“What have I done to offend you so that you will not speak to me?” she demanded, feeding Layla bits of turnip from her fingers.
“I’ve a lot on my mind,” Piers said, not meeting her eyes.
“I understand that,” she said with forced patience. “But is that any reason why you must behave so boorishly?”
“Forgive me if I do not engage in frivolous banter,” he said. “I’m trying to gather my thoughts before I try to convince the king to grant me that which is rightfully mine. Unlikesome,”he emphasized, “‘tis not every day that I am engaged at court.”
“Oh, come now. I’ve never been to court, either, and well you know it, Piers Mallory,” Alys defended. “Don’t be so prickly.” She suddenly looked up and smiled at him. “I know—why don’t you practice what you will say to Edward?”
“No.”
“I could help you,” she pressed. “Even if you wish me not to accompany you, we could prepare your argument together, and—”
“No,” he repeated.
She finished her meal with the monkey in brooding silence. She disappeared into the wood, he guessed to relieve her bladder before going to sleep, and Piers held his breath while she was gone.
But she returned, and he did not know if he felt relief or frustration.
She stood across the fire from him. “Piers, are you angry with me?”
He glanced up at her from the blankets he was unrolling. “No,” he answered gruffly, but honestly.
“Are you certain?”
He paused, sighed, and squeezed the bridge of hisnose. “I am quite certain, Alys. I’m only occupied. I’ll be better in the morn. London is on the horizon.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone with your brooding.” She approached him and crawled into the blankets he had prepared on a bed of boughs near the fire. “Are you coming?”
“In a bit,” he stalled. “I’d clear my head before trying to sleep.”
She nodded while she yawned. Piers felt a twinge at how hard he’d pushed her today. “Wake me if you need me.” After a beat of silence, “I know you don’t want to hear this now, but I love you, Piers.”
He fussed with arranging the fire so that it continued to blaze. He had to swallow and clear his throat before he could answer her.
“Good night, Alys.”
She was soundly asleep before a half hour was past. Piers stood over her for a long while, his back to the fire, watching her, committing her face to memory. He crouched down, remembering the first time he’d seen her, asleep much in the same position on the stone slab in the Foxe Ring. Then, as now, he reached out a hand to smooth the hair away from her face, but this time Layla tried only to grasp at his finger sweetly with her own warm, leathery palm.
He stood swiftly. He retrieved his long knife from near the fire and then swung his pack onto his shoulder.
He picked up one end of the long, slender log that rested in the center of the fire. It broke easily in half at its charred center with only a hushing crackle. Alys did not stir. Piers headed toward the road, and to the pile of tinder he had made earlier. He laid the smoldering log atop the tinder, setting a small fire in the center of the road with littlecoaxing. After looking both directions, he went back into the woods just past where Alys slept, to wait and to listen.
He heard the muffled hoof beats first, the mounts walking, being led on with caution. Then the crunching of snow, and each footfall seemed to crush his heart. Like the loyal sentry she was, Layla’s screams shook the still blackness of the cold wood, and soon after, Alys’s strident shouts. She cried his name only once, and Piers squeezed his eyes shut, hung his head and turned his face to the side.
Sybilla Foxe would not bother with a commoner such as he, and neither should her sister. In a few days, Alys would be back at her home, and well-begun the process of forgetting that Piers Mallory ever existed.
In moments, the wood was silent once more. He walked slowly toward the camp, his heart somewhere near the soles of his boots. But his mind telling him he had, for once, done the right thing. The noble thing.
He chuckled darkly to himself.
The fire still blazed. The blankets where Alys had lain were knotted and tangled in the snow. Of course Layla had vanished with her mistress.
Piers sat down on the snow rumpled blankets, staring at the fire.
And he was alone once more.
Chapter 20
