Jura leaned back against the stone wall. If she went with him, it would surely mean her death. No one could sneak up to Brita’s city and capture the Vatell queen without being caught—and tortured.
But what if they won? What if by some twist of fate they were able to get to Brita and allow this silver-tongued king to talk to her? Could Rowan persuade her to send her young men and women to marry the Irials?
“Think how strong we would be,” Cilean said. “If we united only the Irials and the Vatells, we would have twice the strength of any other tribe.”
“Don’t tell Geralt that,” Jura said, and wished she hadn’t. It sounded a bit like she wasn’t loyal to her brother. “Have you talked to the Englishman yet? Who else would go besides the three of us?”
“Daire, of course,” Cilean said. “Brita hasn’t seen her son since he was a boy. She won’t hurt him.”
“Unless she considers him more Irial than Vatell. Who else?”
“That should be enough,” Cilean said. “We don’t want a crowd. The fewer we are, the quieter we will be. Now, shall we tell Rowan? That is, if we can get him away from the women. Perhaps it’s good I’m not married to him because I think my jealousy would overwhelm me.”
Jura looked out the doorway. The sunlight on Rowan’s hair made him easy to see, but now he was surrounded by pretty young girls who couldn’t seem to resist touching this blond king. Rowan had that innocent look men wear when they want to appear helpless so they can get whatever they want from a woman.
“Jealous of a gaggle of silly girls?” Jura said under her breath. “It will take more than that to make me jealous. Come, let us tell him our plan—our last plan on earth—before he starts talking again and persuades a hundred mothers to abandon their babies to follow him.”
Rowan’s blue eyes almost turned black. “The earth will open up and deliver its dead,” he said softly. “The sky will rain blood. The trees will wither and blacken. The stones will turn to bread before I go sneaking into Brita’s camp accompanied by two women and my wife’s former lover.”
Jura gave Cilean an I-told-you-so look.
“Rowan, please,” Cilean said, “listen to me. I know the way through the forest. Daire is Brita’s son and Jura is strong and agile and—”
“A woman!” he shouted. They were inside Jura’s aunt’s house away from curious ears. “Don’t you Lanconians know the difference between men and women? A woman cannot fight.”
“I did a bloody good job when I won you,” Jura shot at him.
“Mind your language,” he snapped, then looked back at Cilean. “I will take my own men. I know them and they will obey me. You will draw us a map. Daire may come also if I do not have to watch my back for his blade.”
“Are you accusing Daire of—” Jura began, but Cilean halted her.
“I will draw no map. What I have I carry in my head. Meeting Brita in secret is your only chance of getting her to listen to you and only I can take you to her. Daire will go because she is his mother.”
“But my wife stays here,” Rowan said with finality.
“No,” Cilean said. “Jura goes with me. Just as you work well with your men, Jura and I work well together.”
Jura leaned back on her stool, her back against a wall. She knew who was going to win. Cilean had something Rowan wanted and Cilean wasn’t going to give it away for free.
Chapter Nine
JURA SLEPT ALONE in the small bedchamber that night and she tossed and turned, listening for the door to open and Rowan to enter, but he did not. An hour before dawn she left the empty bed and tiptoed from the house. She was already angry. The Englishman may not sleep with her for whatever strange foreign reasons he had, but she would kill him if he humiliated her by touching another woman.
There were people sleeping everywhere, but look where she would, she could not find Rowan. She woke Cilean and together the two of them began searching for Rowan.
The sun was high in the sky when the women met again. Cilean shook her head. Jura frowned and went in search of Rowan’s squire Montgomery. The tall, dark boy was braiding the mane of Rowan’s big war horse.
“Where is he?” Jura asked.
Montgomery looked surprised. “The king isn’t with you?”
Jura was beginning to grow suspicious. “When did you last see him?”
“Just before I went to bed. He yawned and said he had some hard riding to do and I thought—” The boy broke off, embarrassed.
“Where is his riding horse? That big roan of his?”
“It’s—” Montgomery stopped and stared. “I thought it was down there.” He looked at Jura. “If someone has taken my master, I am ready to fight.”
Jura let out a sigh. “The fool has gone alone into Vatell land. I know that is what he has done.”
Montgomery glared at her. “My master is not a fool.”
Jura paid little attention to him. “He has yet to prove to me otherwise. This must be kept secret. If the people hear he has ridden alone into enemy territory they will ride after him. We must say he…he went hunting. Yes, and you must go with him. He would not go without his squire.”
