FIVE
Gideon
Of all the troubles Gideon anticipated they would encounter on the road, transporting a mobile apothecary was not one of them. Four bags stuffed with herbs were strapped to the saddle, and that did not include their bedrolls and packs. Hara had insisted that everything she brought with was necessary, but that hadn’t stopped Gideon from voicing his dissent.
“What if we get stopped on the road and someone wants to search our bags?”
he grumbled as she strapped the last saddlebag onto Ruteger’s flank.
“It will look rather odd if we’re carrying enough herbs for a witch’s emporium when we pass into Montag.”
“But I’ll be with you,”
she said, turning to him.
“You said you would act as my protector in Montag.”
“I will, but you would make my life so much easier if you tried to blend in and leave some of your witchy accouterments behind,”
he said, gesturing at the bags.
“Besides, I’ve given it some thought and I think it would be safer for you to not draw attention to yourself as a hedgewitch. At least, not the traditional kind.”
“I didn’t plan to,”
said Hara, dusting her hands.
“Did you expect me to stroll into your father’s hall with smoking herbs and steaming vials?”
“I just mean, it may be . . . prudent, if we give you a reason for being there other than searching for your mother. Say . . . you’re searching for a certain witch for questioning about illicit magic, or a plot.”
Hara frowned and crossed her arms.
“That would just make her look guilty. Why would they set her free if she’s suspected of having nefarious plans?”
“Well, my father would hardly release her just so you two can be reunited. More than likely this will end in a prison break of some sort. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try!”
he said, seeing the shock on her face.
“I know how to talk to him, I’ll come up with a reason.”
Hara watched him with serious eyes.
“How can I trust you?”
Gideon held out his hand.
“Do what spells you must to make it binding if you have to. But I give you my word.”
Hara took his hand, and he clasped it.
“Your word,”
she murmured.
After she locked the bolt to the cottage, Gideon waited with crossed arms as Hara pressed her brow against the door and whispered endlessly.
While he had grudgingly come to respect certain facets of her power, having to wait for the mutterings and whisperings that seemed to accompany every mundane activity made him antsy.
The flounced shirt and hideous tweed coat of his disguise did not help to improve his mood.
Finally Hara was finished, and she stepped up to Ruteger’s side.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
This made Gideon halt for a beat; he had ridden since he was old enough to walk, and so to him, her admittance was akin to not knowing how to run. But then he gave his head a slight shake and cleared his expression of surprise.
“I’ll hold you. You just have to touch him gently, and don’t move too fast or you’ll frighten him. You aren’t frightened, are you?”
“No,”
said Hara.
“How does one get on?”
“Place your foot here in the stirrup, then swing the other leg over. Here, I’ll lift you.”
As Hara placed her foot where he had shown her, Gideon gripped her firmly around the waist and lifted her into the saddle, trying not to be distracted by the warm weight of her in his hands.
She wavered slightly, then righted herself.
Gideon mounted up behind her, and he realized he would have another unexpected problem to grapple with as her round arse nestled comfortably against his groin.
The thought made him set his jaw.
“Ready?”
Hara asked.
“More than ready,”
he muttered, gathering the reins and holding them before her waist. The way his arms encircled her brought his face very close to her hair. Damn, he’d have to block out the scent of her for the whole journey as well.
“I wasn’t talking to you,”
said Hara, and he was alarmed to see she was reaching a hand down into her satchel and stroking something with whiskers.
“You’re bringing that blasted cat?”
he said.
“I thought you gave all your animals to that old besom in the village.”
“I could never leave Seraphine behind,”
said Hara.
Gideon groaned. He could only imagine the inconveniences a cat jostling on a horse’s back would bring.
“If that cat clamors out of your bag and claws its way onto my head in a panic once we start moving, I’ll be considering the debt paid and leave you there on the road.”
“Point taken. Now, if you please, I’d like to get going. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
Gideon felt the retort ready to burst from his lips, but decided it wasn’t worth it.
He nickered to Ruteger and the mount began to trot.
