A Touch Unexpected

13. Road Less Traveled

13

Road Less Traveled

Two weeks later, Rosalind found herself in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. In every direction lay a seemingly never-ending field of tall, untamed grass that bowed to the whims of the cold wind as if waves on a golden sea.

Unsurprisingly, Valentina had gotten her way. She’d hounded Jonathan over and over until he relented, which is how all three ended up on a decaying wooden train platform near the northwestern border of Denault. From here, the trio would have to endure another three hours of travel until they arrived at Ashwind, a small border town that abutted the Endless Forest, a strip of neutral territory that separated Sauvign from its neighbor, Erdesay. That is if their transport ever arrived.

“I thought you said somebody would be waiting for us when we arrived.”

“That’s what I was told,” Jonathan replied in the same clipped tone as his sister. Both stood with their arms crossed, staring down the desolate dirt road ahead.

Dressed in shades of gray, their tall, slender figures formed stark silhouettes against the bleak landscape. The weather was cold, and the sky was overcast. To combat the chill, Valentina wore a thick, buttoned-up houndstooth cape and matching riding skirt. Beside her, Jonathan kept warm with a wool herringbone coat, dark gray breeches, and black riding boots .

Rosalind had also come prepared for the cold, donning a thick, moss-colored sweater and a brown twill split skirt. It was a good thing they were all comfortable, seeing as they had little choice but to wait. She set her suitcase down on the platform and sat on it. The Rashfords soon followed suit, and there the trio sat for the unforeseeable future.

“Well,” Valentina proclaimed aloud after a few minutes, “I’d say now is as good a time as any for you to tell us what this trip is really about, hmm?” She raised her brows at Jonathan expectantly.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’ve already explained it to you, Val—multiple times. A Chancellor hasn’t visited the border in ages, and it’s about time. I owe it to them to introduce myself and make known that they haven’t been forgotten.”

“And your council has no qualms about you visiting on your own? I’m surprised they didn’t force a small army of protective personnel on you.”

“They tried to,” Jonathan admitted. “But I managed to convince them otherwise. Said I preferred to keep a low profile and that I wished to hand-select those who’d accompany me, to which they agreed.” With a slight shrug, he added, “So I chose a few who looked like they needed a break, paid them double, and told them to make themselves scarce for a few days.”

Valentina’s hand flew to her chest, and she gasped. “My word, Jonathan. Have you any scruples?”

Jonathan huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

Rosalind watched him reach out to pick up a blade of grass that had blown onto the platform. He rested his elbows on his knees and turned it over in his hands. After a moment, he spoke.

“I noticed something curious while looking into the distribution of imports across Denault over the last few decades. On average, about an eighth of commodities imported into our region are dispatched to the borderlands. However, given the area's estimated population, that number should be closer to one-fifth.”

Valentina scoffed. “What are you on about, Jonathan? You know damn well I’ve never been very good with numbers.”

“Nor patience,” he muttered before continuing. “What this means is that villages across the borderlands have been receiving significantly fewer rations than needed to supplement their food stores for quite some time now. And yet, there’s been no notable indication of famine. We’d likely witness an increase in unrest or an exodus to nearby towns if there were.”

If Rosalind understood him correctly, border villages were faring better than expected considering they hadn’t received their allotted share of imported foods over the years. So, how were they compensating for the difference?

“You think they’ve found other means to sustain themselves?” she asked.

“I do.”

Rosalind looked up to find Jonathan regarding her. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smile. His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before returning to the blade of grass in his hand.

“Perhaps their harvests have been more bountiful,” he suggested. “If that’s the case, I’d like to know why that is. As Ashwind is the oldest and most prominent village in the borderlands, I don’t doubt the Keeper will have answers. Whether or not she’ll be willing to share them with me, I’m less certain.”

The last few words were spoken in little more than a low murmur, nearly lost to the wind. It was the first time in a long while Rosalind had heard Jonathan sound unsure of himself.

