FOUR
Angharad
No matter which way she squirmed and fidgeted, there was not enough room to take a full breath in the close space.
She pushed up onto the floorboards overhead, but they were stuck fast.
She pounded on them, slamming her palms and fists against the dusty wood.
Her fingers scrabbled against the unyielding barrier, and she winced each time a splinter slid beneath a nail.
Through the sliver in the boards she watched as shadows lengthened and sunbeams lit the floor, over and over.
Hara’s heart thudded as though she were sprinting, her breaths coming in short frantic gasps.
Her eyes flicked open.
Vines stretched above her, and morning light fell in dappled pools over her blankets.
She was able to take a long, filling breath, but her heart still galloped, convinced that she was trapped beneath the floor of the abandoned cottage.
Hara rubbed her eyes and rested a hand over her brow, simultaneously weary and wakeful.
Pulling her past to the surface in vivid, unfiltered detail had torn down all her mental defenses.
It would take time to lock away the memories of her mother’s capture again, blurring them around the edges and letting them sink like a corpse into murky depths.
At least the soreness from the memory share had gone, and Hara stretched her muscles.
Then she started.
She was in her bed.
She sat up and turned, and there was Gideon, sleeping in her makeshift bed before the hearth.
Seraphine was curled in a ball in the crook of his arm, and when she saw Hara was awake, she stretched lazily and sauntered to the bed.
“You little minx,”
murmured Hara, scritching the cat’s ears.
Hara watched Gideon sleep with a troubled expression.
Had he been right to suggest she did not want to leave the comfort of her home in pursuit of her mother? Was she content to let her mother’s fate remain a mystery, so long as Hara felt safe here? Guilt churned in her belly, and she worried her lip.
Hara had tried not to raise her hopes when Gideon made his offer.
When she first came to Merowyn’s house as a child, she spent hours sifting through her mother’s memories, trying to understand what happened after the hunters had taken her.
Her visions were confusing—tall, endless balconies, long hallways that lead back to where they began.
They were more dreamlike than anything she had seen in the real world, and no matter how many times she looked, there were never new memories to sift through.
She had lost the connection to her mother’s influence long ago.
Over the years, the pull grew fainter and fainter, as had the memory of her face and the sound of her voice.
There was no way of knowing if she was alive or dead, but she still held onto hope, even after all this time.
Hara’s Sight never extended into the future, as her mother’s could, but her intuition had always been preternaturally strong.
Some instinct told her that she would see her mother again.
This lord of Montag might not have been brought to her doorstep by mere chance.
If she was honest with herself, she felt reluctant about the prospect of uprooting her routines and leaving the village behind.
It was safe here, as it had been for most of her life.
People knew her, and she was liked and trusted.
Going back to her homeland would mean danger and, possibly, heartbreak when she learned the truth at last, her hopes laid to rest for good.
Perhaps it was more comfortable to put aside the pain of her mother’s memory and stay here, content with the unknown.
Her stomach dropped with shame.
Was she such a cold, unfeeling daughter? She could not help but feel that Gideon was right—she was a grown woman now, with the best chance that she could wish for staring her in the face. Or rather, crumpled on her hearth.
Gideon rolled over in his sleep.
He had looked upon her with such lust last night. He stared at her with devouring heat, his lips parted as though he was ready to take her mouth with the slightest invitation.
She knew he watched her, even if he tried to hide it.
He watched her while she cooked and weaved, while she gathered kindling, and she even caught his eyes flicking away while she washed her hair. Despite his contempt for magic, he could not hide his attraction. Men were predictable in that way, tempted by the mere proximity of a woman.
It was only natural, she supposed, cooped up and emotionally distraught as he was, and so she tried her best to ignore it and carry on with her work.
Hara had no qualms about taking pleasure when she desired it. Her relationships served their purpose for a while, and then they naturally ended. She had fallen in love before, and she even wept over a lover, but she knew what to expect from her trysts.
What she did not expect was her reaction to Gideon’s touch. The goosebumps that formed across her skin as he undid her stays were unexpected and pleasant, and Hara did not know what to think of it.
He was a beautifully made man to be sure, but that was where her interest stopped; his rudeness negated his looks. She was not wanting for male company lately, so that did not explain it. Perhaps she recognized the erotic anticipation of being undressed by strong hands, and so it was only natural for her skin to tingle and her breaths to quicken. It had been foolish of her to suggest that he help her undress—what did she expect?
