. A deep breath helped to quell her impatience. Raven still hated this part of his schooling. As s boy, he’d much rather be out doing manly things like bashing swords with Uric or hunting some unfortunate animal. “Some of our words have foreign origins, so you can’t simply write them as they sound or no one will ever know what you wrote.”

By his mulish expression he was ready to argue the point, but one look from Uric quelled his tongue. With a stoic expression, he bent his head and continued to memorize his spelling words.

Husband and wife exchanged rueful glances. They could only hope their children weren’t as stubborn.

The inn where they were staying was crowded, but since it was nearly festival time the crowd was cheerful. The man behind them must have had too much to drink, for his voice was louder and his laughter more raucous than need be.

“They say his lordship is going to going to lobby the queen to support the cardinal’s request for more lands,” the man said.

Ceylon glanced at him, wondering who he was talking about.

His bald, dirty companion muttered something.

Food sprayed out of the loud fellow’s mouth as he laughed at his comrade’s comment. “You said it! I say he’s just running from his shrewish wife and her brood. Being married to that one would drive any man to a monastery. Good looking as she is, I’d just take the time to stick it in now and then and then run out before the nagging started.”

Disgusted, Ceylon turned back around, then stiffened at his next comment.

“Betcha that Tennyson has a mistress squirreled away somewhere in Queenstown. Money like that can buy the finest. Why bother with a rough-tongued wench when you can buy a woman with silky legs and soft lips?”

Uric turned around and pinned the drunk with his blue stare. “Enough! My lady has had enough of your mouth. Shut it and be gone!”

Loudmouth took one look at Uric and gulped. He didn’t even glance at Ceylon. “Yes, my lord!” Their rickety table rocked as he and his friend scrambled up. Stooge-like, they stumbled on the bench and fell against each other in their haste. Cursing each other, they bickered as they retreated like a couple of beaten dogs.

“Sorry about them.” Uric indicated the fleeing drunks with his head. “Some men can’t hold their liquor or their tongue.”

A ghost of smile tilted her lips. Ceylon took his hand. “How is it some other woman didn’t snatch you up?”

His eyes twinkled as he kissed her chilly fingers. “I was saving myself for you.”

Although she nodded, her vision dulled as she recalled what the men had said. Lord Tennyson would be in Queenstown, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Maybe she’d be lucky and she’d never see him. It was a large town. She might be able to avoid going to court.

“Let it go,” Uric advised her softly. “You’re my duchess now. No one will dare to say a word against you, and no one in the land has the right, or power, to harm you unless you let them.”

Ceylon squeezed his hand, acknowledging his words, even as she fought old memories, old shame. The past was a cinder burning in her heart, and he said she was untouchable. Dare she believe him?

* * * *

Uric didn’t like to see his wife so quiet. She’d hardly said a word to him since the night before, and this morning her expression was strained.

It would get worse. Plans were underway that would make her most unhappy, but Uric knew that what he was doing was right. Ceylon had to face her past before she could embrace her future, and her past was eager to make up for wasted years.

Since the time he’d left Marksheath with Ceylon he’d been in contact with Lord Tennyson. Via letter he’d kept Tennyson informed of Eville’s activities. When he could Tennyson had kept his son reined in, but since it had quickly proven futile Tennyson had put other plans in motion, plans which would benefit Ceylon and throw the rest of his family into chaos.

Tennyson was going to disinherit Eville.

Maybe he should warn Ceylon, but one glance at her face decided Uric against it. Tennyson had asked to be the one to tell her, and Uric would respect that. It would do her no good to fret over it in the meanwhile.

She would be angry. Furious even. Uric knew that, just as he knew she would need his love and support more than ever.

And once Eville found out what his father was doing, Ceylon was going to need Uric’s protection even more. Eville would see her dead.

All the more reason for Uric to kill him first.

* * * *

They’d barely been in Queenstown one day when Ceylon was summoned to court. She and Uric were shown to a private suite, one she’d never seen before. The walls were done in forest green and painted with murals of dark forests, wolves and deer. The murals were trimmed in gold leaf moldings. Chairs and sofas were upholstered in dark leather trimmed in brass tacks. Russet patterned yellow curtains hung at the windows and there was a tapestry rug on the floor. It was very masculine, hardly the kind of place where Ceylon would have expected the elegant queen to receive guests.

An overzealous servant had lit too many incense burners. They made the inside of her nose tickle with the need to sneeze.

Queen Callion studied Ceylon closely. “I’ve heard that you can cure wasting diseases.”

Lady Winifred, also known as the infamous Auntie Winnie, sat enthroned near her niece, the queen. She leveled a faintly challenging look at Callion.

It was the look that jogged Ceylon’s memory. Lady Winnie had worn it the first time they’d met. She’d asked Ceylon if she knew how to cure tumors.

“It’s mostly a matter of diet,” she said slowly, uncertain what was going on. “There are herbs, of course, to speed the healing of the sores and tumors. As long as the flesh isn’t already dead there’s hope.” She grimaced. “I’m no magician. Once a man came to me with his toes already black from lack of blood. I cured him of his ailment, but had to call a surgeon to amputate his toes.” Just the memory made her feel faint. More embarrassingly, she had fainted as the surgeon worked. “At least I have herbs to induce a deep sleep for those times. Too bad I lacked the foresight to take some myself that day.”

There was utter silence for a moment.

A hacking cough sounded from behind a curtain.

Ceylon’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t known they were being observed. “Who is that?”

No one answered. Even Uric, who sat with one leg crossed over the other, merely stared at the tip of his boot.

Callion fiddled with a pillow tassel.

The cough came again.

Too curious to remain polite in light of her companion’s odd behavior, Ceylon stood up and crossed the room. She pulled aside the curtain--and hissed.

The man behind it lay in a bed. The smell of death was so strong about him it was a wonder she hadn’t noticed it before, even with the clouds of incense. Tumors made his face appear lumpy, and the pale, bald skin of his head was covered with sores.

Pity made her swallow hard. This man sorely needed her help. “You must be my patient.”

Pain clouded brown eyes narrowed on her. “I haven’t said as much.”

The words sounded mushy, but his demeanor gave her check. So much so that she stared at him for a full minute. She shrugged as if she weren’t dying to lay hands on him and stuff him full of herbs. “Very well. It’s your body.” Even as she turned away she was planning her course of treatment.

“Wait!” The croaked words made him cough.

Ceylon turned slightly and looked at him. “Yes?”

“You may examine me. I may let you treat me,” he wheezed.

“Um.” She whisked away his blanket. “What’s your name?”

He remained stubbornly silent.

His toes were black.

Ceylon shut her eyes a moment. This man would need all of her skill to survive, and as much vinegar as she could inspire if he ever wanted to leave this bed. Already she could see streaks of red climbing from his feet.

Jaw set, she looked him square in the eye. “The toes have to go.”

“No.”

“Then die.” She dropped the blanket.

“Stop!”

She turned. His eyes begged for a miracle even as his mouth pinched shut.

“Your toes for your life,” she said firmly. She doubted he could even feel them now.

She knew her face was implacable, but knew he could also see the glaze of tears that clouded her vision.

She blinked, clearing them. This was no time for weakness.

He seemed to straighten a bit, and his face set. “Get to it, then.”

She made Uric do it. Whoever this man was, he’d all ready been in the care of the palace doctors, none of which she’d trust to wash a blade or even their hands.

Even knowing her patient couldn’t feel a thing--she’d given him enough medicine to ensure a deep sleep--she felt ill as she waited for Uric to finish.

The first thing she’d done was get rid of the incense and air the rooms. Once that was done she’d set up a table and sent for Anne to help. There was no one else she trusted to help in the race for this man’s life.

“Charcoal poultices on his legs to draw the poison.” She had Anne write while she worked. “Rhubarb root, clover blossom, parsley, burdock, bitter almond,” she dictated as she mixed her special tea. “And let’s get some chickweed salve on these sores.”

The first few days would be critical--she was very worried about his blood poisoning. First she wanted to get some medicinal tea down him, then start him on a seven day fast.

Lady Winifred was very vocal with her opinion about that. “It’s insanity,” she snapped. “Look at the man! He’s not even able to sit up and you want to starve him!”

“Fasting is not starving,” Ceylon said firmly. “Once the body is free from spending it’s resources on digestion it can concentrate on healing. Marvelous things happen when the body is freed to heal itself. Even the ancients knew that.”

“The ancients used to drill holes in the head to relieve headaches,” Lady Winifred pointed out sourly.

“And the modern doctors use poison medicines and knives,” Ceylon snapped back, reminding the woman why they had called her.

The elder woman slumped a bit. “You used knives,” she muttered.

About to retort, Ceylon had a sudden flash of insight. This woman cared deeply what happened to her patient. As the healer in charge, she had to be the understanding one. She took a deep breath. “I understand your concern. Feel free to sit by his side day and night. At the first sign of him expiring you have my permission to stuff him full of food.” She managed a slight smile.

Eyes narrowed, Winifred looked her up and down. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Queen Callion either had more faith in Ceylon’s skill or had completely given up hope for the man’s recovery, for she never murmured at any of the measures Ceylon proposed.

Ceylon had little attention to spare for Uric that day, and when he came for her that night she protested. “I can’t just leave him.”

“What more can you do tonight?” he asked reasonably. “You can be here at dawn if you wish, but you need a rest first. Say goodnight.” His tone brooked no argument.

Besides, he was right.

She sighed and glanced at the invalid. “Promise you won’t start eating the moment I walk out the door.”

Winifred glowered at her.

The man grunted. “Why not?” he said in resignation. “If it doesn’t kill me it may do me some good in the end.”

It wasn’t a glowing vote of confidence, but Ceylon would take what she could get. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He flicked a hand, dismissing her.

As soon as they were in the hall, she demanded of Uric, “Who is he? He acts like some royal brat. Is he some secret brother of the queen’s?”

“No.” He looked vaguely amused, and long-suffering as he took her arm and escorted her down the hall.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“No.”

“How important is it that I save his life?”

Uric studied her. “Should you heal him, it will make for interesting times.”

She gave up.

* * * *

“I wish you would stop wearing that.” Uric frowned as she put on her locket the next morning.

Ceylon avoided his gaze. “Would you walk around without your sword?”

“That’s different.” And it annoyed him that she would compare the two.

“How so? They are both for our defense.”

“My sword isn’t likely to do me in,” he growled. “Short of shoving that poison down someone’s throat, how do you think it’s going to save your skin?”

“Maybe these would make a better weapon?” she said lightly, and handed him the steel hair sticks from her dressing table.