Soon, they found the road that led out of the village, and Gideon spurred the horse into an easy gallop.
The sooner he could leave this grimy little village behind him, the better.
Angharad gasped at the sudden jolt of speed, and Gideon’s arm reflexively tightened around her waist.
“Scared yet?”
he called over the rush of the wind.
“N-no,”
she said in a high squeak.
He laughed and urged the horse on faster.
As dusk began to fall, Gideon referred to his map.
In the next mile or so, they should come across Morgantown.
With a dull throb in his chest he remembered stopping there with his men as they’d made their way to the Norwen castle.
There was an inn of decent quality, and he was looking forward to dismounting after a day in the saddle.
He wondered how Hara must be feeling, having never experienced the jolting fatigue and wobbly legs of saddle soreness.
They had made good time that day, and he was pleased.
Soon enough he smelled smoke, and then chimneys and thatch began peeking through the trees.
A low stone wall lined the road, and the break ahead indicated the place where the road split and ran through the village.
Gideon turned Ruteger sharply right when they reached it, and the familiar squat stone buildings of Morgantown opened on either side of them.
Copses of trees rose between the buildings, as though the village had been built in the midst of the forest.
He led them down the street until he spotted the familiar sign swinging from a large, two story building: two squirrels sharing an acorn.
After riding around to the small stables, he dismounted and held his hands up for Hara.
Stiffly, she swung her leg over and slid from the horse’s back.
He smirked as she found her feet, wincing and slightly bow-legged.
He unfastened the two packs that held their personal effects, then tossed the reins to the sleepy stable boy, who led Ruteger to a trough of grain.
“How is the cat?”
he said. Surprisingly, the animal hadn’t made so much as a mew all day.
“She’s fine,”
said Hara, lifting the flap of her satchel. The cat was curled up inside, apparently asleep.
“But my arse is more tender than slow baked ham,”
she said as they began to walk to the inn’s entrance. She tentatively placed her hand on her rear, and Gideon chuckled as they crossed the threshold.
“Don’t worry, a few days in the saddle and you’ll grow a nice callous,”
he said.
“Go find a place to sit and I’ll get us rooms. Here.”
He slipped her a few coins.
“Order us some food if someone comes by.”
With that he went to the long counter where some men were drinking. The innkeeper had broad shoulders and a sturdy set to her posture, and she nodded as he approached.
“Two rooms,”
he said.
“And two brown ales.”
“Just the one night?”
she said. He nodded, handing over the coins. She counted them and slipped them into her strongbox, then slid two keys across the counter. He waited as she poured two tankards, raising them up and setting them on the counter with a plunk.
“Much obliged,”
he said, taking the keys and inserting them into his pocket. He gathered up the tankards and turned back to scan the room. It did not take him long to find Angharad—except she was not alone. Two men sat beside her, and he could see from their crouched heads and generous smiles exactly what was on their minds.
Before he knew what he was doing, Gideon strode towards their table and sat heavily in the space across from her. With a thunk, he set the tankards down and slid one to Hara. The men glanced up at him.
“I see you’ve made some friends,”
Gideon said stonily.
“Oh,”
said one of the men, a clod with a thick neck.
“Who are you?”
“Her escort. Charged with her safety,”
he said, infusing his voice with the cold lordly tone that always shriveled lesser men into stutters. Sure enough, the two of them gathered up their tankards and slid from their seats, moving farther along the bench.
“Nice chatting with you, Mistress,”
said the other one, giving Hara another warm, flirtatious smile and a wink.
She smiled back at them, which made Gideon’s mouth taste sour. As soon as they were out of earshot, he leaned forward.
“Are you a lackwit? You don’t just talk to any stranger who smiles at you. You have no idea what they could have wanted.”
“They wanted to know if the gangly knave I came with was my husband,”
said Hara, taking up her tankard and giving it a tentative sip.
“This is good.”
Gideon sipped his own ale.
“You have to be careful on the road. We’re supposed to be traveling incognito. No more casual chats with suspicious men.”