“I cannot lie,” Montgomery said stiffly.
Jura groaned. “Not that knightly honor again! You can lie when it means preventing a war, damn you! Give me four days. If I do not bring him back in four days, there will be no need to send anyone after us. Can you do this, boy? Are you man enough?”
“Man enough to lie?” Montgomery asked.
“Man enough to take on responsibility. You will have to fight those high-nosed knights of his and I don’t know if you can do it.”
“I can do whatever is needed.”
“Good,” Jura said. “This must be kept as quiet as possible. Saddle my horse and I will get a bag of food. Wait! Tell people I have gone with Rowan to be alone with him. Tell them I was jealous of all the women yesterday and he has taken me away to soothe me. With such an excuse you can stay here and fend off the people for as long as I need.” She was on eye level with the boy, and although she felt much older, she was actually only two years older than he and he had the dark good looks she liked so much. She put two fingers under his chin. “And this will be less of a lie for you. Your master and I have indeed gone off together and you will not know where.”
Montgomery did not feel that Jura was especially older than he was, and to her surprise, he took her fingers and kissed the tips. “My master is a fortunate man.”
Jura, feeling a little confused, snatched her fingers away. “You will behave yourself with my Irials,” she said. “I do not want half-English brats nine months from now. Now, saddle my horse so I can ride.”
Montgomery smiled at her as Jura left the stables. “Insolent English pup,” she muttered.
Jura’s first task was an argument with Cilean. Cilean wanted to go with Jura, but Jura wasted valuable moments saying that Cilean’s absence could not be explained.
“I must go alone. Just draw me a map as quickly as possible so I can leave at once.”
Cilean began to draw but she argued all the while. “How will you find him? He is many hours ahead of you.”
“I will think like a blond Englishman. Do you think he is wearing mail and carrying an English banner? Oh, Cilean, pray for me. If he is killed, it will mean war. The Irial people will glorify his memory after his honey-tongued speech yesterday.”
“Here is the map,” Cilean said, then hugged Jura hard. “I am sorry I doubted you. Go and find this errant king of ours and bring him back safely.” She pulled away. “How will you dress?”
Jura grinned. “As an Ulten. That should keep people away. My aunt has Ulten clothes in storage and I plan to remove them.”
Cilean kissed her friend’s cheek. “Go with God and come back soon.”
Jura rode into Vatell territory cautiously. The old, ragged Ulten garment she wore stank so bad her horse had pranced in anger at first and Jura did not blame it for she could barely abide herself. She had stolen
the faded, once-brilliant costume from her aunt’s house and dipped it in the muck of a pigsty then rolled it in ashes to get the proper aroma and color of an Ulten costume. Smelling herself, Jura knew why Ultens were the only tribe to be allowed to roam freely. No one coveted anything that belonged to an Ulten, although quite often Ultens were hanged for little or no reason.
Under the filthy garment Jura wore the green hunting uniform of the guards and an arsenal of weapons.
She rode west, staying on narrow paths that wagons and large groups of people could not travel. Whining, she begged food and water from people in front of leaky huts and dried-up vegetable patches. After a day of travel she began to almost understand why Brita had attacked the richer Irial lands to the south.
Late at night she came to a public house. Candles blazed from inside the little wattle-and-daub shack and she could hear raucous laughter and the clank of steel. She tied her horse in the darkness of the surrounding forest and went to the door. A fight surely meant she had found her English husband. She just hoped she had time to save him.
She walked in the door but no one paid her the least attention as they were all watching two Vatell guards play-fighting each other with broadswords. Feeling a little foolish, Jura pulled her filthy hood further over her face and took an empty seat at a table. Immediately, everyone at the table looked about in horror at the smell, then when they saw the hooded figure, they moved away. A skinny woman asked Jura what she wanted to drink and bade her give a copper bead in exchange.
From under the shade of the hood, she looked around the small tavern but she saw no sign of the blond Englishman. Along the walls stood several Vatells almost as dirty as she was.
Jura drank her ale and the fight ended and goods and garments and animals traded hands as wagers were won and lost.
“What is that smell?” a drunken voice yelled.
Jura put her mug down and started to stand. She meant to leave as quickly as possible, but someone put a heavy hand on her shoulder.
“An Ulten boy,” someone yelled. “Let’s teach him a lesson.”