He frowned at them. Why hadn’t he realized that’s what she intended to do with them before? Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that she was better armed than he’d thought. “Depends how you’d use them. There’s not enough grip to use them to pierce an organ, and they’re poorly balanced for throwing. The only thing they’d be good for would be stabbing through the eye into the brain. After yesterday, I have my doubts that you could do that.” He’d hated wielding the knife on those blackened toes, and he’d enjoyed even less seeing her white face afterward. It was the price he paid for marrying a tender-hearted healer.

He smiled. Very well, he liked her soft heart; just not when her life might be at stake. “You’d be better off wielding a knife.”

“I doubt I could learn enough in a short time to do me any good, I already carry the dagger you bought me and it could be taken from me.”

Her arguments were rapid and obviously rehearsed, which told him she’d made up her mind.

He grunted and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her hair was still down, and he inhaled its scent as he gave her a little squeeze. “Times like this I wish you were a little more blood thirsty,” he complained, not meaning it. He just wanted her safe.

“You’d like the mother of your children to be a warrior maid?” Her eyes were mysterious and laughing in the mirror.

Was she...? “Are you trying to tell me something?” Hope fluttered in his chest.

She smiled. “Eight months and counting. I wanted to be certain before I told you—Eek!” she squealed as he tossed her up in his arms and turned her in midair. “Uric!”

Instantly contrite, he cuddled her to his chest. “I’m sorry! Will I hurt the babe?”

“No, but I think I lost a year just now.” She didn’t look mad.

He grinned and took her to the bed. As he laid her down, he leaned wolfishly over her. “Let’s celebrate! I can’t wait to see my daughter.”

“Daughter? I thought men wanted sons,” she said, surprised.

“You can have nine boys after my girl,” he promised as he nibbled on her neck.

“Nine!”

He winked. “As eagerly as you play the wife, I think we should manage it.”

“Oh, you!” She reached for a pillow, but quickly forgot about it as he kissed her.

Oh, yes. This was the life, Uric thought with satisfaction. It was the last thing he thought for the rest of the morning.

* * * *

Since her patient didn’t need her to stand over him every minute of the day, Ceylon used her time in the city to shop and renew acquaintances. Less than a week from the time they’d arrived in Queenstown, she arrived home to find Uric waiting in the hall.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, concerned. Absently she let Darjeng take her coat.

“No, I just wanted you to know we’re having guest tonight.” He looked uncharacteristically tense as he guided her into the study.

“What else?” She placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him, trying to read his mind.

“Our guest is Lord Tennyson.”

Shock left her mute.

“I invited him to dinner.”

Unable to believe her ears, Ceylon stared at him. Instant anger boiled inside, seeking an outlet. “You did what?” Before he could answer, she demanded, “What possessed you to do such a thoughtless thing?”

“He asked me to.”

He asked me to. Somehow that simple statement made her blood boil. She turned away from him, fists clenching and unclenching. Had the man no respect for her feelings?

Resentment made her say, “Oh, how very charitable of you. I’m certain that you and his lordship will have a grand time. You’ll give my regrets. I’ve developed a sudden headache that is sure to keep me in bed.”

He delivered the killing stroke. “He wants to talk to you.”

The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Like a cornered animal, she couldn’t decide whether to bite or run.

“Am I intruding?” Tennyson stood in the doorway. Darjeng faded in back through the open door and closed it behind him.

Ceylon glowered at him. He looked just as she remembered; perhaps his light brown hair had receded a bit more, revealing more of the red mark at his hairline.

“Hello, Tennyson.” Uric waved him to a seat and took one himself.

With a wary eye on Ceylon, Tennyson did.

Prompted by a stern look from Uric, Ceylon sat, but she wasn’t happy about it.

“I’d like to apologize for the trouble my son has caused you,” Tennyson said.

Ceylon nodded stiffly.

He sighed and stroked his pointed beard. “He’s always been jealous of you.”

“Why?” she asked in surprise. From her viewpoint it should have been the other way around.

Green eyes the same shade as her own drilled her. “Because you are my rightful heir.”

Her jaw dropped. He’d never admitted such out loud. “In what world could a bastard ever be your heir?”

“A bastard couldn’t, but you were the daughter of my first wife.”

She blinked. “But I ... your squire adopted me?”

“No. Legally I had two wives, or illegally, if you will. I married your mother in secret, then was forced to marry my present wife. My father bribed the church to decree my first marriage invalid, but your mother and I never refuted our vows.”

Bewildered, she tried to speak and failed.

“We were very young,” he went on. To protect her and our child from my father my squire pretended to marry her. He later took a real wife in a nearby village. I believe he had three sons.”

With every word he changed everything she thought she’d ever known. It scared her, so she got angry. Anger was easier to manage. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“You were in danger as long as my father was alive. Later it was just easier. You were an angry little girl, and you didn’t even like to look at me.”

“You thought it was easier to let me think I was the illegitimate child of an openly adulterous wife and....” her voice rose until it broke. That wasn’t the image she wanted to portray.

“We didn’t think you understood what was happening at the time.”

“The whole village understood! Did you think I was deaf or blind?”

Tennyson spread his hands. “We were young.” He made no other excuses.

A horrible thought occurred to her. “All that time, you were married to my mother and getting babes off of Lady Tennyson?”

“No! Her children are not mine.”

“You disown them?”

“I never sired them,” he corrected her. “Nor could I name the men who did. Lady Tennyson has always had ... a sweet tooth.”

Ceylon closed her eyes and shook her head. This was unbelievable. A mad drama cooked up by a truly unwell person. She massaged her brow as the headache she’d threatened to fake manifested. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because I want to know my daughter and her children. Because you have the right to know, and because I’m disinheriting Eville and claiming you as my rightful heir.”

The blood rushed out of her head to pool at her toes. “He will kill me,” she whispered.

Uric rushed to her side and hovered, just in case.

“He’s already tried that,” Tennyson pointed out with grim logic. “Hence the need for all of this. Ironically, had he not tried to harm you I would have let him have the fief.”

“How would he even know all this if it was kept such a secret?” she managed.

Dull color crept into Tennyson’s cheeks. “I think he spied on your mother and I.”

What a revolting idea! “You have a very sick son,” she told him.

“I know it, but not for much longer. I have an appointment with the queen this week. She’s all ready approved my decision. The crown is no more eager to have deranged lords in power than I am.”

“I don’t want your lands.” Her voice lacked the steel she’d have liked. Shock had nearly numbed her.

Uric must have sensed it, for he nodded at Tennyson. “Feel free to make use of my library. I think Ceylon would like a little time to absorb these things. She looks a bit pale.”

Pale. She felt absolutely drained.

Uric was wise enough not to say anything as he helped her to their room, and smart enough to stay with her as she lay on the bed, rambling.

“This is not happening.”

“Um.”

She stared at the mosquito netting canopy. “How can this be happening? I’m too old for this.”

“Hm.” He rubbed her back.

Ceylon rolled over and glowered at him. “You shouldn’t have invited him.”

Uric kissed her on the nose. “Save your temper for your father, sweet. I didn’t do anything.”

“He’s not my father! The only father I ever knew is dead.”

“Are you sure?” he asked softly. He stroked the hair off of her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Are you really sure, Ceylon?”

* * * *

Uric scowled at his wife as he tapped his finger on the tablecloth. Women were born difficult, and his wife was the queen of them all.

Tennyson was doing what he could to get along with her, but her constant baiting was clearly getting on his nerves. His answers to her objections got shorter and shorter.

“I don’t need more lands,” Ceylon insisted.

“Your children will. Even vast estates can be divided too much over the generations to do the second, third and fourth children any good. This way they’ll all have a tidy portion.”

“Tidy? Marksheath is huge. Not mention Shardsvale and the rest of our lands.”

“You’re thinking like a peasant.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Perhaps because I was raised as one.”

He waved a hand to indicate the room around her, Uric, the furnishings. “Yet fate has corrected that. You were born of noble blood.”

“I doubt fate had anything to do with it,” she muttered, just to be disagreeable.

Uric had heard enough. “Woman, if you can’t be polite then hold your tongue. Be mad at him if you must, but get it out and over with instead of slapping at him with childish words.” The hurt look she turned on him made him want to bite his tongue, but she had to be reined in.

It would be a relief if she would just shout and stomp and rage. A man would. He didn’t understand the way her mind worked sometimes, but he knew she needed to get the anger out. Logic said she could get ugly if it wasn’t done.

Maybe the squire ought to have trained her to the sword. Aggression and exercise were a great way to vent.

Woman and their politeness. Bah!

Ceylon’s eyes were downcast and her lips quivered. He winced.

Tennyson’s glare said it was all his fault.

Ha! Uric thought. He wasn’t the one who’d upset her. “You’ve been working very hard late, sweet. Perhaps you’d enjoy a walk with me?”

She sighed; a watery, sniffling kind of sound. “Yes.” Eyes averted from her father, she let Uric pull back her chair.

He stopped for their cloaks and took her walking in the walled garden. Guards patrolled the perimeter, but he was alert anyway. Too many chances got a man--or the woman he loved--killed.

She cried. He wrapped her in his cloak and held her, letting her get it out. Tears were messy, but it was woman’s way. In truth he was relieved to see it.

Besides, he’d always heard that breeding women were emotional.

The thought of their child made him smile, and he turned her in his arms so he could place a warm hand on her stomach. “What will our little one think of all these tears? You’ll scare him.”

“I thought you wanted a girl.” She sniffed.

“I want this babe, whatever it is.”

More sniffles. “It doesn’t know what is happening.”

“How do you know? For all you know it’s plotting to coo its grandpa and father into showering it with gifts.”

There went that lip. “I can’t picture its “grandfather” doing anything like that.”

“A man does not make the effort he is making without a strong motive. He loves you, sweet.”

She looked away, her expression sullen and ... troubled?

“He warned me before I left Marksheath to have a care with you,” he told her. No one had been more surprised when Tennyson had sought him out and told him the whole story. They had agreed to exchange letters, and had ever since. The man was rabid for any news of his daughter. Eville’s foolishness had only convinced him that now was the time to take action if he ever wanted to know his child. The mention of grandchildren brought a smile of pure ecstasy to his face.

The man had more plans for them than Uric did.

Uric frowned. That could get tiresome. He wasn’t looking forward to playing tug of war over his own children.

“Do you really think he wants me?” she asked at last.

He smiled. “I know he does.”

* * * *

She slept deeply that night and woke in a better mood. Although she still felt cautious about Tennyson’s appearance in her life, Ceylon was more willing to listen to him. It was a good thing, too, because he showed up for breakfast.

“I’d like to walk with you through the ice park today,” he said. “It’s warm and bright, and I hear the ice dragon slide is especially well done this year.”

“I haven’t been on a slide in ages,” she said doubtfully.

