Chapter Three #2
He was still in his monk’s robe, but as he gained his feet in a cloud of crumbling leaves, twigs, and colorful phrases, Alys noticed that he seemed much larger in the brightness of day.
And the dappled sunlight was not kind to his face, bringing out in sharp relief his injuries against his obvious fatigue.
His hair was a worse disaster than she’d been able to glimpse in the moonlight—as if he’d fallen into a den of blade wielding badgers.
She thought he was older than she’d originally guessed—possibly thirty.
And while perhaps in other circumstances he could have been described as pleasant looking, to Alys he looked dirty and hairy and hardened and bitter. And quite possibly very angry.
But no matter for that—so was Alys.
“You mean-hearted bastard!” she said to him before he could have chance to speak. Layla ducked her small head under Alys’s veil and into her neck. “I could have been killed following you like that!”
“I know!” Piers shouted. “That’s why I told you to stay behind!”
“How could I stay behind not knowing where my husband was going, or when he would be back for me?”
“I wouldn’t have been back for you,” Piers growled.
“See? And I don’t know where our lands are, or even my family name!”
“Your name is Alys Foxe,” he said very slowly and distinctly, as if speaking to someone not in possession of their right mind. “And I have no lands.” He paused and then muttered, “Yet.”
“No lands? But”—she broke off, frowned, and then realized what he was saying—“I’ve married a commoner?” Alys howled with laughter and clapped her hands, causing Layla to clutch at her head to keep from being toppled to the ground. “Sybilla will be completely furious!”
“I fail to see why marriage to a commoner would please you,” Piers said, and then he shook his head and stuttered. “We’re not married!”
Alys rolled her eyes and sat down, still chuckling. Oh, Sybilla would just turn blue!
“We are married. Don’t pretend you don’t know the legend of the ring—everyone in the whole of England knows it! Do you have anything to eat?”
“I do doubt everyone knows it,” Piers sneered. “And didn’t you pack food in your run-away-from-home-sack?”
Alys wrinkled her nose and felt her cheeks tingle. “Well yes, some biscuits and honey with a bit of milk in a jug. And some chicken and ham. And two boiled eggs. But I’ve already eaten them.”
He stared at her, a hint of concern creasing his brow. He didn’t look quite as dreadful when he wasn’t shouting or cursing. “How long were you at the ruin?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” His frown increased while Alys tried to think. “Ah, ‘twas most likely near midnight when I arrived.”
Piers blinked. “Midnight. Of … last night?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And you ate everything before I arrived?”
Alys felt her cheeks glowing now. “I was arguing with Sybilla and missed my supper. And I didn’t eat everything, as you so crudely put it—I have some dried figs and a pomegranate left.”
“A pomegranate?”
Why did it seem like he was mocking her? “Yes. I’m saving it for Layla. I’ve read that monkeys prefer fruit.”
“You’ve read that—” He broke off, seeming too furious to form words. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and Alys could see his nostrils flaring. In the pose he almost looked like a monk at prayer.
Perhaps a monk with a mangy dog on his head.
After several moments he looked at her once more, having seemingly regained his composure.
“It is winter in England, Lady Alys. You and I are on the cusp of a barren forest where, despite the tales of magical wood people who roam through it unseen, survival is not only difficult, ‘tis unlikely. You have followed me against my advice and now expect me to care for you because you have no rations, save a few pieces of exotic fruit that likely cost more than what I see in a year, and which you are saving for a monkey.”
“Well, I’m sorry you were so poorly compensated at your work, but she has to eat, Piers.”
“I’ll eat her and her fucking pomegranate!”
He looked so outraged that Alys couldn’t help but laugh, especially since Layla took that moment to voice a timid and worried-sounding yip. Perhaps it was only fatigue, but she was finding him to be quite witty when he was angry. She laughed and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.
“‘Twould be … only fair … since”—Alys gasped around her peals—“she’s already … had a taste of you!”
To her surprise, Piers started to chuckle.
In a moment, they were both grabbing their stomachs and wiping at their eyes.
Layla scrambled down from Alys’s shoulder and removed herself to the sanity of the fallen trees, wringing her hands and chattering nervously.
It was several moments before their chuckles dwindled, and Alys sighed contentedly, pleased at how much better she felt.
Besides being hungry, of course. But she daren’t bring up that subject again to her prickly husband so soon.
“So, do we sleep now?” she asked, pleasantly, she thought.
He shook his head. “I sleep. You walk.” He pointed a long arm toward the way she’d come. “That direction. ‘Tis unsafe for you here.”
“Why is it unsafe? I daresay I’m much less likely to have misfortune befall me while I’m under your protection than if I should be traversing the countryside alone.”