“Looks like we might find out sooner than later,” said Valentina, nodding her head in the direction of the gravel path. “It appears our ride has finally arrived. ”

In the distance, Rosalind saw what appeared to be three horses and a cart in tow. From the cart, a lanky arm waved at them wildly.

When the horses and cart came to a stop in front of them, an auburn-haired boy hopped out and rushed over to Jonathan.

“Mr. Rashford, sir,” he said, lowering into a deep bow. Immediately upon straightening, he froze and his eyes grew round and wide. “I-I mean, Lord Rashford,” he sputtered. “Wait, no… it’s, er, Chancellor? Chancellor Rashford! That’s it, right? I-it’s an honor to meet you, sir.” The boy hastily dropped into another bow.

“Any of those will do quite fine, but”—Jonathan leaned towards the boy conspiratorially—“between you and me, it’s all a bit tedious, isn’t it? I’d much rather you call me Jonathan if that’s alright with you. What do you say?” He held out his hand.

The boy’s face lit up. “Oh, yes! Yes, of course, Jonathan, sir,” he exclaimed as he took Jonathan’s hand and shook it vigorously.

“And what might I call you?”

“Tory, sir. Tory Darren.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Tory.”

The scene was not unlike the time Jonathan introduced himself to Albert. At least there was one in Ashwind they could count on their side.

“And this is my grandmother,” Tory said, turning to the silver-haired woman seated on the small, wooden cart.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Hilde Darren,” Jonathan acknowledged, bowing in her direction. “Thank you for traveling all this way. We’re very grateful to have you as our guide.”

Tory’s grandmother regarded him with narrowed eyes. After an uneasy silence, she spoke in a clipped tone, her voice louder and gruffer than her petite frame suggested it would be. “Your luggage can go in the back.”

“Right,” Jonathan murmured. He went about setting his suitcase in the cart and then made his way over to Valentina. “What on earth have you packed in this bloody thing?” He dragged her suitcase over and hoisted it onto the cart with some effort.

Valentina shrugged. “One never knows what might come in handy.”

“Miss, I can help you with that.”

Rosalind jumped at the words. Her attention was on Jonathan and Valentina, and she hadn’t noticed the boy approaching.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, miss. Just thought you could use a hand with your bag.”

Up close, Troy looked even younger than Rosalind had initially thought. Though he was taller than her by several inches, she figured he couldn’t be older than thirteen.

“Oh, that’s very kind, thank you.” She lifted the bag out toward him. When he reached out to take the handle, she found herself retreating slightly.

“My apologies,” she said with a sheepish smile before holding the bag back out for Tory to take. Though it had been a little over two weeks since her birthday, she hadn’t entirely broken the habit of shying away from interactions with the opposite sex. She breathed a small sigh of relief when their hands briefly met in the exchange, and no spark was to be seen.

“Forgive me,” Jonathan said, addressing Tory and his grandmother once their belongings had been packed away, “I have yet to introduce you both to my companions, Lady Valentina Rashford and Miss Rosalind Carver.”

A tingle at Rosalind’s neck drew her attention to where Ms. Darren sat, who leveled her with a steely gaze. She did her best to offer the woman a small smile, though she had a feeling it ended up looking more like a grimace. She hurried over to join Valentina, Jonathan, and Tory, standing near a pair of chestnut horses.

“Esther here has a bit of a restless streak in her,” Rosalind heard Tory explain as she approached the trio .

“Does she now?” Valentina purred as she gently stroked the mare’s mane.

“Yes, ma’am. I recommend a more experienced rider take her reins.”

“Happy to,” she remarked. Leaving no room for objections, Valentina slipped a foot into the stirrup and swung a leg over, settling onto the mare’s back with ease. Esther shifted beneath her and shook her head, whinnying. After a few soft pats and gentle murmurs, Valentina managed to soothe and steady her.

“Ros,” Valentina said in a subdued tone so as not to rile the horse beneath her, “I think it best if you rode with Jonathan, don’t you think?”