“All the more reason for you to go,” Uric agreed. He eyed Raven, who was eating with them this morning and drinking in every word. “I hear Raven has become quite a hand at ice sailing, too. He could take you on a ride.”

“Those things go awfully fast,” she said, thinking of the speedy little sail sleds.

“They don’t have to. I think you’ll like it,” Raven assured her, leaning forward. He grinned and waved his fork. “Besides, we’re having races this afternoon, and I’m a sure win. You could make some money if you wager on me.”

She laughed at him. “Brash one, aren’t you? What if you lose? Can I take it out of your hide?”

“I never lose.”

She smirked at Uric. “Very well, I’ll wager with you. Should you win there will be no schooling for a week. Should you lose we’ll hire that language tutor I heard about. Deal?”

Raven hesitated a moment. If there was anything he hated worse than school it was more of it. “Agreed. But you throw in a batch of pastries for every day of the week of no schooling if I win.”

“Done.”

The sun reflected off the snowfields and ice carvings as if off a polished mirror. Ceylon wore wide brimmed hat to shade her eyes from the glare.

Uric grinned at her. “That’s a summer hat.”

“It’s a sun hat with a winter hat beneath,” she informed him with dignity. “And you’re going to freeze your ears, walking around without a hat.”

“It’s warm out.”

“Then why isn’t the ice melting?”

“It’s starting to, if you’ll look.”

It was, but she didn’t like to admit it. Clearly she would be the one to dress the children when they had some.

The carvings were magnificent. Dragon heads and mythical beasts were on display alongside delicate dancers and brawny warriors. Every style of carving was represented.

Ceylon’s personal favorite was an ice garden carved in exquisite detail. The artists had even tinted the flowers and vegetation. Since it was such a delicate exhibit it was roped off and guarded by a polite pair of young men, but anyone could view it as long as they wished. Ceylon and Tennyson stood there several minutes.

“It’s beautiful,” she said in awe.

“You would love to view the gardens of some of the monasteries I’ve seen,” Tennyson told her. “The mazes and knot gardens are beyond belief, and some of the monks have the skill to carve magnificent beasts and angels out of hedges.”

Fascinated by his tales, she listened for long minutes. She didn’t know that he was so interested in horticulture. Odd, she’d always wondered where she’d gained her interest, since neither the squire nor her mother had cared to garden much.

Perhaps they had more in common than she’d thought.

Finally she smiled at Uric, who was shifting impatiently. “Very well. Let’s see the next one.”

“This is my favorite,” Raven said as he dashed up the gravel strewn ice steps to climb aboard a pirate ship complete with canons and canvas sails. Above a black flag flew merrily in the breeze.

“Someday I’ll own a ship like this,” he vowed.

“I thought you wanted to be a knight,” she said.

He gestured grandly. “What law says I can’t be and do it all?”

She smiled. Having seen him rise from a beggar lad to the squire of the most powerful warrior in the land, she would have to say there were none. The lad was living a fairy tale, and recklessly at that.

Her opinion was strengthened when she saw him in his ice boat. They had dallied too long among the sculptures and too close to race time, so she missed out on her ride. After she saw him on his run she couldn’t say she was sorry.

Six skiffs unfurled their sails at the official’s shout. As if it had waited for the moment, a stiff breeze filled the canvases with a crisp snap. In moments the light crafts where racing across the swept ice, gaining momentum as they moved on waxed skis.

“Go, Raven!” she shouted with the rest. She was so excited she hopped up and down, tugging on Uric’s sleeve.

His hard arm wrapped around her and drew her to his side. He grinned and shouted above the noise, “Easy, pet. You’ll stomp a hole in the ice.”

Ceylon laughed and started to joke back when her attention was caught by Raven’s boat. It slowed, foundered, tilted in the breeze and dropped sideways. The skiff behind him was going too fast to tack away and rammed into the side of his boat. Raven went flying.

“Stay here!” Uric shouted above the crowd as he pushed her into Tennyson’s hands. He took off running, a dangerous proposition on the slick ice. In moments he was forced to slow to a sliding fast walk.

“I should be out there--I’m a healer,” Ceylon said as she struggled against Tennyson’s hold. Nightmare visions of Raven’s broken body assailed her.

“No! Uric knows what he is doing. We’d be better off to send for the carriage. We’ll need something to transport him in.”

He was right, and she knew why they were doing this. It was one thing to heal with herbs, another to deal with the broken, bloody body of someone she cared about.

Blood always made her feel faint. Almost anyone could set a broken arm better than she when she felt like that.

Uric had probably set a lot of broken bones.

Pacing beside the carriage didn’t do much to calm her, and when they finally carried a moaning Raven in on a stretcher she did grow faint. What she could see of his hair was matted with blood. Scarlet soaked a cloth someone had pressed over his brow to keep the blood from running into his eyes.

Ceylon did the worst thing she could have possibly done at that moment. She blacked out.

* * * *

“You’re pregnant. It’s to be expected,” Anne soothed as she handed Ceylon a cup of tea.

She had to balance it on her lap, for she was lying on a couch at Uric’s insistence. He’d barked at her to sit there when he brought her in the house. Now he was upstairs, helping to repair Raven.

So much had to be done, and she knew he didn’t have time to be gentle with her. Still, it hurt to be growled at. She sniffed, unable to stifle her pesky emotions.

Anne knelt beside her and patted her hand. “There, there. It will all right.”

“I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Ceylon quavered as she burst into tears.

“How I remember those days,” Anne said soothingly as she drew her into a hug. “Go ahead and cry. You can’t help it when you’ve got a babe in you. I told Darjeng when I married him that I was glad I was too old to give him a babe. Lucky for us we both have grown children from our last marriages.”

It was so humiliating. “B-but I fainted! Right when they needed me most.”

“You’re not the only healer in town, dear. There’s other who do better at this sort of thing, anyway.”

Tennyson entered the room just in time to hear the last remark. “She’s right. Raven will be fine. The healer says it’s just a deep cut to the head, a few cracked ribs and bruises. It could have been much worse.”

“But how did it happen? What went wrong?”

He frowned. “Raven said that someone handed him a shot of whiskey just before he boarded. It’s a common practice, for luck.” He frowned.

There was something he wasn’t saying. “What else?”

“He says that that he got foggy after the race began. He doesn’t remember how he crashed.”

A cold feeling swept her. “Did anyone else have a drink?”

“Yes, but no one else had any problems.”

“Sabotage, do you think? Someone who desperately wanted to win?” The chill got worse. She pulled her blanket higher.

“A young man’s boat race? At the risk of harming himself? Raven wasn’t the only one injured.”

“How badly were the others hurt?”

“A broken arm. Scrapes and bruises.”

But Raven had been hurt the worst. Someone had drugged him in hopes of seeing him get hurt. There was only one person knew who hated her that badly. Agonized, she met Tennyson’s grim stare. “Eville strikes again.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.” She tossed off the blanket and stood up. Slowly she paced before the sitting room parlor. “I don’t care if he’s your son. I want him dead.”

“He’s not my son.” But it was clear from his tense tone that Tennyson felt strain over the whole affair. Eville might not be his by blood, but one didn’t acknowledge a child for twenty-some years and then suddenly cut them off without a thought.

She whirled to face him. “Would he come to you if he knew that you were here? That you planned to disinherit him?”

“He won’t know until the deed is done. I won’t risk otherwise. And he must know I’m here by now, that I’ve come to see you. He won’t show his face except to harm you.”

“And in the meantime he’s free to move about and hurt any of our friends he likes, since we can’t protect them all.”

That was it. She had put up with Eville’s petty vengeance too long. Perhaps her mistake lay in trying to let others take care of her problems for her. Uric was a formidable man, but his strength lay in direct confrontations, not this sneaky sport of Eville’s.

What she needed was a woman. Preferably one as cunning as Eville was ugly. Someone able to blend in anywhere, able to slither in the chinks where pacing lions couldn’t go.

Ceylon smiled with hard satisfaction. She knew just the woman.

* * * *

Two days later she looked in on her nameless palace patient. The swelling was shrinking on his face, the threat of blood poisoning had passed and his appetite had increased.

“I hate this sorry fare,” he complained as he ate his dinner of sautéed chicken, wild rice and vegetables.

“Be glad you’re alive to eat it, “ she told him absently as she checked his feet. The color was good.

“A man needs to eat heartily once he’s regained his strength.”

“By all means return to eating that which put you in this bed to start with.” She raised a brow, but he didn’t respond.

“Feel free to start walking around once your feet feel up to it. You need the exercise.”

He glared at her. “I don’t need a nursemaid to tell me that.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” she said with widened eyes. She’d taken to calling him that in preference to “hey, you”. The nickname suited his cantankerous self. Besides, she still wondered if he weren’t really some close relative of the queen’s. He certainly behaved like a spoiled royal.

“He hasn’t had the strength to walk in a long time,” Lady Winifred said quietly. She’d been much more cooperative as “his Majesty’s” tumors had visibly began to shrink.

“Would you like to discuss how I piss in a pan, too?” he asked nastily.

Pity was detestable to the man, so Ceylon hid hers. “No. Besides, you’ll soon be able to p--er, relieve yourself by yourself. All you have to do is practice walking.”

“I bloody well know how to walk!"

“All that and charm, too,” she murmured. She took a few notes and then stared at him absently. No matter how much he complained, the man followed her instructions to the letter. It told her a lot. “Are you still in pain?”

His tone became less combative. “Less. Less everyday.”

She smiled. “Good. Let me know when it leaves you. I might be able to let up on those medicinal teas you hate so much.”

He expressed his opinion of those in seaworthy terms.

“You’ve missed your calling. Should have been a sailor instead of a king,” she mocked back, unable to hide her smile. Somehow she couldn’t help liking the crusty old gent.

He eyed her. “I’ve heard you’ve some trouble of late.”

Surprised, she looked up.

A short, annoyed wave of his hand expressed his displeasure. “Yes, I hear things, even here. What else have I got to do but muck about in intrigue? Tell me your troubles.”

She did.

A grunt came from the bed. “Nasty business, that one. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Uric is doing his best.” She left out her own plans.

He shook his head. “A broad sword is more that one’s style. What you need is a sneak. Someone crafty to spy out information.”

“Uric has spies.”

“Not good enough! You need a master, and I have just the fellow.” He gave orders to a servant. Five minutes later the servant returned with a man.

Her patient smiled with satisfaction. “Meet Dun, master spy for the crown.”

Ceylon eyed the man askance. He was short, balding, wore spectacles. He looked like a clerk.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” His Majesty advised. “Dun could learn all your secrets and slice out your liver before dinner if he felt like it.” He looked at Dun. “Go find out where this worm Eville is hiding. Lady Ceylon and I both want to know.” He grimaced. “Eville. What was his mother thinking?”