Hara’s eyes slanted toward the men.
“What about them is suspicious?”
“Everyone is suspicious.”
Her gaze flicked back to him, and he felt heat crawl up his neck.
“Everyone except you?”
“Precisely.”
He didn’t like the small smile that lifted the corners of her mouth, but he didn’t have time to ask about it as a tavern wench placed two pies before them. They ate in silence, and Gideon noted that Hara’s pie crusts were flakier. To break the silence, Gideon fished a key out of his pocket and set it on the table.
“Here’s the key to your room.”
Hara took it.
“And here I thought we’d have to come up with some story about how we’re newlyweds so we’d have to share a room,”
she said.
“How much did all this cost?”
“Nevermind,”
he said, taking up another forkful of pie. All this talk of husbands and newlyweds was making the heat creep further up his neck.
“Why do you care?”
Hara shrugged.
“It’s been a great long while since I’ve spent time among wealthy people. It may take some getting used to.”
“Wait until we get to the palace. You’ll see what all this warfare between Norwen and Lenwen has done for Montag’s coffers. Our stay tonight was paid for by gunpowder sales.”
Hara’s brow furrowed, and she took another sip of her ale.
“Do you take pride in that? Where all your money comes from?”
“Of course. It takes a lot of work; traveling, meeting with slugwitted kings, making sure the mines are putting out a good yield.”
“But you’re responsible for thousands of lost lives.”
“No, I’m not. Blame the kings for that. Without wars, the weapons just sit there, as harmless as anything. They need soldiers to do the killing.”
Hara’s frown deepened.
“If you stopped producing them, then it would be harder to kill people. Montag’s weaponry is notorious for its killing power.”
“If we didn’t sell it, someone else would. We’re just capitalizing by seeing the need and besting the competition,”
he said. He took a sip of his ale, ready to defend this point all night if need be. She could tout her morals and her black-and-white view of the world, but he had been taught that chaos and strife was an opportunity for profit. It was one of the few good things that came from times of uncertainty, and he would not apologize for it.
“That’s an interesting way of looking at the world; evil will be in the world anyway, so might as well gain from it.”
“Judge all you like,”
he said, irritation edging its way under his skin.
“Montag isn’t to blame for the Steward’s decisions.”
This was not precisely true; his father had definitely pulled political strings where the war between Norwen and Lenwen was concerned. It was good for business to keep the fires stoked.
“Montag isn’t a faceless thing. It’s people. It’s you,”
she said, letting her fork clatter on her empty plate and standing. He began to stand as well, but she stayed him by holding up her hand.
“I’ve had quite enough of your company today. Thank you for the meal and the room.”
Gideon took another drink, a curious mix of satisfaction and dismay pulsing through him.
“Are you going up to your room alone now to sulk and whisper spells to cleanse yourself of my dirtying influence?”
“No,”
she said, and his heart lurched as he saw her gaze slide to the two men he had chased off. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything she moved away from the bench, taking up her pack.
“Goodnight,”
she said as she passed him.
Suddenly, the idea of separate rooms seemed like a very stupid idea.
Angharad
Hara went to her room and closed the door, locking it behind her and resting her back against it with a sigh. It took much to stir her to anger, but the remorseless way Gideon spoke about profiting off of death came close.
Foolishly, she had felt herself letting her guard down around him ever since the day in the forest. They shared a bond now, a subliminal connection of magic and memory. Though she treated him with a wary sort of caution, she thought that she could overlook all that and see him as a sort of amiable companion. But this was another matter entirely. This was a fundamental difference in values, and if she was smart, she would remember that he was a villain caught in a temporary act of good.
Angharad moved away from the door and set her satchel on the floor. Seraphine stepped out, giving a long stretch and a shake. They had stopped once in the afternoon to stretch their legs and take some food, and Seraphine caught a couple field mice in the underbrush. But it would be a long ride to Montag yet.