As she watched the sunlight glint over the silver in his ear, she considered why it would not be a good idea to take pleasure with this lord of Montag. He had some strong notions about debts, and fate only knew what sharing pleasure would result in. He wasn’t exactly her enemy, but his father and his liege lord most definitely were. Even if she trusted him as a man, would it be right? It was definitely foolish.
She did not have the answers now, and so she thought it best to view him only as her patient. And, now, her traveling companion.
She rose from the bed and went to him, shaking his shoulder. He woke instantly, pale eyes fixing upon her face.
“I accept your offer of repayment. You will help me find my mother.”
Gideon’s foot was not yet well enough to travel, but that gave Hara time to plan. She made the rounds in the village, visiting those who came to her for regular remedies and handing out salves, syrups, and bundles of herbs.
She found Samwell Thorn mending the low stone wall outside of his hut. He looked up from his work and straightened, his cheeks red from the cold. When she told him of her journey and said her goodbyes, carefully omitting any mention of Gideon, he wrapped his big arms around her and she breathed in the scent of his fresh sweat.
“You’ll find her,”
he said in his gruff voice. Sam was a man of few words, which was what Hara liked about him. Their relationship had always been expressed through deeds, and so instead of making promises she wasn’t sure she could keep, Hara cradled his jaw and brought her mouth to his. She did not know when she would return, but the sweetness of his lips as they moved over hers was the best farewell she could give him.
This, at least, was an easy goodbye.
One of the last stops made her stomach turn guiltily. She told herself that the snows had made it difficult to visit sooner, but the truth was that she could not bear to sit by the fire and accept a cup of tea from the person Gideon had held for ransom, knowing all the while that she was sheltering him in her own home.
She felt like a duplicitous wretch as she stood on the doorstep, willing herself to knock. Hara thought it best to make the visit quick, lest she give it away that she had nursed her friend’s abductor back to health and that she was planning on making a journey with him. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
Alexandra opened it and broke into a wide smile. At least she looked well and content; it seemed Gideon was telling the truth and she had been treated gently during her ordeal.
“Angharad! How good to see you,”
said Alexandra.
“I had a horrible cough some weeks back, but the snows were too thick near the woods, so Tom had to use the apothecary in the village.”
With a jolt, Hara realized she must have been ill with the same fever that Gideon had. She quickly recovered her expression.
“I’m glad to see you are well. I wanted to give you this,”
she said, passing over her bundle.
“It’s stoneseed root. It should see you through the next month or so while I am gone. I hope to be away no longer than a season.”
“You’re leaving?”
said Alexandra, her happy smile wilting slightly.
“I am going in search of my mother. The time is right, and I have reason to believe she is alive,”
said Hara. One of the benefits of being a witch, she thought, was that no one ever asked prodding questions if she said things in a vague and mystical way.
Alexandra’s expression softened.
“Good. I wish you all the luck on your journey. I’m grateful for the herbs, too,”
she finished on a blush. Then her eyes became serious as she rested a hand on Hara’s arm.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you. Your teaching saved me.”
Alexandra recounted the story of her abduction, and Hara worked hard to balance her reactions between surprised and stoic.
“Well done for your quick thinking,”
she said honestly. She hoped that her neutral response wouldn’t betray the guilt that writhed in her stomach. Thankfully, Alexandra did not seem suspicious.
“The children will miss you,”
said Alexandra. The Widderstone orphans relied on the kindness of a few of the villagers to scrape by, and Hara felt another small tug of guilt at leaving. She knew Alexandra and her husband would continue to look after them, but late winter was the hardest season.
“I visited them today and I gave Bess some possets for croup and ointment for Jimmy. That should see them through the spring,”
said Hara.
Alexandra must have seen the worry on her face, for she clasped her hand and said.
“Don’t fret about us. We’ll be fine. You’re leaving for a good reason.”
She did not deserve Alexandra’s comforting words. Hara’s throat ached with shame.
As Hara left the house, she let out a deep breath. One day she would tell her friend what had happened and why she needed to align herself with a rogue like Gideon Falk. One day, when—if—she found her mother. She could only hope that Alexandra would forgive her.
Her last stop was at the home of her dear friend Gertrude. The ancient woman clasped her hands around Hara and pulled her into the small hut.
“If I brought my chickens to you, could you look after them?”
Hara asked as Gertrude poured tea.
“Of course, dear. I always said your chickens lay the biggest, tastiest eggs of any in the village. It will be mighty nice to have them.”
“Thank you. And I don’t suppose you could tend to my plants? Now that the frosts are over, I can move most of them outside for the spring rains, but there are some that need to stay indoors.”