“Well, I…” Rosalind fell silent as no further words came to mind. In truth, the idea of joining Valentina atop the mare called Esther frightened the living daylights out of her. After being confined to a train carriage for four hours, her friend was no doubt itching for a spirited ride. Rosalind’s stomach lurched at the thought. However, not going with Valentina meant riding with Jonathan. In close proximity. For several hours. It would be the first time they’d be alone together since…

She felt a familiar figure sidle up beside her. “Looks like you’re stuck with me. But don’t worry, I’ll take it slow.”

Not for a single moment did Rosalind consider the suggestiveness in his tone to be accidental. Any other time, it might have coaxed a slight blush from her, but not today. Today she was chock-full of anticipation and dread for the long ride ahead. She looked longingly at the cart where Ms. Darren sat, wishing she could ride with her. That is, until she met the curmudgeonly woman’s narrowed stare. Suddenly riding alongside her no longer seemed all that enticing.

“I can accompany Miss Carver if you’d prefer to ride with my grandmother, sir,” offered Tory from somewhere behind them .

“I think not,” muttered Jonathan, seemingly sharing Rosalind's sentiments toward the older woman. He flashed Tory a bright smile. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t wish to impose on Ms. Darren any more than we already have. I suspect she would much rather travel alongside her grandson.”

Jonathan made his way over to Tory and the massive horse standing at his side. As easily as Valentina had, he swung himself up onto the horse’s back and slid forward. “Your turn.” He held out a hand.

Rosalind approached with trepidation. “Th-there’s no saddle?” she asked meekly upon closer inspection.

“No, miss,” Tory admitted apologetically. “Only had the one and gave it to Esther. But there are several blankets for cushioning.”

As if having enough padding was her concern right at this very minute. No, she was more worried about getting on the horse—and then staying on it.

Tory knelt down and intertwined his fingers together, offering her an elevated step from which to push off. With more than a little help from him, Rosalind managed to hoist herself onto the horse’s back. Once astride, Rosalind snaked her arms around Jonathan. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on for dear life.

“Ros,” Jonathan rasped.

“Hmm?”

“Any chance you could loosen your hold a little?”

She shook her head. “Not likely.”

“Seeing as this trip hinges on me being alive when we get to Ashwind, I think we should switch places.”

Reluctantly, Rosalind let Tory help her as she, not so gracefully, slid down the side of the horse. Once off, Jonathan repositioned himself further back on the horse. “Let’s try this again.”

Again, Rosalind pressed a foot into Tory’s hands and threw herself onto the horse, nearly kneeing Jonathan’s unmentionables as she struggled to settle a leg on either side of its back. She couldn’t help the squeal that escaped her as the horse shook its head and shuffled beneath her. A tightness gripped her belly, and for a brief moment, Rosalind worried she might be sick.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Jonathan’s breath was warm against her hair, gently caressing the crest of her ear as he spoke. Rosalind was suddenly alarmingly aware of every inch of her body. The pounding of her heart. The raised hairs at the back of her neck. The heat of his body against hers. When she looked down, she realized the pressure she felt at her belly wasn’t her roiling nerves but the press of his hand as he held her in place. He surrounded her, and as out of sorts as that made her, it also brought about a sense of comfort.

“Thank you,” she whispered, willing her voice to remain steady even though she was anything but.

Rosalind watched Valentina’s silhouette shrink in the distance as she rode ahead of the group. Every so often, she would circle back to update them on the endless sea of tarnished grass that awaited them. Closer in view were Ms. Darren and Tory. Their heads bobbed up and down in unison as the shabby cart rolled along the uneven, sand-coated road. It served as a reminder that Rosalind was riding down the same bumpy path on a giant, muscled beast with a mind of its own. She stiffened, her back already sore so early in the trip. How she wished they could be in the comfort of a warm, cushioned carriage.

“Ros, there are statues less rigid than you. Try to relax.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” she replied in a strained voice.

“Tell me, what’s your favorite time of year?” Jonathan asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What? ”

“For me, it’s springtime,” he explained. “I daresay many find it rather dreary, but I hold no such objection. The clouds hold the promise of rain. When confined all day in a dim room, I hear only my pen scratching and pages turning for hours on end. In those moments, I gladly welcome the sound of the rain. It’s soothing. Shame it doesn’t rain more often.”