Dun bowed and left.

Uncertain how much faith to put in this “master spy”--for all she knew he was an old drinking buddy of His Majesty--she said carefully, “We’ve been seeking Eville for some time now. I’m not certain how quickly your Dun can find information about him.”

“Count a week off,” he said confidently. “Dun never fails.”

Be that as it may, Ceylon was reluctant to take the word of sick old man on this matter. Still determined to take care of things her own way, she kept her meeting with Lady Riverdell, who was in town on business.

Allyson looked tense, and perhaps a bit thinner, but her greeting was cheerful.

“That’s a bad bit of luck with your Raven,” she said as she poured water for the special tea blend Ceylon always kept in her pocket. “Only a gutless coward would strike at you that way.”

“I know. What I don’t know is how to root him out. We’ve tried everything.”

Bright eyes studied her over the rim of a wineglass. “Everything?”

Ceylon shrugged. “So far as I know. I’m concerned for our child.” She placed a hand on her stomach.

Allyson’s eyes widened and she sat forward. “You didn’t tell me that! We’ve got to stop this fool before he does real harm.”

“The men are trying.”

A snort expressed Allyson’s opinion of their efforts. “Yes, well, they are men. They can’t help but falter, and often. A smart woman learns how to do these things for herself. I’ll wager cold gold that I can find Eville a great deal faster than they possibly could.”

Hope soared in Ceylon’s heart. “Do you think?”

“I know it.” She slapped her thigh decisively. “Give me a week.”

Chapter 10

“I want to talk about the way your mother died.”

Jerked out of her pleasant contemplation of her summer garden, Ceylon looked up at Tennyson. He’d laid his book on the sitting room table and was looking at her expectantly. Nobody else was about.

The announcement caught her by surprise. She’d thought they’d long ago agreed to dance around the subject. It seemed the best way to keep the peace.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her voice came out in a croak. A hasty sip of goat milk didn’t help to clear it much. “My, but this new nanny is working out very well. I’ve never tasted such fine milk. Care for a sip?” She offered it to him, desperate to change the subject.

He shook his head. “Thank you, I prefer my wine--and my subject.”

Unable to dissuade him, she sighed. “Why this sudden need to raise the dead?”

“Because it’s not dead, not to me. I need you to know why I didn’t come.”

She averted her eyes. “You were with your wife. We got your message.”

“No, you heard from my wife’s messenger. I was not there to receive it.” He wouldn’t look away. “I tried to tell you as much afterward, but you walked away.”

Guilty as charged. She hadn’t wanted to look at him, had blamed him for her mother’s death, for every rotten thing in her life. At the time he’d embodied everything she hated in a person.

“It was my son she died bearing,” he said. Aching regret laced his voice. “We wanted him so much.”

She grit her teeth. “Had he lived he would have been labeled a bastard like me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“You wished him dead?” he asked, shocked.

Remembered pain made her voice hard. “No, but I didn’t wish him alive, either.”

Silence ticked by. “What happened that day?”

Her hands were shaking. She laced them together to make them still. “She went into early labor--that you know. I was scared. A girl my age knew nothing of birthing babies. Nobody spoke of it. I’d never even seen an animal give birth. I did what mama told me, but she was in such pain she could hardly talk.” She closed her eyes, still able to hear the screaming. Screaming that had echoed all over the village. “I tried to get help. I ran to all the neighbors with blood on my hands, but no one would come. No one would help the village whore. A slut who shamed her husband as she did didn’t deserve to be helped, they told me.”

Eyes open now, but focused inward, she went on, “The babe came, but he was blue. The cord had wrapped around his neck. I didn’t know what to do. Mama wouldn’t stop bleeding ... I lost them both.” She bowed her head. To this day the sight of someone’s blood made her want to be sick as she had been then.

It wasn’t just the deaths that had made her ill, but the utter lack of compassion from the others that had rattled her, and still did. That day she’d vowed never to turn away anyone, no matter who they were, who needed her help. It was her reason for living, or had been, until Uric entered her life and gave her a better one.

Tennyson’s face was white. “I didn’t know,” he whispered. “God forgive me, I didn’t know.” He closed his eyes, his breathing harsh. Moments dragged by until he opened his eyes and knelt by her side. Pleading in his gaze, he took her hand. “Please. I’ve failed you. Failed you worse than even I knew. Forgive me, daughter.” He swallowed. A single tear tracked down his face. “Forgive me.”

How could she? It still hurt so badly. Every hurt, every pain she’d ever laid at his feet was there behind her eyes. She had only to close them to see things she’d rather forget. Things he’d made her remember.

No! a tearful part of her shouted. No! He didn’t deserve it. Hadn’t she suffered? He should suffer, too. Never, never would she acknowledge him!

Oh, but he’s your father, the other half argued. Look at him. Can’t you see he’s hurting, too?

He deserves it!

Maybe, but do you deserve to carry around this hurt for the rest of your life? You’re a healer. You know the arrow has to come out before the wound can be cleansed and closed.

She gritted her teeth. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Every fiber of her being save for one frayed thread, the heart of little girl, wanted to reject this, to denounce him, but she couldn’t. That little girl still cried for a father, still wanted to wake every night and know that she was loved.

The girl of yesterday was stronger than the woman of now.

Slowly, Ceylon covered his hand with her own. “I will forgive you.” The words ached, but she couldn’t regret them. Even if it made her heart raw now, it was better than the pain she’d held contained all these years. It had to be.

Tennyson--her father--released a shaky breath. “I’m thankful. I wasn’t sure I would see this day, Ceylon. You don’t know how often I dreamed ... how many tears I shed ... How I wish I could change the past.” He smiled crookedly. “Odd, it was only when I realized I couldn’t that I fought to change our future. Strange how much energy we can waste on regrets. Now I prefer action.”

That made her smile a little. “You sound like Uric.”

Joints popped as he shook his head and rose. “I’m little like him. I can’t envision him making the same mistakes I’ve made. You’ve chosen well. I’ve always thought so.”

The smile got misty. “You’ll make me cry.” It was too late; the tears began to fall in earnest. She wasn’t sure why this moment should turn her into a little rain cloud, but the smallest things made her weep these days.

Maybe, if she were lucky, there would be fewer tears in her future.

* * * *

Raven looked awful. One eye was swollen shut and he had a bandage over his head. Underneath the bandage the hair had been clipped to allow for stitching. Just cleaning it made her grimace.

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered.

“I have seen worse,” she allowed. Uric was right; she made a better herbalist than a surgeon. One hand rested lightly on his chest to keep her balanced. She was surprised when Raven gently gripped her free wrist.

“I never did thank you.” His tone was softer than she’d ever heard it. Fonder. “Uric would never have taken me for his squire if not for you. I would’ve rotted in Marksheath.”

“You make a good squire--and you’re welcome.” She smiled. “I have to admit I felt safer traveling with someone familiar, so I can honestly say you did me a favor.”

A gentle squeeze was his reply. He let go and she finished her task.

“Lady Ceylon,” he said as she turned to go.

She paused. “Yes?”

The look in his eyes should have been worn by a much older man. Suddenly she was aware that Raven was more man than boy now. Had she been blind?

“Uric is good man,” he said fiercely. “I’m glad it was him.”

Ceylon lowered her eyes and nodded. It was a good thing she’d met Uric before she’d been forced to break Raven’s heart.

* * * *

Allyson kept her head low and sipped her beer. The ragged hat she wore disguised her bearded face. The fake hair itched, and she scratched at it.

No one in the smoky, noisy tavern looked twice at the ragged young laborer. Not even Maude.

It still amused Allyson that the woman chose to hide in plain sight. Not once had the man she knew was a spy from Uric looked at the tavern keeper’s “sister”. Allyson herself hardly recognized the woman. Her hair was tucked out of sight under a kerchief, she’d bleached her brows white and done something to her face to make her look thirty years older.

Or maybe it was lack of make up, Allyson mussed. Even she wasn’t talented enough with cosmetics to look that ancient and ugly. Probably Uric wouldn’t recognize her, either.

No wonder the hag had been so upset when Anne had decamped. It took true talent to make a woman who looked that ugly presentable.

The woman must be desperate if she were willing to pose as a peasant. From all she’d heard of Maude, the woman thought herself royalty. Allyson couldn’t imagine how Ceylon had tolerated the woman for so long.

Thoughts of what Maude planned for Ceylon made Allyson’s eyes narrow. Time for her Majesty to get her comeuppance.

Mischief was riding on her shoulder that night. Allyson leered as the older woman came near to take her empty tankard. As she bent, Allyson gave her a hearty slap on the backside.

Maude stiffened and shot her a poisoned glare.

Affecting a drunk’s smirk, Allyson lowered her voice and slurred, “Evenin’ beautiful. How about you and me getting’ friendly?” For a moment she thought Maude would clobber her.

Apparently Maude was made of sterner stuff. To Allyson’s shock, Maude smiled and looked Allyson over with a predator’s eye.

She chucked Allyson under the chin. “Why not? You look manly enough to distract me for a few minutes. Why not out back, against the stable wall?”

Allyson’s jaw dropped. She quickly swallowed, gave a quick grin. Inside she groaned. Neat. She’d had no idea Maude was so ... adventurous. Who knew Uric’s frozen mother was a ... well, less than virtuous? And now she wanted a rendezvous against a wall, for pity’s sake! Well, it would make it easier to capture her.

Allyson followed Maude’s wide behind out the back door. It wasn’t easy to adopt a male swagger with that daunting view in sight, but she was nothing if not talented.

The night was dark. There was barely enough light spilling from the greased paper windows to illuminate Maude as she turned, her back to the wall. She bent and lifted her skirts. There was a soft snick.

Luck was with Allyson, for she was faster than Maude expected. A feint sideways took her out of Maude’s knife’s reach, another brought her in close. Her hand closed around Maude’s wrist, twisted. In a few moves she had the older woman helpless on the ground. It was almost too easy to bind her wrists, then wind the cord around her elbows, locking her arms together behind her back.

Allyson hadn’t studied with the sneakiest fighters in the kingdom for nothing. She knew every rotten trick that money could buy.

It was a difficult thing stuffing a cloth in Maude’s mouth without getting bitten. Using a twisted handkerchief, she secured the gag. Success!

Without warning a boot emerged from the darkness and kicked her in the ribs, sending her sprawling. Pain made her gasp even as she rolled aside. The buzzard had kicked her in the smallest rib, no doubt breaking it.

He laughed and drew his sword, ready to finish her.

There was no way she could fight sword-to-sword, not when she couldn’t breath. Unafraid to fight dirty, Allyson drew a throwing knife from her sleeve sheath and flicked it at him. It sank deep into his thigh.

The shadow howled and gripped his leg. Then he snarled at her and raised his sword.