“My pleasure,”
said Gertrude.
“Although I am sad to hear you will be gone for so long. Your ointment makes a world of difference for my stiff knuckles.”
She rubbed her veined and spotted hands.
Hara produced a jar from her cloak pocket.
“Here you are. That should last for two seasons.”
“Bless you, child,”
said Gertrude, taking the jar and cupping Hara’s cheek.
“You will be missed.”
“You’ll have to console yourself with a large omelet made from my eggs,”
Hara said with a smile.
“I have another favor to ask. Does Gessup have any clothing he doesn’t use anymore? Even if it needs mending?”
“I’m sure I could find something. Let me see . . .”
Gertrude pulled a flat trunk from under her bed and dug inside of it.
“He only seems to wear one set of clothes day in and day out, that doddering old man. He has some very handsome things that he never wears anymore—used to cut a fine figure in them . . . ah, here!”
She pulled out a pair of rust-brown trousers, a billowy brown shirt, and a wide leather belt.
“It comes with a handsome matching coat, too,”
said Gertrude. She dug around a bit more and produced a long coat. As she helped pile the clothing into Hara’s arms, she slid her a shrewd glance.
“Not that I mean to pry, dear, but are you traveling alone?”
“Not alone, no.”
Hara dropped her voice.
“I’ve met someone who may know where my mother is. He has promised to help me since I nursed him back to health.”
“Ohh, how wonderful,”
said Gertrude, her eyes two shining points among the delicate wrinkles of her face.
“It makes a body believe in fate. All your good work with healing has now come around to pay you in kind. That horrible Corvus is a power-mad scoundrel. I do hope you find her, dear. Here.”
The old woman rustled in her sewing box and brought out a ball of soft yarn, which she tucked into Hara’s reticule.
“Wool from our sheep. Take this for good luck. I know you probably have your own luck charms that actually work, but this will be a little piece of home while you’re away.”
“Thank you,”
said Hara, touched. She embraced Gertrude over the pile of clothing, and then went on her way.
When Hara returned to the cottage, Gideon glanced up at her. She tipped the clothing onto the table before him.
“What is all that?” he asked.
“Your disguise,”
she said.
“For traveling.”
Gideon went to the pile and lifted the ruffled shirt and tweed coat. He turned a look of disgust to Hara.
“‘Disguise’ is right. No one would ever expect me to be wearing such a . . . costume.”
Hara held the trousers up to him.
“The legs are a bit too wide, and short, but I can alter them,” she said.
Gideon looked mournfully at his fur-trimmed cloak hanging on a peg by the door.
“I thought nothing could be worse than wearing your dead aunt’s ruffled nightie, but at least I didn’t have to wear that in public.”
“These aren’t enough—we have to change you as well,”
said Hara, feeling little empathy for his vanity.
“The Lenwen armsmen might still be on the lookout for you.”
This suggestion seemed to dismay him almost as much as the secondhand clothing. Gideon brought a hand up to his silky, pale hair.
“What did you have in mind? Going to curse my nose? Put a spell on my teeth to make them yellow?”
“It would take entirely too much magic to make you ugly. I’d need a fortnight to recover,”
she said, amused when his cheeks reddened at her praise. It was surprisingly easy to disarm the prickly lord.
“We’ll dye your hair dark. Something not so very . . . courtly. You’ll have to take out your jewelry and stop shaving for the next week.”
“Facial hair doesn’t suit me,”
he said grumpily.
“You won’t be yourself, so it will be perfect,”
she snapped.
“Your vanity can surely survive a short trip.”
“It’s different at court. You’ll see when we get there,”
he said, not in the least abashed. Then he sighed.
“All right. We’ll dye my hair. I change the color often enough at home, anyway.”
Hara went to her store cupboard.
“Take off your shirt and drape this on your shoulders,”
she said, tossing him a stained linen rag. He grimaced at it, then did as she said.
Hara took some black walnut powder and poured little splashes of boiling water on it. She mixed it into a runny paste, then took up a coarse boar bristle brush and stood by his side. His shoulders were rather wider than she had thought. She tore her gaze from his lean torso and hesitantly dipped the dark paste onto his white-blonde strands.
“What color is your hair naturally?”
she asked.
“Black.”
Slowly, she worked over all of his hair, carefully lifting sections and applying paste wherever a hint of pale shone through. At least this color would look natural on him.
“Does everyone at court dye their hair?”
she asked.
“Most do. It’s very in-style.”
