She’d grown tired of him and left. No—where would she go but back to Fallstowe? And Piers knew she’d rather drown herself in the river than marry Clement Cobb, or worse, face her sister, Sybilla, in defeat.
At that thought, he looked down at the rushing water once more. No body. And Piers had been downstream. He would have seen her tumble past him as he washed.
Perhaps after a certain amount of time, she’d decided to follow him after all, and become lost in the wood. Perhaps even now, she was walking, searching, deeper into the forest.
Then he did almost shout her name. Alone, she was certain to die. But then he thought of who may be in the vicinity of the road, the sounds of their travel undecipherable to Piers over the crash of the water.
Or mayhap Judith Angwedd and Bevan had found her, found his pack, and taken her. Piers thought of Bevan, bringing him into clear focus in his mind’s eye, along with all of the terrible things Piers knew the bastard capable of. He looked down: the sandy floor of the overhang was plowed with footsteps, but Piers could not decipher them.
Then he was out of the cave, charging up the steep bank itself, falling, slipping, scrambling upright, fighting his way to the road. He gained the shoulder of the ravine and sprinted and dodged through the trees to the road where he came to a skidding halt, his head swiveling in either direction.
Empty.
Piers walked to the center of the track, where fresh hoof prints churned and tilled the cold, hard dirt. He looked both ways again. Riders had passed through here, mayhap only moments ago. And now, Alys was gone.
He took a deep breath, and roared to the treetops.“Alys!”
Within the echo of his shout, Piers heard a crunching through the wood. He spun around toward the sound and she emerged casually from the trees as if his command of her name had summoned her. Her bag was crossed over her body, her cloakless shoulders supporting his pack. She carried a bundle under one arm, and it was upon thatsame shoulder which Layla rode. Alys was chewing, and passed a bit of whatever was in her hand up to the monkey. The youngest lady of the house of Fallstowe looked as though she had been in a brawl with a midden heap, and lost badly.
“You really shouldn’t shout, Piers. That’s a poor way of keeping our whereabouts secret.” She turned her gaze to him fully then, and stopped at the edge of the road. Her jaws paused for a moment, and then she swallowed forcefully. She looked him up and down. “You took a bath!”
“Where in fucking hell have you been?” he growled even as he marched toward her. She did not shirk at his approach. Piers’s heart, however, pounded and tripped at the sight of her, safe, and uninjured, and alone.
“You look … ah, much better, I must say. Quite … well”—she cleared her throat and swallowed again—“Quite an improvement, Piers.”
Layla screamed indignantly as Piers reached out to spin Alys around. He grabbed the flap of his pack and began to pull it from her back. “Give me my goddamn bag!And where have you been?A band of riders has just come through, and by the size of the party, I do doubt they were simple travelers. They could have seen you, you little fool!”
It was either that, or kiss her for the fright she’d given him.
“My, you do curse a lot when you’re surprised. Wait a moment, and I’ll take the pack off and give it to you—if you rip both my arms off, I’ll drop my apple!”
He let go of her. “You were supposed to wait for me. Where did you get an apple?” He jerked the pack from her hand when she held it to him.
“You didn’t tell me to wait for you. And besides, you’re not responsible for me, are you?” She took a crunching bite of the small blushing fruit in her hand.
“You stole my bag,” he growled and then stormed past her toward the ravine again. His heart still pounded so that he could no longer look at her.
“Since I’m here and have returned your bag, you can hardly say I stole it. You told me not to let anything happen to it, so I took it to Pilings with me. My cloak is in there, by the way, and I’d like it back—I’m freezing.”
He stopped and spun around. “You went into the village?”
“Yes, but your bag was with me the entire time, so don’t worry—your ring is safe.” She took another bite.
“Did anyone see y—” he broke off as he realized what she said. “You went through my bag?”
She swallowed her mouthful of apple. “Yes. I did. And the only one in Pilings who saw me”—she held her arms out from her body and turned her face to the side, her nose loftily in the air—“thought me a mad, wandering woman of the wood people. I came upon no band of bloodthirsty riders. Only a simple village matron.”
“You had no right,” he said through his teeth and turned toward the ravine again.
“Would it help if I apologized?” she called from behind him, obviously around a mouthful of fruit.
“No,” he threw back. He reached the steep path to the river bank and hopped down. Turning, he held up a hand to Alys, who took it as she made her own way onto the narrow track. Her fingers were impossibly cool and smooth, slender and frail feeling, as if her bones were the tiniest dried twigs, liable to snap off in his palms with the slightest squeeze of his own clumsy, farmhand digits.
“Thank you. You needn’t worry that I’ve outed us,” she continued when he released her and they made their way down the bank. “There was but one woman who saw me, and as I’ve said, she thought me an insignificantbeggar. Did you not notice my costume? I was brilliant as a madwoman, I tell you. You should have seen me, Piers.”
“You’re mad, alright,” he growled, and started up the incline once more at the bottom of the overhang. “You have no idea the jeopardy in which you’ve placed us, Alys. We don’t know who the riders are—they may return to search for us.”
“You worry overmuch.” In a moment, she was at his side. She dropped her bag to the dirt and her monkey scrambled down to sit at her feet, its eyes locked on the bundle under Alys’s arm. She sank into a cross-legged seat, her gown falling naturally over her knees. She began opening the bundle, chattering, chattering all the while.
