“Oh, Mother,” Clement admonished as he helped to push Etheldred’s chair in with an affronted screech to the stones beneath. He turned to the Mallorys. “Hello, Bevan. A good year for sweet grass, was it not?” He nodded politely toward the redheaded woman. “Lady Judith, you’re looking well. My condolences on the loss of your husband.”
Sybilla was feeling nauseous as Judith Angwedd preened girlishly. She hoped that whoever Graves sent to the ring would hurry. A serving boy came from the kitchen bearing a tray, but upon seeing Sybilla’s nod toward the newest guests, he ducked back through the doorway with rolling eyes. She made a mental note to reprimand the lad for his indiscretion later.
Sybilla’s toes curled in her slippers as she gestured to the empty chairs at her table. “Please, join us.”
Even when Piers had been wracked by pain from the beating he’d received, when he’d had his skin sewn up, his wounds painfully scrubbed, when his head had felt that it would explode while he vomited blood, he’d never felt as scared as he did now, running through the gloam from Fallstowe to the cover of the wood. The bite he’d received from Layla throbbed in time to his pounding footfalls.
Judith Angwedd and Bevan had followed him. They knew he was alive, and were at his very back now.
“Piers, wait!”
He ran faster. This washerfault! Had silly, childish, senseless Alys Foxe not chased after him in the firstplace, had she not lured him back to her home like he was some biddable pet no more intelligent than the monkey, Piers would not be so close to the two people who were trying with all their might to steal from him what was rightfully his, and see him dead in the process.
He charged into the apron of underbrush before the forest, crashing into the cover of trees. His boot caught on a vine and he fell. He lay very still in the black night that had finally yielded up its shelter. It was only a pair of moments later that he knew she yet pursued him.
“Piers? I can’t see a bloody thing, but I can hear you breathing, so you might as well show yourself instead of hiding like a common thief.”
Anger filled him then and he did gain his feet, finding her so quickly that she hadn’t had time to gasp properly when he seized her arm and spun her around. From within the sack, Layla screeched.
“Iamcommon!” he shouted in her face. “And you nearly got me killed just now!”
“I did no such thing,” she argued. “I lay still when you asked, I was quiet. Although, if you would have let me speak, I could have told you that Judith Angwedd was no one of any consequence—she couldn’t possibly know who you were running from. Now, let’s go back before we kill ourselves in the dark. I’ll have your coin and horse readied and you can leave in the morning.”
“It’s her and her bloody son that I’m running from!” Piers shook Alys. “You stupid child!”
She slapped him then—Piers thought as hard as she was physically able. He released her, his body shaking.
“Don’t ever dare to call me stupid again,” she said, her voice cold and even. “And never put your hands on me in anger. If you do, ‘twill be I who is most likely to see you dead.”
He had lost control of himself, and he knew it. But he had neither the time nor the inclination for an apology. The girl had no idea the threat he was under, couldn’t possibly fathom what was at stake.
“For the last time, go back to Fallstowe, Alys. This is no game.”
He bent and dug around in the tangle of brush for his pack. Seizing a strap, he swung the bag onto his back and began walking.
“If you leave me here, Iwillgo back,” she called to him.
“Good. Go,” Piers threw over his shoulder.
“And when I do, they will send riders through the wood until they find you.”
Piers stopped in his tracks. “They wouldn’t, unless you betrayed me.”
She approached him now. “Piers, listen to me: I know you think that stumbling upon your enemies at Fallstowe was a near disaster. But, where as before this day you might have grown complacent in your travels, now you know that they are at your heels, and you can take even greater care to avoid them. I know the roads from Fallstowe. I know the way they are likely to go if they are indeed following you. I can help you, Piers. Let me.”
He couldn’t see her face in the black, but he could feel her presence, trembling with youth and heat and ridiculous optimism. He could feel the warmth of her, as if she was a stone oven hidden in the shadows of the night forest, keeping secret her blazing fire. Such a little fool. She could not help him. He wanted to kiss her then, to show her the very real folly of becoming involved with such a desperate man.
But she was right—now Piers knew exactly how high the stakes had risen. He was confident he could find the way through Fallstowe’s thick wood and then along theroads to London well enough. He could travel more swiftly alone. He didn’t think Alys Foxe would set his enemies to his trail, but he could not be certain. If he left her behind, he might never know the depth of her resentment at his refusal of her help until it was too late. He could not tarry to debate the matter—his foes were too close.
“I do not trust that you wouldn’t betray me,” he admitted. “But I will not be responsible for you should you insist on following me. If you cannot keep pace with me, I will not wait. I will not feed you, tend to you like some servant.”
“I won’t hold you back,” she promised, her voice carrying a hint of breathlessness. “Only let me change my gown and shoes.”
He cursed under his breath and then nodded curtly, feeling as though he had just sealed his fate as a traveling corpse. She was already holding him back. “Hurry up.”
She rustled through the underbrush, away from him. Her voice went periodically muffled as she continued to talk to him while she undressed. Piers tried not to think of her firm, compact body naked just steps away from him. He had been a long time without a woman.
Too bad Alys Foxe was still a girl.