“What’s going on there?” someone yelled. Other voices joined him. There came the sound of running boots.

The stranger swore and yanked the knife from his leg. They were but a few steps from the river, and he ran and jumped into it.

“Who are you?” A man asked as he roughly hauled Allyson to her feet. The other men who’d come with him had lanterns, and they searched the river as the escaping man splashed away.

“I’m here for this woman,” Allyson said in her best male voice. She toed the bound Maude. “Duke Uric has a bounty out for her.”

The men with lanterns came near and peered at her. They looked unsure what to believe.

Allyson wasn’t worried. She knew just what to say to win them to her side. “Come with me to his house. We can split the bounty.”

The men looked at Maude with greed in their eyes. She’d suddenly sprouted money signs.

The man who’d spoken first must have had a shred more moral fiber than his eagerly murmuring companions, for he asked gruffly, “What of that man in the river? Who’s he?”

“Her accomplice,” she told him promptly. “And it’s a pity you didn’t catch him. The man is worth a fortune to the duke, dead or alive.”

“Ah, blast the luck,” groaned one of his friends. “If only I’d learned to swim!”

Another man nudged his companion roughly. “Say, Bern, you know how to swim. Why didn’t you go after him?”

“If I’d of known--”

“Time’s wasting,” Allyson reminded them impatiently. “What say we get this one delivered? You can always hunt up the other one later.”

Hot on the scent of reward, the men dragged Maude to her feet and followed Allyson, who kept a sharp eye on them. One never knew what a money hungry man would do. Some of them would be only too happy to slit a stranger’s throat to avoid sharing his reward money.

Fortunately it didn’t seem to occur to her bunch, for they made it to Uric’s without mishap. The guards there took Maude into custody while the men were paid.

The leader grinned and winked at Allyson. “Any time you need a hand catching a crook, you let me know, boy.” They left, happy with their unexpected good fortune.

“I’m going to walk along the river and see if I can’t scare up that other one,” the man called Bern said.

“I’ll help,” the one who’d nudged him earlier said quickly. There was a chorus of assent.

Allyson silently wished them luck. She’d had enough hunting for one night.

* * * *

“Ouch!”

Anne grunted softly and stopped probing Allyson’s ribs. “It’s broken for certain,” she said as she placed a damp herbal packet over the huge bruise and gently bound it. “You’ll have to be careful of it for a while.”

Ceylon clutched her robe shut as she stood before the fire in her bedroom. Allyson’s adventure had been a wild success, but ... “I never meant for you to get hurt.”

Allyson shrugged her good shoulder. “It’s nothing. I deserve worse for not keeping an eye out for Eville. It must have been him who kicked me.”

Uric was seeing to Maude, so the room was private as Anne finished wrapping the bandage. “There! You’ll be healthy before you know it.”

“Thank you. What are you going to do with Maude?” Allyson jumped as Roland’s voice answered from the door.

“Lady Riverdell ought to be concerned about what should be done with her.” Anger snapped in air around him. The black patch and queued hair made him look like a menacing pirate.

Energized, Allyson sat up straight and smiled darkly. “Jealous, Ducks? Face it, you needed a wench to catch a witch. No doubt I’ll be the one to root out Eville, too.”

“You’ll not go!”

“You’ve had no success. I’ve been the best you’ve had.”

Roland’s look sizzled. Sparks snapped in the charged atmosphere.

Where they lovers? Ceylon didn’t know. She’d never heard of anything between the two, but neither had she asked. Perhaps they were discreet ... or perhaps she was completely misreading the tension here. It could be a simple case of jealousy, of a man feeling upstaged by a woman. Heaven knew they were a touchy sort. “Where is Uric?

Still tense, Roland broke off his silent battle. “He took Maude to the castle dungeon. Under the circumstances he felt justice would be better served by allowing the queen to sentence Maude.” He sent a dark look Allyson’s way. It was clear their battle wasn’t over.

Dread pooled in Ceylon’s heart. Not more delays! As long as Maude lived she would do her best to hurt them. It was inconceivable that the queen would order anything less than Maude’s death, but how long would it take for justice to be done? She wasn’t bloodthirsty so much as concerned. Maude had been locked away before.

Roland’s eyes flicked to Allyson’s side, where her shirt hid the bandage. Something strained flashed in his face, was gone. “What of the man who kicked you? Was it Eville?”

“It was too dark to see. I suppose it was. Who else could it have been?” Her tone was less antagonistic, her expression softer.

He stepped closer. “You wounded him?” Definite softness there.

Ceylon’s eyes flicked between the two of them. She tried to hide her smile, without success. There was something going on there.

“A knife to his thigh. It was the best I could do at that angle.” Allyson lowered her eyes. The gesture made her seem vulnerable, shy.

Anne, who had remained silent up to then, cleared her throat. The woman was a born chaperone. “I suppose that will make him easier to track? With luck this could all be over soon.” She beamed.

Ceylon took anther look at Roland, who stood very close to Allyson. Her slow smile grew. Perhaps for some, this was just the beginning.

* * * *

The dungeon was dim, lit only by the light of two lanterns. Uric stared at his mother. Shock at her appearance kept him mute. Never had he seen her without her paints and powders. It were as if she were another woman; or maybe he was finally seeing what had been there all along.

Now that she was here she was out of his jurisdiction. The choice to bring her had been easy--after all that had happened, he still didn’t want to be the one to kill her.

“Why?” he whispered. The word covered so many questions.

Maude glared at him from behind bars. “Why, what?”

Why didn’t you love me? What did I ever do? He would never say the words. There were no answers. “Why did you want to kill Ceylon?”

Menace leapt like flame in her eyes. “She’s a grasping bitch who should have been drowned at birth! She stole you away from me.”

That made no sense. “You never wanted me.”

“She stole my place!” She paced the bleak cell, gestured to the sweating walls. “Look what she’s reduced me to. I ate on the finest china, dined with crystal and silver. Now I’m in the dungeon. How dare she!”

His heart hardened. “You could have kept your place, been an honored mother-in-law of a duchess prized by the queen. You might have had her love, that of our children--"

Spit landed at the bars of gate. “Deformed brats, most likely. What makes you think I ever wanted to coddle children of yours? I didn’t even want you.” She paused to rake him with a cruel stare. “No doubt they’d be as worthless as their father.”

A man could only take so much. Something inside him died. Whatever hope he’d ever held, locked deep inside, was dead. So be it.

He took a step closer to the bars ... and smiled. “What a pity for you. Had your son been worth something he might have saved your neck, woman.” It was a lie, but right now he enjoyed hurting her. “As it is I guess we’ll just have to watch as they behead you,” he whispered menacingly.

She gasped. “Uric?” Her voice was scared, child-like, but it was too late. She’d already killed the part inside him that had been her son.

“Good-bye, witch.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

“U-uric!” her voice rose in a quavering wail, her favorite controlling tactic.

He kept walking.

“Uric, I love you!”

He closed his ears.

“Uric! Sweetheart, my boy ... don’t leave me,” she sobbed.

The prison door clanged shut behind him.

* * * *

Maude was publicly beheaded three days later. Uric attended the event and arranged for cremation afterward. His friends stood by him in silent support. Ceylon stayed home by mutual agreement. Neither she nor Uric thought she would handle the proceedings well.

Waiting at home was hard, too. Other than arranging for a light meal when the others returned, there wasn’t much she could do. If it were a funeral it would have been easier, but this kind of thing was beyond her ken. Uric had to be grieving, but one wouldn’t know it by his grim face. The others took one look at his dark expression and gave him plenty of room. As his wife Ceylon didn’t think she was supposed to do that. She could feel him withdrawing, and it scared her.

Roland noted her expression and took her aside. “Give him time. This is a blow.”

She glanced at Uric, who sat staring at the fire. Occasionally he would make a reply when asked a direct question.

“I wish he would talk to me. It can’t be good to keep it inside.”

“Maybe, but that’s the way men are.” Roland gave her a stern look. “Don’t pester him, Ceylon. Just be there. If he wants to talk he will. Dragging it out of him will only hurt you both.”

Head bowed, she nodded. None of what he said made sense, but she’d learned that men and women were different creatures. If Roland said that Uric needed to be let alone, well, he would know.

But it was so hard. Many times during the day she would look at him and long to talk to him. Sometimes she wept, she wasn’t sure for whom. Worst of all was that Uric didn’t seem to notice her distress. True, she cried alone and washed her face afterward, but he seemed completely unaware that she was hurting, as if he were in a fog of his own. Nor did he seek her out the way he had before, for no other reason than that he enjoyed her company.

She feared she was losing him.

“What is it?” Anne asked softly when she came to visit.

Ceylon swallowed a watery smile. As a woman Anne could see instantly that all was not well, whereas Uric....”I’m afraid he doesn’t love me anymore,” she whispered.

Taken aback, Anne said, “Uric? Nonsense! Of course he loves you, dear.”

Ceylon frantically shook her head. “No! He looks at me as if I’m not there ... he--he hasn’t come to bed since--”

“It’s only been two days, dear.” Anne patted her hand in sympathy. “Men are funny creatures. He will come out of his cave when he feels human again. Be patient.”

She sounded just like Roland. How could they be so calm? Maybe Anne just didn’t understand. “I’m afraid he blames me for what happened to his mother. After all, I’m the reason she was sentenced.”

Anne’s face grew stern. “The only one to blame for Maude’s fate was Maude, and you know it, child. That woman was evil and no mistake. Mercy was shown her again and again, but she chose not to change. There wasn’t a woman on this Earth who had more chances than she did, and each time she failed the test. Now you can accept that as the truth or continue to blame yourself. For myself, I would choose to chase joy. Heaven knows you’ve had enough of the other.”

“Chase joy? What is that?”

Anne smiled. “Why, just what it sounds! You wake up each morning and find something to be joyful about, something to do which makes your day brighter. Sitting around thinking about the world’s troubles won’t do anyone any good, but turning yourself into a light will. Once your spirit is refreshed you can shine on everyone around you. Now think--what would make you happy right now?”

“For Uric to smile at me,” Ceylon said wistfully.

“No, you’re not doing this properly,” Anne chided. “Your happiness must not depend on someone else. Think of yourself for once. What would you enjoy doing today that doesn’t involve him?”

“It sounds so selfish,” Ceylon protested. Think of just herself? Don’t worry over Uric? The priests would faint!

“Recharge yourself and your good spirits will rub off on him. Trust me.”

Well, if it would help Uric....

She was told that Allyson wasn’t home when she went to visit. The butler kindly directed her to the orphanage.

“Oh, there you are!” Allyson called cheerfully. She plucked a chicken-shaped mask of stiffened felt off a table and brought it to Ceylon. “Here. You can play the chicken.”