Hara imagined him at the palace, aloof and haughty with his hair dressed by a professional, glints of jewelry at his ears and hands and an expensive fur over his shoulders.
Memories of the Montag court under Ilmarinen rule were hazy. Her life was sheltered, confined to her tutors’ chambers and her mother’s spacious apartments. Her mother had dressed according to her rank as a Seer, in midnight blue robes of satin.
Hara had always thought of herself as attractive, but fashionable? She made herself pretty things if there was a good season of dyeing herbs or if she came into some fine wool, but she doubted her homemade capelets and skirts would blend in with Gideon’s lot. Idly, she wondered if people at the court would snicker at her odd looks.
“I can practically hear you judging our vanity,”
Gideon said.
“I just know you’re thinking how silly and superficial we are.”
“Actually, I was thinking that I’d stick out like a duck among swans,”
she said softly, applying dye near his ear. She studied the way the silver of his earring glinted against his skin. For some reason, she felt self-conscious.
“I make my own clothes, and I keep my hair in braids because my aunt did. I’m afraid I’m not very fashionable.”
Gideon was quiet, and the only sound was the gentle dipping of the brush into the paste. She wished he would say something, but at the same time, she hoped he wouldn’t. When she finished one side and moved to the other, he turned to her and placed a light hand on her arm. She started at his touch.
“Don’t worry about what they’ll think. If you want to blend in once we arrive, I can help you. The most important thing is finding your mother.”
Warm determination filled her at his reassurance. He removed his hand and broke his gaze, turning to face forward again. She quickly applied her brush to the strands by his other ear.
As she worked, she could feel a tension in him that was impossible to ignore once she noticed it. His shoulders were rigid, and she watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. Suddenly, Hara was reminded of the previous night. Perhaps he felt awkward about the charged moment they had shared.
When she came around to his front, she fixed her eyes resolutely on the roots of his hair. But while she could train her eyes, she couldn’t block the gentle heat from his breaths against her neck. It made her skin tingle pleasantly, making the tips of her breasts grow taut beneath her stays.
When she was finished with the last bit of hair at his front, she chanced a look down at his face. He was watching her mouth. Slowly, he brought his eyes up to hers.
No. Oh, no.
Hara jerked away, standing as though a ramrod had been inserted into her spine. She set the bowl down with a clatter.
“No, Gideon,”
she murmured, busying herself with rinsing the bowl and brush.
“What’s wrong?”
There was no point in pretending. Gideon was not someone she wanted to play games with.
“I know what you are thinking. It’s a bad idea,”
she said.
“I don’t even know if I like you.”
Gideon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked up at her with an unreadable smile as Hara tried not to notice how the hard cords of his arms created shadows in the firelight.
“Is that another power of yours? Reading thoughts?” he said.
“I don’t want to add another facet to our dealings with one another. It’s already complicated as it is. The last thing I need is for things to go sour between us in the midst of our search.”
Gideon leaned back, stretching out a leg like a lazy cat.
“You’ll be shocked to know that I agree with you.”
Hara blinked, her reasonings and protests dying on her tongue.
“You agree?”
“Yes. It’s clearly some sort of madness that’s taken hold of us. Only natural since we’ve been stuck in this cottage together for days on end. Dressing my wounds, the howling wind, the snowdrifts. It’s a recipe for disaster. But it would never work between us in the real world.”
Hara nodded as relief coursed through her, only barely tinged with disappointment.
“Exactly my point.”
“So we agree. It stops here,”
he said, extending his hand to shake.
“Can something stop if it hasn’t started?”
said Hara. She stepped forward and took his hand. Gideon raised an eyebrow as though a sudden thought occurred to him.
“Is this magically binding? There’s no spell attached, is there?”
“All agreements have some magic in them. While our words may not be spells, we are held—”
“All right, enough. Good lord, this is why it would never work,”
Gideon grumbled as he gave her hand one hard shake.
“There. No words.”
Hara gave him an annoyed look.
“You can rinse out the dye now.”
Gideon stood from the stool and dipped his hair in a basin close by. When the water ran clean she gave him a length of cloth. He mussed his hair through it, and when he emerged, Hara turned away.
He had looked like a vain prince before, but now he looked absolutely dashing. The dark hair suited his coloring and made his eyes glint like ice.
Hara fell into her seat, wishing to distract herself with the un-sensuous clack of the loom.
She could hear Gideon mumbling to himself as he held up Gessup’s old hand-me-downs, and she pondered if this journey was to be difficult for an entirely different reason.