Now, Rosalind understood the reasoning behind his seemingly random question: he was trying to distract her. She smiled to herself before sharing why autumn was her favorite time of year.

For the next hour, the pair prattled on about a little bit of everything. One moment they were reminiscing over childhood memories, and the next they were discussing their favorites—books, activities, food, art. Rosalind felt the tension ease from her back and shoulders. That is until the horse let out an exceptionally loud and convulsive snort, which elicited a most unladylike squawk of surprise.

During a lull in conversation, the question that had been nagging at her for the past two weeks weaseled its way into the forefront of her mind. It became impossible to ignore, and she had no choice but to ask about it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“If you thought I might be of help on this trip, why didn’t you ask me yourself? Though I hardly think my ties to the border will account for much, it was apparent you’d already considered the idea when Val brought it up, and yet you said nothing.” When Jonathan didn’t immediately answer, Rosalind’s nerves took hold of her tongue, and anxious words spilled from her mouth. “Is it because of… of what we did? Of what I asked of you? I promised it wouldn’t change anything between us, but I fear it has. You’ve asked for my help in the past, but perhaps you no longer feel you can. I take it that’s because of my awkward manner of late bu t—”

“That’s not why. Not at all,” Jonathan cut in.

She felt his chest press against her back as he took a long breath in and slowly exhaled.

“You’re correct in knowing I had indeed considered what goodwill or credibility my acquaintance with you might lend me on this trip,” he explained. “Sauvign knows I could use all the help I can get. But I couldn’t ask it of you, not again. Not when, only weeks prior, I requested your assistance at the council dinner. I took advantage of your background and circumstances then, to your detriment. To do so again seemed unfair because I knew you’d accept regardless of what position it might put you in. And I wouldn’t wish for you to ever feel I was using you. Or worse still, that you might be inclined to do as I asked, not by choice but because you felt compelled to, because of who I am, what I represent. That’s not what I want from you.”

Though Rosalind was relieved to hear it wasn’t as she’d feared, the weight on her chest didn’t lessen. There was something melancholic about the latter half of his admission.

It was in the way he’d uttered the words more quietly than the rest, betraying a sense of uncertainty that Rosalind wasn’t accustomed to hearing from him. It exposed a sliver of vulnerability that she wished she could soothe if only she understood it better. She was tempted to turn to him, to see if his expression revealed anything more. But she didn’t. She hadn’t the courage to face him; she'd already spent it all on asking the question in the first place.

“That was very thoughtful of you, thank you,” she said in lieu of something more profound.

Hoping to ease his concerns and inject a bit of lightheartedness back into their conversation, she added, “You needn’t worry. Not for one minute did I feel compelled to partake in this trip”—she inclined her head—“not by you at least. Your sister on the other hand…”

Jonathan let out a wry chuckle, and Rosalind couldn’t help but be a little proud of herself. “That makes two of us. You know, I’d laud her for such remarkable tenacity were we not the poor sods relenting to it. As such, I can think of no better way to describe it than bloody annoying.”

Rosalind laughed. She continued doing so as they exchanged anecdotes substantiating the younger Rashford’s relentlessness. After a time, her sore cheeks and aching belly welcomed the relief of the companionable silence that followed.

We must be nearly there , Rosalind thought as she rubbed at her eyes. The ever-present gray and gold that tinted the edges of her bleary eyeline told her otherwise, and she groaned in dismay.

“So she awakens,” said a voice from behind. She felt the words as much as she heard them, and it was then Rosalind realized she was leaning against Jonathan’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she hastily drew herself upright. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Oh no.” She gave a small gasp and pressed her fingers to her lips. “Did I… Was I, you know…”

“Snoring?” Jonathan offered. “I’m not sure I’d go as far as to say…”

“Talking,” Rosalind quickly interjected. “Talking in my sleep was what I actually meant to get at. Mumbling, really. I don’t snore… Do I?”