Ceylon blinked at the mask. “The chicken?”

“Of course.” Allyson wrapped a kerchief around her hair. She had bright pink circles were painted on her cheeks and brass coins sparkled from chains on her neck and wrists. The red and yellow wrap she wore was impossibly bright.

“What are you?” Ceylon couldn’t help but ask.

Allyson struck a pose. “Why, the lovely gypsy Lomita, of course.”

Ceylon grinned. “Of course.” She put on the mask and stood in front of the children, feeling foolish.

A clap of Allyson’s hands brought their instant attention. “All right, children! Let’s teach Lady Shardsdale here how to be a chicken.” She grinned at Ceylon, made a flipper motion with her hand. “Go ahead. Be a chicken.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. Fortunately, the mask hid it. Feeling foolish, Ceylon bent her arms and flapped them a bit as she said uncertainly, “Bock, bock.”

The children giggled.

“Tsk.” Allyson shook her head, hands on hips. “You can do better than that, my lady.” She gestured enthusiastically to the children. “Everyone, now! Don’t be shy. Let’s all help be a chicken. Bock, Bock!”

Delighted, the children called, “Cluck, Cluck, Bock!”

Ceylon giggled.

“Louder now! You too, my lady.”

This time Ceylon joined in. “Cluck, Bock, Cock-a-doodle-do!”

“Let’s really hear it now,” Allyson enthused.

”Cock-a-bock-a-doodle-do!” they all yelled. Laugher broke out all over the room.

“And that,” Allyson said, flushed and happy, “is how we be a chicken.”

“Bock!” Ceylon clucked in affirmation. The room dissolved in giggles again.

Playing with the children was great fun. Breathless and flushed, Ceylon promised the children that she’d come back some time with Lady Riverdell. Many of the children hugged Allyson as she left.

“You’re so good with them,” Ceylon said as they rode in the carriage to a tea shop. “It’s clear that they love you.”

Allyson waved her hand. “From a distance,” she said with a half-smile. “Proximity would soon cure them of that.”

“Hardly. I like you.”

The smile turned wry. “You have a very kind heart. I know my faults, Ceylon. I am not lovable.”

Dark memories clouded Ceylon’s vision. “I thought the same, once.”

“Come, now! There’s no reason for us both to be gloomy,” Allyson said firmly. “What will you have at the tea shop? They are famous for their confections, you know. And their steamed buns ... ah, sweet memories.”

The next half hour passed companionably. It took at least that long for Ceylon to work up the courage to ask, “So, what is between you and Roland? You seemed very caught up in each other the other day.”

Allyson raised her brows. “I hate to disappoint your romantic soul, but there’s nothing of interest there. He’s very ... dull. I want someone with more drama.”

Ceylon’s brows drew together. “Roland, dull?”

A shrug summed up Allyson’s feelings. “To each their own. I’m still dreaming of my tropical island getaway.” She winked. “And perhaps a brawny sea captain to go with it.”

“In that case you should wait for Raven to grow up. He’s determined to own his own ship.” She raised her teacup in salute as Allyson laughed.

Their relationship was an odd one. Ceylon absolutely trusted Allyson, knew some of her secrets, but there were a great many things that still remained a mystery. It was rare that Allyson would speak of matters of the heart. Whenever the subject came up she usually stepped around the issue. Maybe something was going on between her and Roland--Ceylon had eyes--but she wouldn’t know what until Allyson or someone else chose to say something. Ceylon refused to pry.

She wondered, though. Odd how Uric never mentioned the subject of Roland and Allyson. Perhaps he was much as she was; willing to let others keep their secrets unless it directly involved them.

Maybe she would hear something at court. They hadn’t been in the city long and due to the situation with Eville she hadn’t gotten out much. Perhaps she should accept some of the invitations that kept arriving for tea? True, she barely knew some of those people, but one should get to know one’s peers. Playing the hermit was getting dull.

Anne had been right; it was good to get out.

They had just finished their tea and stepped out on the curb when someone across the street shouted, “Hear ye, hear ye! Be the first to get the news.” A youth waved a paper in the air. The satchel he carried bulged with rolled papers, some of which poked out of the top. “The king is alive!”

Allyson and Ceylon exchanged startled looks.

“What hoax is this?” Ceylon took a step closer to the newsboy, forgetful in that moment of the need for caution. Equally arrested by the news, her guards also forgot.

One second was all it took.

* * * *

Ceylon groaned and opened her eyes. She was in a stone walled room; perhaps a buttery? There were musty bins along the walls, empty crates in the corners. It was cold. Water dripped somewhere nearby, in perfect time to the throb of her skull. She remembered a blinding flash of light and smoke, then nothing. Had Eville finally captured her?

A groan made her look left. Allyson was lying on her back, one hand flung over her stomach. By the dull look in her blinking eyes she felt as awful as Ceylon.

“What happened?” Allyson rasped. She propped herself into a sitting position, wincing as she went. “This blasted floor is frigid.”

“I don’t know. I think Eville has us. Are you hurt?”

“Stiff. Sore from lying on this brick floor. Plus I think some rotten buzzard simply dropped me.” She gingerly felt the back of her head. Her hand came away sticky.

Nausea gripped Ceylon. “How badly are you hurt?”

Allyson took a sharp look at Ceylon. “I’ll live. Don’t faint on me.”

“I never faint!” Ceylon protested, then checked at Allyson’s speaking look. “Very well, I never faint in an emergency.” Except for that one time with Raven ... but really, she had been pregnant.

“This is certainly an emergency.” Allyson stood and searched her green and russet gown. The winter velvet was dusty, but intact. She swore. “They took my knives.”

“Be glad that was all they took.” Ceylon set her jaw and stood up. She had no doubts about Eville’s intentions with her. As for Allyson ... he would want revenge.

Allyson’s eyes narrowed. “I’d slit my own throat first.”

No she wouldn’t. Allyson was a fighter. Ceylon peeked through the cracks in the door. Two men sat dicing at a crate-table. Both were unwashed and rough-looking. One man sat on a keg, the other on a smaller box. A lantern hung above them, providing the only light in the windowless room.

The voices of more men carried from the ceiling above. Slivers of light shown through the rough planks, and she could see the outline of boots.

“We’re almost ready,” one man said above them. “The boat is waiting. I say we forget the wait and go. This is dangerous.”

Eville’s voice said, “I’m not leaving here without my revenge. That dog took my hand--I’ll have his life for it.”

“It won’t work. He’ll know it’s a trap.”

“Do you think he’ll care? The man’s been known to walk through fire. He won’t stop until he gets his woman back--or dies.”

The cowardly one swore.

“Shut up! The tunnel will collapse after we go through. He’ll die and we’ll get away, so quit wetting yourself, Scrabble.”

Fear made Ceylon tremble. Four men out there, no weapons in here. She didn’t count the hair sticks, for she considered them next to useless considering the odds. Allyson might be a plucky fighter, but without a blade she’d be lucky to take one man down.

They were going to die.

A pounding began on the door upstairs. The dicing men looked up, tensed. “This is it,” one said. “He’s here!”

There was no time to think. She spun toward Allyson, who stood beside the door with a heavy stone crock, and fumbled with her locket. “Here! Swallow these.” She held the pills out to Allyson with an unsteady hand.

Allyson wrinkled her nose, reluctant to put down her weapon. “This is no time for physic, Ceylon.”

In no mood for playfulness, Ceylon gestured impatiently. “These will make you seem as if you’re dead. Uric and Roland carry the antidote. If I leave my open locket on your neck they will know what happened. Maybe you’ll have time to warn them about the tunnel.”

“But I can’t--”

“Don’t argue,” Ceylon hissed. “If we’re both taken then we’re all doomed! You have to warn Uric, Allyson. Please.” She offered the pills again.

There was a heartbeat of hesitation. The noise upstairs intensified as the door splintered. Men ran down the stairs. “Bar the door to slow them,” Allyson snapped as she grabbed the pills and stuffed them in her mouth. She grabbed crates and jars, shoved them up against the door. There wasn’t much to use.

The poison worked swiftly. In less than a minute Allyson sagged to the floor. Ceylon caught her, helped her lie down.

“This better work,” she slurred.

“It will,” Ceylon whispered as Allyson’s eyes shut. Already her breathing was shallow, almost gone.

Splinters went flying as their captors broke down the door and dragged her out.

“She’s dead,” she shrilled as Eville clamped his hand around her wrist. “You’ve killed her!”

“Shut up,” he snarled as he spun her around and placed a knife at her throat. “The bitch is just shamming.”

His breath nearly knocked her down, but Ceylon twisted to see as another man drug Allyson’s body out and dumped it on the ground, face first. She didn’t move.

“She’s dead,” he said.

Ceylon recognized him as the one called Scrabble. “I told you!”

Eville swore. “Leave her!” he backed toward a tunnel, dragging Ceylon with him. The two others in the room had already bolted down the tunnel, but Eville waited until he could see Uric. Scrabble stood just before him, his thin face and bald head gleaming with sweat. He danced on his feet, sword drawn as Uric’s savage face came into view.

Ceylon had never seen him so terrifying. He wore armor and his blond hair was tied in a tail. By the look in his face he would stop at nothing to get revenge.

“Give up the woman.” The command was forged steel.

“Come and get her,” Eville sneered.

Uric flicked a gaze at Allyson’s body, flicked his hand. A crossbow bolt sang through the air and buried itself in Scrabble’s chest.

He gurgled and went down.

“That’s enough!” Eville’s knife bit into Ceylon’s throat. The arm with the missing hand clamped around her middle. “Another step and she learns to smile out her throat.”

He waited a moment, then relaxed as Uric remained still. He laughed and shifted his grip on Ceylon. “Such a pretty little wife you’ve got here. I’ve wanted her for the longest time. Pity you got to her first.” He slowly drew the blade across her neck, opening a thin scratch. “I wanted to be the one to make her bleed,” he whispered.

Uric’s face hardened. Murder glowed in his eyes.

Ceylon shuddered. Her heart was beating so fast she was half-afraid it would suddenly stop. “Why?” The word came out a frightened moan.

Eville jerked her closer. “Bitch! You know why! Just look what daddy dearest has done; named you his heir. I always knew who you were.” Eyes on Uric, he licked the side of her face.

She gagged.

He grinned against her temple. “I used to watch the old man bedding your mother. They put on quite a show. Had a good view from my hole in the wall, too. They never caught on.” His eyes narrowed. “I heard all about you.” His ugly tone said it all.

“So you thought you’d take her and secure your title, since Tennyson would never give her to you.”

Eville snorted. “Hardly. I just thought it would be fun to screw my sister. I was going to lock her away someplace where I could get to her but dear old dad would never find her.” He smiled.