Hara stroked her fur and dug into the front pocket of the satchel to produce some dried fish. As Seraphine crunched her dinner, Hara was grateful to see a fire burning low in her hearth. She added some kindling, and was cheered slightly by the leaping yellow flames that warmed her face.
War was an ugly thing, but she didn’t expect him to see that. The rulers never did.
She thought of the family of orphaned children she had helped care for in the village. They were refugees, just as she had been, their village razed to the ground and their parents gone.
Gideon didn’t see that part of war. What did he feel when he passed smoking villages and desolate, blood-soaked fields? A sense of satisfaction that his weapons worked so effectively? Nothing at all?
These thoughts chased themselves around her mind until she felt her anger flickering as hot and bright as the flames in the grate. She opened her pack and dug through it to see if she had slipped anything that could bring comfort into the nooks and crannies. Her heart lifted as she found a wax-paper packet of lemon-balm resin. She took it from the pack and sprinkled a few bits of resin onto the fire. The plumes of fragrant smoke washed over her, and she focused on slowing and dissipating her tumultuous thoughts.
After a few moments, she sighed and looked over her shoulder. The bed seemed clean and comfortable, so she thought she might as well get some rest. Seraphine was already settled on it, washing with her paws at the foot of the mattress.
Hara loosened the woolen wrap from her bodice and reached behind her to pull her stays loose. She remembered the feel of strong hands undoing her laces as Gideon had helped her undress. It wouldn’t do to think of that now, and she was annoyed at the heat that swept through her body at the memory of his fingers gently tugging their way up her back. She undressed to her shift and went to the washbasin, splashing cold water onto her heated face. Over the splash of the water, she heard a soft knock.
Briefly she wondered if one of the flirtatious lads had made inquiries of the innkeeper and found their way to her room, but part of her knew who it would be when she opened the door.
Gideon stood on the threshold, his coat removed and his collar loosened. It looked as though he had imbibed a couple more tankards of ale from the soft, solemn expression in his eyes.
“Angharad,”
he began.
“I’m afraid we’re always at odds with each other, and I hate it.”
She blinked, waiting for more explanation to accompany this surprising statement. His gaze caressed her face, her throat, and Hara felt warm everywhere his eyes touched.
“I don’t want to make you cross with me. But I don’t know how to be . . .”
He sighed, frustrated.
“What I want to say is, I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Hara was touched in spite of herself.
“Thank you. And I’m sorry for making you jealous.”
His imploring eyes narrowed.
“I wasn’t jealous.”
Hara smiled softly, amused by the wash of color rising in his hollow cheeks.
“But . . . you didn’t invite anyone to your room, did you?” he asked.
“Why do you care?”
His mouth had a sour twist.
“I suppose it’s none of my business.”
“I didn’t invite anyone, Gideon,” she said.
“Oh,”
he said, his expression clearing.
“Well. That’s wise. I’m not here to look after you every minute, and I can’t know if you’re safe if you let strangers in.”
“I don’t know how I managed before without you to keep me safe. If you can believe it, I used to do foolish things like bring strange men into my home and nurse them back to health,”
she said, looking down to his foot.
“How is it? Do you need me to bandage it again?”
Gideon shook his head.
“Thankfully the ride didn’t jostle away your handiwork. But your sharp words have wounded my ego,”
he said, placing a hand over his chest and clutching his shirtfront.
“Don’t know if you have a cure for that in all those sacks you brought.”
Hara looked up at him, and he met her eyes with a good-humored expression.
It slowly transformed as his pupils dilated and his mouth relaxed.
This was the moment when, had things been different, she would have lifted herself up onto her toes and brought her lips to his, taking his hand to lead him into the room and closing the door behind him.
But she wouldn’t.
She settled for brushing away a stray lock of dark hair that had spilled over his brow.
He stiffened under her light touch, and she hastily withdrew her hand.
He took a step back, his face falling deeper into the shadow of the hall.
“Goodnight, Angharad.”
he murmured.
“Goodnight, Gideon,” she said.
He turned and strode down the hall as Hara closed the door.