“You’ll be his ruination,” Ira said sadly.
“I love him,” Alys repeated.
“Love him or nay,” Ira insisted, “if he is refused his birthright by the king and returns to us here,you’renot welcome.”
Alys swallowed, blinked. Stared at the old man. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“I’m only warning you.”
“And I hear you.” She began to walk toward him. “But I am not troubled by the hateful things you say to me, Ira. I don’t believe them.”
“You’re a fool not to,” the old man sputtered, eyeing her suspiciously as she came ever nearer to him.
“Do you know why?” she asked as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ll tell you: because I know you love him, too. And I know that the most important thing in your life now must be that Piers is safe and happy and well.” She stopped, standing before the old man now, and realizing how stooped he was, how gray, how weary.
“Is that so wrong?” Ira demanded, squaring his shoulders as if the suggestion that he possessed such tender feelings was an insult.
“Quite the contrary,” Alys said. “I want those things for Piers, too. He is the most important person to me, as well.And I will do everything in my power, to my last breath, to help him gain what he desires. I swear it to you.”
The old man stared at her with watery eyes. “See that you do,” he said hoarsely at last. “You just see that you do. And then mayhap … well.” He said no more, only nodded once firmly as if whatever he’d left unsaid was agreed upon.
Alys understood. She nodded, then leaned forward and kissed Ira’s wrinkled, leathery cheek. “Thank you.”
The old man bristled and harrumphed. “Get your things and I’ll take you below. The man’s anxious to meet the trail.”
The farewells were so short that there was barely time for emotion to build. Ira was right in his report that Piers was anxious. He barely looked at Alys as they were wished well from the villagers. Tiny did cry a bit when she and Alys embraced, and for a moment, Alys thought that Layla would forsake her for the miniature girl. But at the last moment, the monkey scrambled back into Alys’s arms.
Ira gave them both a final tutorial on the way out of the village and to the London Road. As they left, waving to the shouts of farewell that lifted them away from the village, Alys was thankful for the thick snow that would clearly show she and Piers if they were being followed once they were away from the village’s familiar trails. She had to nearly run to keep pace with him as he led her away on an already well-worn path through a drift of white, and it made her smile, reminding her of their start together. He was not talking again, but it did not trouble her overly. Piers was quiet when he was thinking, and they had certainly given each other enough to think upon for the next several hours.
Alys was certain that they would air their concerns with each other when they made camp that night. The most important thing now was to get to London, and to get there as quickly as possible. They had only two days.
She frowned at the increasing number of horse tracks their path crossed over, and snow trampled by what seemed many feet. But Piers, ever wary, did not seem concerned, and so she held her tongue. Even when they took to the wider thoroughfare of the road rather than stay to the trees, Alys did not argue. ‘Twas likely Piers thought that they could move faster beyond the danger of the snow-camouflaged debris of the forest floor. And anyone who had at one time been following them would have passed this way long ago, while they were hidden away in the trees of Ira’s village. Wherein lay the danger that Judith Angwedd and Bevan had already bent the king’s ear during the delay.
Alys trudged on, her spirit determined. The way ahead of them was—if not easy—at least clear.
Piers could have let them rest while they ate the noon meal, but he chose to keep going, ignoring Alys’s grumbles about his swift recovery and her already sore feet. He didn’t want to look at her, sitting across from him or next to him, her eyes bright with excitement and optimism. Piers felt weighted down enough with guilt at what he planned to do with Alys, and she was too perceptive of him now. He could not risk talking with her.
And besides, he didn’t want to give her an opportunity to change his mind. He knew what he was doing was the right thing for her. Sybilla Foxe’s quarrel with the king must be deadly indeed, for Alys’s sister to be so desperateto reach her before London. Alys could be in as much danger in Edward’s presence as her sister.
Piers could not allow her to carry on with him to London.
Perhaps he was already too late to plead his case with the king, any matter. The best he could hope for then was a portion of coin to take back to Ira and the villagers, and then he would be free to seek out Bevan. If he was lucky enough to gain that opportunity, he wanted Alys nowhere near that taint.
He loved her. He loved her, and he knew he was a poison to her very existence. He only hoped that Clement Cobb would love her, too.
So Piers pushed on with his heart aching like a bitter wind, farther into the late afternoon than he normally would have, and much farther than was likely wise considering his recent illness. He wanted dusk on their heels when they made camp, with only enough daylight left to gather wood for a fire. He spied a likely alcove off the road, just into the wood, where their location would be easily seen. He veered from the snow packed road and into the trees without warning to Alys.
“Thanks be to God,” he heard her sigh behind him. She was cross with him again, he knew. Let her hang on to her anger for as long as she could.
“I’m going for wood,” he called over his shoulder to her as he dropped his pack in the snow.
“We’re to have a fire?” she asked incredulously. “Piers, do you think that’s wise? What if—”
“It’s fine, Alys,” he said curtly. “Let me worry about it.”
He heard her make a dubious comment to Layla about the surety of his relation to his grandfather.
By the time night fell, a blazing fire warmed them nicely while they ate in silence. Well, Piers was silent, any matter.