“You’ll have to go through me first.” Uric took a step forward.

The smile grew. “I’m counting on it.”

Uric waited as Eville slowly backed down the tunnel. The blood pounded in his temples as every instinct told him run after them. He knew that Eville wanted him to follow, to watch. Master spy Dun had reached Uric in time to reveal Eville’s planned escape. Men waited in the shadows at the other end of the long tunnel, ready to take him out as soon as they had a clear shot.

He hoped they didn’t kill him. He wanted the pleasure for himself.

The minute Eville was out of sight Roland dashed from the stairs behind Uric and ran to Allyson. He rolled her over and hissed. Blood ran from her nose and her eyes were swelling shut. Lantern light glinted off the gold locket around her throat--the open locket.

He swore and fumbled, trying to dig underneath his armor.

“I got it!” Raven ran forward and knelt down. Since he wore no armor he had easy access to his vial. “Pry her mouth open.” He uncorked the vial and poured the stuff between her lips.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, “What--” Allyson broke off as she coughed on some of the medicine. “What kind of sewage did you give me?”

“Quiet,” Roland said gruffly as he supported her shivering upper body. “You shouldn’t have taken Ceylon’s poison to start with.”

Her blackened eyes widened a slit. “Don’t use the tunnel! It’s made to collapse.”

“We know.” Uric glared at her, thinking of the danger to Ceylon if the fool she was with made a mistake and caved the tunnel in on himself.

“But....” she looked confused.

“Master Spy Dun told us,” he said as Roland picked her up. “At least this little stunt kept them from taking you both. Ceylon might have saved your life, because Eville would have killed you if you’d tried to slow him down.”

“I’m not helpless!” She winced as the force of her voice hurt her face.

“Shut up,” Roland snapped. “We’re in no mood.”

She was bright enough to comply.

Uric could only hope that Ceylon was wise enough to do the same until they could get to her.

Chapter 11

Ceylon wasn’t about to endanger her baby by struggling with Eville, not unless she had a better than fair chance at him. She was terrified of what he might do to her until she had a chance to escape him, but she couldn’t take the chance of losing her child. She wouldn’t.

The old smuggler’s tunnel was as black as a mine shaft. The only light came from the lantern in front of them. Obviously she wasn’t the only one fearfully expecting Uric to run after them, for Eville kept his knife handy and one eye on the tunnel behind them.

“Why doesn’t he come, eh?” His hand twisted in her hair as he hauled her along. The knife was held in that same hand. He sounded frustrated, perhaps a little worried. “Is he a coward? Or maybe he doesn’t want another man’s leavings?”

She didn’t answer.

He paused, causing her to stumble into him. Since she faced mostly backward she had an excellent view of the empty tunnel behind them.

“Uric, you coward! Show your face,” Eville yelled. Dirt drifted down from the ceiling.

“Hush!” The man ahead of them hissed. “You’ll kill us all! This tunnel isn’t very stable anymore, remember?”

Eville swore, but started walking. “He’d better show. I’m not giving up my revenge that easily.”

“Fine! So long as you don’t bring the whole place down on our heads.”

Ceylon shuddered.

They reached the end of the tunnel and emerged in the underground sewers. There was a boat waiting on water. Two of the three men who’d ran ahead of them were busy at the oars and the rope that tied it to the dock. The remaining man stood ready with a crossbow, his eye on the tunnel.

Ceylon took a great gulp of air before she realized where they were. Nausea threatened to bring her to her knees.

Eville took one look at her and hastily shoved her away. “Not on me, stupid! Puke over there.” ‘There’ was the inner wall of the walkway that ran along the sewer.

The bile rose in her throat, but she fought it down. She glanced at Eville. He was distracted by his men and the empty tunnel and had little attention for her. Stealthily, she slipped her hair sticks from her hair and held them ready, concealed by her body and her loose hair. She’d only get one chance at this.

Eville turned, reached for her. Suddenly he jerked. A surprised, angry expression appeared on his face as the bloody head of a crossbow bolt protruded from his chest.

Stunned, Ceylon watched as he slumped to the ground. A similar cry came from the boat as the lookout dropped his crossbow and clutched at a bolt in his neck. His body tumbled into the water.

Dante emerged from the darkness, a crossbow in his hand. The soldiers behind him ran to arrest the men on the boat who’d raised their hands in surrender.

She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

“Are you all right?” Dante knelt beside her and helped her to her feet. He grimaced at the hair sticks she’d forgotten she held and slipped them from her slack hands. They disappeared inside his tunic. “Let’s get you out of here.” He kicked the moaning Eville, an expression of disgust on his face. “Uric will deal with this trash.”

Relief swamped her. “Then Allyson did warn him.”

He frowned. “Allyson? I don’t know what you mean. Master Spy Dun was the one who discovered Eville’s plan and helped us find the tunnel. Allyson had nothing to do with it.”

Ceylon sighed. She had a feeling she was going to hear about this.

* * * *

Dante kept Ceylon distracted as he led her away. She never saw Uric enter the sewer.

Uric caught Dante’s eye and nodded. Ceylon didn’t need to see what came next.

Eville was still moaning and whining when Uric caught up to him. Uric grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him up, ignoring his cry. The man deserved to suffer.

“How does your revenge feel now, eh?” He shook Eville, almost enjoying his suffering. “Dante did a good job of paying you back for shooting Ceylon. Now it’s my turn.” He smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. He turned Eville toward the tunnel, gave him a shove. The man’s good arm dangled uselessly, too damaged by the bolt to work. There was a wet stain at his crotch, spreading down his leg.

Uric’s lip curled. “All right, my little bed-wetter, here’s your one chance. Run down that tunnel. If you can get to the other side before it collapses on you, I’ll let you go.”

Eville paled. Sweat gleamed on his face. “It’s too long!”

“I can kill you now.” Uric drew his sword.

Eville took off at a run. Uric let him get a good five seconds into the tunnel, then strolled over and pulled the lever at the entrance. The roar of falling rock meshed with the sound of a man’s scream. Dust swirled from the entrance, and Uric stepped back, coughing. When it settled there was only rock where the mouth of the passage had been. Tiny pebbles bounced down, finding a place to settle.

It was over.

* * * *

“Ceylon!” Uric strode to them and pulled her into a hug. His fierce grip had to be uncomfortable for her, since he was wearing armor, but she didn’t protest.

He pulled back and looked at her. “What did you think you were doing, giving that poison to Allyson? You might have killed her!”

“I was trying to help?” she said tentatively.

He scowled at her. “Next time leave the fighting to us, is that clear? We had it under control.” He didn’t mean to lecture her, but his worry needed an outlet. Unfortunately for her the cause made a handy target.

She opened her mouth to protest and he kissed her. It was much more satisfying than yelling at her.

Ceylon must have agreed, for she melted in his arms.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered. They had some loving to do.

Much later, they relaxed in a huge tub in a room off the kitchen. The tub did double duty on wash day.

Uric stroked the slight swell of her belly. “I was so afraid for you and our baby,” he said softly. Never had he felt more vulnerable than when he’d heard that she had been taken.

She smiled a little. “You didn’t look it. Had I been Eville I would have surrendered the instant I saw you. He wasn’t very bright.”

“His death warrant had been signed a long time ago.” He took a bar of soap and eased down in the water to scrub her feet.

“My toes are already clean.”

He just smiled.

“Oh.” She relaxed with a sigh, let her mind wander. As it roamed over recent events, she was reminded of something. “Say, what do you know of Roland’s attachment for Allyson? They seemed very interested in each other the last time I saw them together.”

The hands on her calves stilled. She opened her eyes, saw him looking at her oddly. “What?”

“You don’t know.” It wasn’t a question. He frowned as if puzzling something out. “I know you don’t socialize much, or hadn’t, considering, but....”

“What are you talking about?”

He shook his head and set the soap aside as he joined her on the bench. “I’m not sure I should tell you,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Uric!” Curiosity made her voice rise. “Tell me!”

Instead he reclined against he rim and shut his eyes, his arms resting on the edge of the enormous tub. In a tone of mock reproach, he said, “I’m shocked that Allyson would keep it from you.”

She growled and poked him in the ribs.

One blue stare was all it took to quell her poking. After she subsided, he continued his game. “And you two have exchanged how many letters? Tsk.”

Compelled to defend her friend, she muttered, “She’s a very private person, and I try not to pry. That’s why we’re still friends. I get the feeling she doesn’t have many.”

“Maybe you should pry more.”

“I’m trying to!”

He squeezed her in a one-armed hug. “By your logic it’s your refusal to pry that has kept your friendship strong. I know you. If I tell you what is what you’ll be compelled to interfere--with the most loving of intentions, of course. I just can’t do that to you. I’d feel just terrible if I jinxed your relationship.” He went high and squeaky like a woman at the end.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know what I’d like to do to you.”

Uric flashed a grin. “And I know what I want to do to you.” He tickled her and zeroed in on her neck. It only took seconds of his tender nibbling to make her melt.

They didn’t do much talking for a while.

* * * *

“What do you know about this?” Ceylon waved a paper under Uric’s nose. She just knew he was better informed than she. The annoying man always was.

He took it from her, pointedly held it farther from his nose, and glanced at it. “Huh.” He gave it back to her.

“’Huh’? Is that all you’re going to say? The most important piece of news to happen in this country in a decade, and all you have to say about it is huh?”

A smile played at his mouth. “It’s stale news, my love. I already knew the king was alive. You should have, too. After all, you were the one to cure him.”

Her mouth opened in a little “O”. An image of ‘his majesty’ in the palace sickroom flashed through her mind. She gulped. Would he hold a grudge for the nickname? After all, she’d hardly used it as an honorific. “But....” How could she phrase this?

“The late duke wasn’t interested in restoring the king to the throne,” Uric assured her before she asked. “It was a veiled attempt to seize land and ultimately to gain the crown. The rumors were just convenient.”

Stunned by the chain of events, Ceylon sank into a dinning room chair. “So what happens now? What will happen to the queen?”

“Nothing, as I understand it. Callion expressed relief to me that her father was well. Since it is complicated to uncrown a monarch, the queen and her father, King Ional, are meeting with his advisors to solve the situation. Callion would be happy to abdicate, but Ional will not hear of it. He says she’s more than earned the title of queen. I think it would be simplest for him to just take his place a High King and leave her under-queen.”

She frowned. “Do you think Queen Callion will marry now? I know political pressure has made it hard for her to make a choice among the eligible. Surely this will make it easier to choose.”

“It may. We’ll have to wait and see. She’s in the unique position of being the only queen to ever rule our country, and she is still the heir to the throne. Unless her father takes another queen, sires a son--presuming he is able, considering the severity of his illness--she’ll still have to bear a child to secure the line. I suspect we’ll be seeing a marriage there soon.”

