“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 toshelter 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?”
Chapter 4
“He’s not dead.”
It was quite obvious to Judith Angwedd Mallory, Lady of Gillwick, that the peasant was petrified of delivering this piece of news to her. And if ‘twas true, then right he was to be frightened.
Judith Angwedd did not adhere to the tradition of sparing the messenger.
She calmly leaned back in her chair at the dining table, her chalice still in her hand. There was no need to become alarmed as of yet. She dismissed the only servant from the room with a practiced wave of her other hand, leaving her and the messenger alone save for the new “steward” who stood behind her. Judith Angwedd had only hired the enormous man with the shaved head two days ago, when he’d come ‘round the manor looking for work. He had no experience running a hold—she suspected he was some sort of criminal by the old and multitudinous array of scars across his wide back, but Judith Angwedd was confident she could train him properly in her preferences for running Gillwick. Especially since the majority of his duties would take place in her bed.
She asked the messenger, “How can you be certain he is not dead?”
“The body was gone,” the man began in a stutter, his eyes seemingly unable to meet his mistress’s.
“It’s been several days. Perhaps ‘twas washed away by the river,” she suggested. “Or carried off by animals.”
It looked as though it pained the man to shake his head. “No, milady. When I couldn’t find him, I went ‘round to the abbey, making as if he was a dear friend o’ mine.”
Judith Angwedd ran her tongue along the front of her teeth behind her lips, swallowed. “And?” she queried quietly.
“They’d had him. The monks,” the messenger clarified. “One of ‘em found a man calling himself Piers by the river and took him in to nurse him.”
Judith Angwedd took a deep breath, but so slowly that her chest didn’t seem to move. It was important to stay calm. “He is no longer at the abbey?”
“No, milady. He left only yester morn.”
She rolled her lips inward, stretched her cheek with her tongue. “I see. Do they know we seek him?”