He again shook his head, more emphatically this time and with a pained-looking grimace, as if the mangy dog on his head was beset by fleas.
“No. See you the scars I bear? They were given to me by a man who meant to see me dead.
If he is not already looking for me, he shall be soon enough.
‘Tis why I travel at night. Alone,” he added with a stern frown.
“My, that does sound dangerous. Where are you going?”
“That is not your concern.”
“As your wife, I think—”
“You are not my wife!” Alys jumped at the ferocity of his words. “You are a spoiled little girl who has had a row with her sister and thinks to spite her by running away.”
“I am not spoiled,” Alys said, completely offended. “And I am not a girl.”
“Look at you,” Piers demanded, gesturing to where she sat in her puddle of skirt and cloak. “Your gown is fit for royalty—what is it? Perse?”
Alys was too shocked to answer. Any matter, he continued.
“That looks to be sable inside your cloak. You’ve run away from grand Fallstowe Castle in your jeweled headdress with your exotic pet and an embroidered silk bag, likely because your sister wouldn’t let you have a new pony or some other nonsense.
You’ve convinced yourself that you’re married to me, a commoner who doesn’t have two coins to rub together, and you’re happy about that because it will perturb your sister.
You would thoughtlessly risk a vast fortune such is your family’s out of childish, petulant spite.
You are a foolish girl, and I take no responsibility for your asinine judgment, or lack thereof. ”
Alys had been on the receiving end of stinging dressing-downs since her mother had died, so Piers’s lecture should not have fazed her.
But it did. Here he was, a veritable stranger, and yet he had used many of the same words her sister had.
Spoiled. Childish. Foolish. Somehow, the terms stung more coming from this man than they ever had flicked from Sybilla’s cool tongue.
“I am only dressed this way because Sybilla and I had a falling-out during the winter feast. I didn’t take time to change. I don’t wear clothing like this all the time—I even brought my everyday gown with me.”
“Oh, your everyday gown! What is it made of? Gold?”
“No, it’s woolen,” she said calmly. “And I didn’t leave Fallstowe because I was denied a pony, you heartless ass. Sybilla is to see me married to the Lord of Blodshire in thirty days because I would not cow to her unreasonable demands. If anyone acted out of spite, ‘twas her.”
“I know of Blodshire. ‘Twould be a noble enough match for you, a younger sister. Why would you take such a pairing as spiteful?”
Alys blinked. “Have you met Clement Cobb?”
“I’ve not had the pleasure of Clement’s acquaintance in some years, but I do know of his mother. Nasty old bitch.”
“Isn’t she?”
“Indeed.”
She shrugged. “Well, at least we have something in common. Sybilla only did it because I refused to bow and scrape to her in front of our guests. Because I would not stand to be insulted by Clement’s awful mother.
Because I would not allow Etheldred to further abuse poor Layla.
And because I would not apologize for speaking the truth.
So if that is childish, then I suppose I am. ”
“You’re certainly headstrong. And yes, it likely is childish.”
“Go to hell, Piers Whatever-your-name-is.”
There was pity in his eyes. “Go back to Fallstowe, Alys Foxe.”
“I won’t. Not today,” Alys hurried when Piers lowered his brow. “I can’t face Sybilla and what she’s done today. I’m too weary, by far. I must think of some way to change her mind before I confront her.”
“As you wish, but find somewhere else to think, eh?”
“You really intend to send me off alone, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. After a long moment, through which Alys was determined to hold his gaze, he cursed softly and dropped his eyes. “Fine, dammit. You may rest here for the day.”
Alys smiled triumphantly.
“But don’t think for one moment that this”—he waggled a finger between them—“is to continue beyond the time it takes for the sun to set over yonder hills. I am no child’s nurse.”
Alys raised her eyebrows. “And I am no child.”
“Well, that is debatable, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. Very well then, crawl back inside your hole and get your own rest. You look as though death wouldn’t have you—I do hope that’s due to your fatigue and injuries, and not how you look all the time.”
“You shan’t have to worry about that though, shall you?”
Alys shrugged and gestured to the monkey, who was picking beneath the peeling bark of one of the trees. “Layla and I shall fare quite well with my cloak to shelter us.” She couldn’t help but add, “‘Tis quite warm—lined with sable, you know.”
Piers shook his head, letting her playful goad pass ignored. “No, you take the lean-to. If your hair or gown should peek out, you’d be a banner to any passers-by. Your very presence here is a grave liability to me, Alys.”
“Oh, come now,” she scoffed with a smile as she passed him. “It can’t all be so dire. Who would care so much to see a simple commoner such as yourself dead?”