“But what of next of kin? What if she doesn’t marry and have a child?”

He shook his head. “Don’t even think it. These things are far more complex than you realize. Trust me, the best thing would be some speedy breeding on their parts.”

“Breeding.” She frowned at him. “You’re so romantic.”

That got her whisked up in his arms and quick trip to the stairs. “I’ll show you who’s romantic,” he quipped as he carried her up.

Ceylon smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do tell.”

* * * *

Loud whispers and murmured conversations turned the palace counsel room into a tension-filled hive. As a peer of the realm it was Uric’s duty to be there, and as the leader of the queen’s army, it was his duty.

“Their majesties are fortunate to have you as their war leader, Your Grace. Not all would be so loyal.” The balding Lord Firth who said it glanced at him sideways, as if judging the validity of that statement.

Uric met his stare. “Yes, they are.” There were some in the room who would love to use the whole issue of the change in command as an excuse to make trouble. Woe to them, for he had no desire to go to war again so soon.

Firth’s eyes slid away. Whatever his feelings on the matter, he didn’t look the sort to challenge Uric, whose beheading of the last rebel duke had become a matter of legend.

“Her Royal Majesty, Queen Callion and His Majesty King Ional.” The herald stood aside as all rose to greet the two royals.

“You look very well,” Lord Firth ventured once all had settled.

Uric noted how quick he was to ingrate himself to the king even as he agreed with his observation. King Ional’s skin was smooth and glowing, and though he moved a bit slowly and with the use of a cane, the difference in him was remarkable. Truly Ceylon had done wonders.

As if reading his mind, King Ional nodded at Uric. “I have Shardsvale to thank for many things.”

Uncomfortable with the attention, Uric simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Lord Greeley, never one to applaud while another man shared the limelight, cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Majesty? There are essentially two issues on the table at this time. First; how will you share power with your daughter? And secondly, who are the people to follow in the event of a royal disagreement? Surely you understand the concern.”

One of the lords grunted. “I don’t like it. This father-daughter sharing the throne business. The other countries are bound to think we’re queer.”

The King sent him an ironic look. “I’ll be sure to make that my first concern.” The dry tone brought several guffaws and an irritated bronze to the lord’s cheeks.

“Yes, but what becomes of either of your spouses if you should wed? What are their claims to the throne? What will their titles be? Which children will be the heirs?”

“Yes! We need to get this down in writing,” someone called. The noise rose to a buzz.

King Ional raised his hand, quieting the room. “Peace. We have already drafted a proposal.” An aide brought forth copies and placed it before each man. At the King’s signal he read the proposal aloud:

I, Queen Callion, hereby accept the title of Queen in Tenancy. We shall issue a law stating that we, the Queen in Tenancy, shall abdicate to anyone the King might marry, with the provision that said spouse must produce male offspring before assuming the title, thus eliminating claims by those of her family to the throne.

“I like it,” Uric said. He was already bored with the meeting.

Lord Greeley frowned. “I’m not certain about this. There’s no telling what liberties someone might take with this odd law.”

Uric smiled pleasantly. “That’s why I’m here.”

A hush fell over the room.

“I’ll sign!” Lord Firth took his pen and quickly scratched his name on his copy of the parchment. Finished, he passed it to the next man, who eyed Uric, then did the same. With little fuss, the law was passed.

Later, when Uric had joined the King in his private chambers, King Ional offered him a brandy. “Your wife would have my head were I to join you,” he said wryly. He eyed the decanters anyway, sighed, and took a seat by the fire. He still tired easily.

For a while they simply watched the flames. Then Ional murmured, “What shall I do for your lady to show my appreciation? She’s quite altered my fate, and that of our kingdom.”

Uric grinned. “She wouldn’t see it that way. I think you’re better off not asking her what she would like. She’d only protest that she has too much already.”

Ional grunted. “You’ll have to teach her greed. Can’t have a duchess running about with no sense of her own worth.” He considered Uric. “What would you ask on her behalf?” They both understood just how deeply he was willing to reward. Uric could ask for the moon and get it.

Uric considered. “Tax exemption for ourselves, our children and their firstborn to the fourth generation?”

Ional winced. “Done.” He shook his head. “I’m fortunate I snagged you as my war leader before some other king stepped in and made you a better offer. You could haggle a nun out of her drawers if you had a mind to.”

Glass raised in salute, Uric flashed him a smile. “Hardly. By all rights I should have remained a farmer’s brat, grubbing in the fields. Some days it would be simpler.”

Cane raised, Ional pointed it at him. “You’re no farmer, boy. Destiny never meant for you to be a raiser of chickens and pigs.”

“To destiny then. May it bring us all that we desire.” He drained his glass. If he was fortunate providence would bring him peace.

* * * *

Fireworks and parades were scheduled. Special treats and trinkets were hawked on every corner as the enterprising took the opportunity to make money. Newly minted coins stamped with his image were to be issued to every citizen, and the merchants were eager to collect.

Much to her chagrin, Ceylon was to be honored at the celebration.

“I did very little,” she protested to Uric. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Our king honors whom he honors,” Uric said as he brushed her hair. They would leave for the feast soon. He dropped a kiss on her hair. “He owes you his life. That’s no small thing.”

She sighed. “I just don’t feel worthy.”

“You’ll get over it. Just think of the glory and riches soon to be yours.” He laughed at her look in the mirror. “Don’t worry! I married you as a peasant girl and I rather like you barefoot and pregnant. Completely naked is even better.” He leered.

She laughed and swatted at him. “You.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “Only for you,” he said softly.

* * * *

The award ceremony went better than Ceylon expected. She was a mass of nerves-- appearing in front of crowds had never been her strong point--but she survived. Since he couldn’t make her a higher rank without marrying her, King Ional showered her with gifts instead. More land, a jeweled ivory coffer full of costly gifts.

Lord Tennyson beamed like the proud parent he was as she was honored. He’d officially made her his heir. Later he would worry about the enemies it would make of his wife and daughter. Fortunately for them all his daughter could do little, as the laws did not favor her sex in these matters. Though it saddened him that the boys were dead, no one could deny that they had more than earned their fate.

“My day couldn’t get brighter,” he assured her once she’d retreated, dazzled, from the king’s throne. He gave her a hug, unmindful of the social correctness of it.

Ceylon smiled back. “Thank you.” Her life had come full circle.

Wine flowed that night, and Ceylon had more than her share. So when a young woman asked her about Roland, she replied without considering Allyson’s nebulous claim, “He’s wonderful. Thoughtful, caring....”

“And very married,” a new voice said. Allyson stood to their left. From her dry tone she wasn’t horribly concerned. “But don’t let that stop you; after all, I am here to petition for an annulment.”

The young lady gaped for a moment, then slunk away. Ceylon just stood, stupefied. “What?” she finally managed.

Allyson crossed on arm over her middle and circled her wine glass with the other. “I thought you knew and were too delicate to mention it. My apologies. I seldom like to dwell on the unpleasantness in my life.” She sipped her wine.

Ceylon blinked. The night had just gotten hotter, and the press of bodies wasn’t helping.

Seeing her difficulty, Allyson linked arms with her. “Come. It’s a good time to get a breath of air.” She led Ceylon outside and guided her to a bench. She remained standing.

The cold stone on reflected the full moon and the spill of light from the open ballroom doors as Allyson tipped her face to the sky. “Ah, to be a star. High above it all. What freedom.” She sent a rueful glance at Ceylon. “It wasn’t our idea to marry, you know.”

No, she didn’t know. Ceylon shook her head.

“The king thought it a wonderful idea to unite our houses by commanding us to marry. My father was willing, Roland’s reluctant but practical. He threatened the life of Roland’s long time mistress to force Roland’s compliance. Roland never forgave him.” She took a deep breath. “Just before we were married I met with Roland and his mistress, told him I would be happy to have a marriage of convenience, even offered to stand in as proxy for his pregnant lover.” Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “I was desperate not to be the ‘other woman’.”

Ceylon nodded sympathetically, enraptured by the tale.

“On our wedding night he stained the sheets with his blood and later slipped away to be with his real wife, as the three of us now thought of her.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Even the shadows couldn’t mask her tension, and when she opened them her expression was bleak. “I planned to travel, see the world, but was too frightened to see it on my own. I was little more than a child at the time. It was probably a wise choice. Before I could grow up, Roland’s mistress cuckolded him. He tossed her out and went off to war, leaving me behind to care for the estates.”

“How long was he gone?” Ceylon whispered. Her heart ached for her friend.

Allyson’s jaw tightened. “Ten years. The first I saw him was when I met up with you as the mistral and came here to get my annulment.”

“But that was a year ago!”

“Yes. The buffoon stood before the queen and said he would be willing to consummate the marriage if I would. Her Majesty thought it a grand idea and ordered us to spend a year under the same roof that he might try his luck.” Pure anger flashed in her eyes. “Well, his luck has run out, and here I am again--and this time I will be free.”

Ceylon didn’t know what to say. All this time she had thought well of Roland, and now ... Anger flared in her as well. How could Uric call Roland a friend?

* * * *

“You know nothing about him,” Uric said coolly. He still couldn’t believe Ceylon had confronted him as if he were in the wrong. He looked longingly at the bed he wouldn’t lie on for a good while yet as he joined Ceylon before the fire.

“He made her stay married to him! After abandoning her! What kind of man does that?”

“A man in love?” Uric sighed, shook his head. “Even he doesn’t know what prompted him to say the words, Ceylon, but he’s determined to make his marriage work. He does care, and he has one month left to win Allyson before the annulment is granted.” He took her hands, looked at her steadily. “It’s important that we don’t try to interfere here. We don’t know their hearts, and we need to let them work out their own problems. Taking sides will only ruin our friendship.”

“But....”

“It could turn out well, you know. Just think how romantic it would be if they solved all their problems and lived happily ever after. And at the worst at least they will both have the freedom to start over. What is a month?” He could hardly believe he was spouting such womanly nonsense--he personally didn’t think they had the chance of a cat in a sack in a ragging river--but anything to cheer his wife.

Troubled, she stared at the rug. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”

Aw. His heart always broke when she wore that look. Women always wanted a happily ever after. “No.” He knelt before her and ducked into her line of vision. “It’s not fair, but such is love. Aren’t you glad you took a chance on me?”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “I suppose.”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes. He slipped her pinkie into his hot wet mouth. “You suppose?” he said around the finger.

She giggled. “Very well. I’m glad.”

Uric released her, turned serious. “I do love you. Always will,” he said solemnly.

Pleasure and love burst in Ceylon’s heart. She felt as if she’d just pocketed the moon. “Show me,” she whispered.

And he did.