“I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it, if that’s what you mean.”
The sound of splashing water was louder now, but the air was not damp. Behind him, she could just make out a gap in the rock, another passageway perhaps, but it was too dark to see where it led.
“What is that notch in the wall?” she asked.
“Nothing of consequence. This is the bedroom and there’s not much more to see. It is a modest dwelling, obviously.”
“Yes, alright,” she said. “And for tonight, I will sleep by the fire.”
“No,Iwill sleep by the fire. You may have the bed.”
“Oh I couldn’t possibly put you out of your bed, Mr. Rein. I’ll not impose.”
“It’s no imposition. When Samuel was alive, he slept every night by the fire. It’s perfectly comfortable.”
“Who is Samuel?”
“My...” and here he paused. He looked pained. She worried she’d overstepped, but then he exhaled and said, “My guardian.”
“Oh.”
“I was his ward, I should say. He took me in when I was eleven years old. He was a surrogate parent to me, and I became a son to him and an older brother to his two young boys. This was his home and the horses were his trade. He welcomed me in and he taught me to heal animals.”
“But where is he now?” she asked.
“Dead. Six years now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. I owe him my life.”
“And many nights’ good sleep,” she said, trying to make a joke.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I simply mean that he was very generous if he gave his only bedroom to his ward.”
“He made three small beds for this chamber. One for me and two others for his boys. He was a widower but a good father. He wanted us to be warm and safe. After Samuel died and his boys left the forest for school, I removed the small beds and built this larger one.”
“Oh,” she said, thinking of Prince Gabriel felling trees to hew his own furniture—and also rearranging beds in this cave as if it was a proper house. When his family visited Winscombe, her parents had vacatedtheir bedchamber so that Gabriel’s royal parents might enjoy the largest bed in the house.
“You should sleep now,” he said. “Dawn is hours away. There’s nothing more to do or say tonight.”
Oh, no, not yet, Ryan thought.Please keep talking.She didn’t look at him.
“Lady Marianne?” he prompted.
“Will you call me ‘Ryan’? Or ‘Lady Ryan’ if you must. I cannot promise I will answer to ‘Lady Marianne.’”
“How did you come by the name Ryan?” he asked.
How did you come by the name Gabriel Rein?Ryan thought. She liked this line of questioning. They were making slow progress. She smiled at him.
“When my sister Charlotte was learning to speak,” she explained, “she could only say the middle piece of my name—theriannbit of Marianne. Even that came out distorted—it came out ‘Ryan.’ The name sort of attached itself to me. Honestly, it suits me more than the other.”
“Why?”
“Oh, well, Marianne is a bit fussy, isn’t it? It’s not really two syllables, but also not really three. There are a great many vowels andn’s and the silenteon the end. It’s a frilly name whereas I—as a person—am decidedly unembellished. I am not given to unnecessary letters.”