“Well…”

Rosalind covered her face with her hands. She could practically hear the smile on his lips. Before she could defend herself, Valentina called out to them. “I see a wall up a ways. Is that Ashwind?”

The wind whipped her hair about as Esther galloped toward them, having ventured ahead earlier.

“Yes, my lady,” Tory exclaimed. “Granny and I gather we should arrive within the hour. ”

Rosalind perked up at the news. Finally , she thought. She couldn’t wait to be on solid ground. Her neck hurt, her lower back was stiff, and her backside ached. Even her thighs were sore. And the news only seemed to amplify her body’s craving for relief.

She shifted her weight to one side and reveled in the brief respite. She did the same for her other side, but the relief was frustratingly short-lived.

“Ros.”

“Hmm?” she answered absentmindedly as she continued to shift in her seat, seeking a more comfortable position. Leaning forward in hopes of relieving some pressure from her backside, she pressed her hips back and arched her lower back as a cat might do.

“Ros,” Jonathan bit out.

“Yes?” She responded in kind, mildly annoyed at his pestering while she was preoccupied with ensuring every fiber in her body didn’t succumb to total and utter numbness.

A quiet whine escaped her as she readjusted once, twice more, to no avail, coming to terms with the sad realization that her efforts were futile. She would only be free from such wretched discomfort once she was off this dratted thing.

“Rosalind.”

Firm hands gripped either side of her hips and held her in place. “ Please ,” Jonathan rasped. “Please stop.”

Alarmed, Rosalind craned her neck around to peer up at him. “What? Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

Jonathan’s gaze didn’t meet hers. Instead, she was met with his profile, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

“Should be in a moment.” A muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. “That is if you’d do me a favor and stop wriggling about as you are. Give me a chance to right myself.”

Rosalind could have sworn she spied a subtle tinge of color on his cheeks. She took stock of their surroundings but didn’t notice anything of concern. She cast her gaze back on Jonathan, her eyes scanning his face, neck, and chest for any signs of pain or injury. When she peered down to where their bodies met, it dawned on her. And she now felt his meaning. Blood boiling in her cheeks, she spun back around and stiffened in her seat. Even her breaths were stilted to prevent the slightest of movements.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I… I…” The words stuck in her throat, and she had to force down a swallow to free them. “I-I am so sorry. I hadn’t meant to. I hadn’t even realized that might happen…”

Jonathan blew out a breath which quickly morphed into a low chuckle. The grip on her hips loosened, but his hands didn’t leave her. Instead, they stilled atop each thigh. Gently, his forehead came to rest against the back of her head.

“It’s I who should be apologizing. I thought I’d mastered such schoolboy inclinations years ago,” he confessed wryly. “But it appears I have not.”

His breath rustled her hair and brushed past her ear like a soft caress as he spoke, and mortification was no longer the overwhelming sensation rushing through Rosalind’s mind and body. In its place, a warm tingling crept up her spine, skimming along her arms and leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its shadow.

“I don’t imagine I’d make a good first impression by arriving with my breeches tented. Or worse…”

“Perish the thought, Jonathan!” Rosalind chided, nudging him gently in the torso with her elbow.

He let out a shallow grunt. “Alright, alright.”

She bit back a smile. “If it did happen, Val would never let you live it down. Ever.”

Jonathan laughed. “No, no she would not.”

“Chancellor. I mean, Jonathan, sir. ”

Rosalind looked ahead. Tory was turned around in his seat in the cart that rode a little way in front of them, waving to get their attention.

“We’re coming up on the outskirts of Ashwind now. Past the stone wall, it won't be very long until we arrive at the town square. That’ll be where the Keeper will greet you. I reckon there’ll be a few others there to see you as well, sir.”

Behind her, Rosalind sensed Jonathan shifting, straightening himself. She felt further movement on her thigh and peered down to see Jonathan’s third finger tapping against her. It was then she spied a thin gold band wrapped around it, one she hadn’t noticed before. She knew of the signet he wore on his right thumb but none other unless she counted the ring he’d slipped on the night of her birthday. A small part of her was tempted to ask about it, but now wasn’t the time.