A hand grabbed Jura’s hood just as she moved away. Her face was exposed.
“Gor,” someone said. “A girl.”
“And a beauty.”
“Let’s teach her another kind of lesson,” said a man, laughing.
Jura held a knife in each hand under her concealing garment as the men, about twenty of them, advanced on her.
“Here, now,” came a deep voice from behind the crowd. He spoke Lanconian but it was an accent Jura hadn’t heard before, very country sounding. A bentover, burly man with greasy black hair and a patch over one eye, wearing many layers of rags, pushed his way forward. “Don’t hurt me daughter,” he said, and moved toward Jura.
Instinctively, she drew back from him.
“Follow me, or they’ll kill you,” he said into her ear, and Jura recognized Rowan’s voice.
She was so astonished she followed him without question and the men were drunk enough and had just had enough excitement that they were sated, so they allowed Jura to follow the bent old man out of the tavern.
“You!” Jura hissed as soon as they were outside. “I have come to take you back to safety.”
“Safety!” Rowan spat at her. “What do you know of safety? I just saved your virtue and probably your life.”
“I could have protected myself.”
Rowan cursed in reply. “Do you have a horse? We must ride quickly and get away from this place. Or did you leave your horse in the open so one of these vandals stole it? God’s teeth but you stink.”
“My horse is well hidden.”
“Good, then get on it and ride northwest for one hour then stop. I will meet you there.”
“You cannot go back in there. You must return to the Irials and—”
“Go!” he commanded. “Someone comes and I’m not finished here.”
Jura slipped into the darkness, found her horse, and began to ride. It was against her better judgment to leave him alone back there but she knew within her heart how much fear she had felt when the men had touched her. And, also, she had been surprised at Rowan’s disguise and the way he had blended into the crowd. In an hour she reached a bend in the river and she knew this was where she was to meet him.
She fed her horse, tethered it in a dark growth of bush, and pulled off the stinking Ulten gown, then climbed a tree and waited for Rowan. He didn’t take long in getting there. She watched him dismount then stand still and look around. He turned and looked up at the tree although she knew he couldn’t see her.
“Come down,” he said.
Jura swung down a branch and dropped right in front of him.
The patch over his eye was flipped up to his forehead. “All right, what are you doing here?”
“I told you, I came to take you to safety.”
“You? Take me to safety? Tomorrow morning you are to return to the Irials.”
“And what do you plan to do?”
“I am going to find Brita and talk to her.”
“And how do you plan to find her?” Jura asked.
“If you hadn’t interfered tonight, I might have found out where she was. Those two guards were drunk enough and might have been ready after their fight but I had to leave to save your dirty neck. You still stink even without that thing you were wearing.”
Jura leaned against the tree and began to unlace her boots. “If the Irials had guessed you rode alone into Vatell land, they would have attacked.”
“What are you doing?”
“Undressing. I’m going to take a bath. Your solitary mission could have started a war.” She slipped out of the trousers.
Rowan stared at her with eyes so wide she could see the whites of them in the moonlight. “I wanted no argument,” he said tightly. “I did what I had to do. Oh God.” He said this last as Jura removed the last of her clothes and stood nude in the moonlight, her high-breasted figure gleaming and magnificently structured. “Jura, you torture me,” he whispered, his hands going behind his back to grope for the tree to support himself.
“I am your wife,” she said softly, then cocked her head. “Someone comes,” she said, and flung her body against his. “Hide me from their sight.”
Rowan, holding her, was stupefied and didn’t wrap his coarse, raggedy cloak about her as he should have. He just stood there with his body pressed against hers, his hands lightly on her back.
She was eye level with him and she waited for him to kiss her but he made no movement, so Jura touched her lips to his. It was all he needed to speed him into action. To Jura’s great pleasure, Rowan’s hands were all over her at once and he seemed to have a hundred mouths. He kissed her, caressed her, and oh, how deliciously beautiful he made her feel. How wonderful to feel womanly and desirable and adored and wanted and pursued. She kissed him back with all the wanting she felt.
“Beg me, Jura,” he said, his voice pleading.
She didn’t hear him at first.
“Please beg me,” he repeated.
Jura began to hear him and pushed him away. He was limp with desire and malleable in her hands. “Not in your lifetime, Englishman, will an Irial beg,” she spat at him. She turned away from him and walked to the river, glad for the cold water to cool her hot skin. She cursed the man with every word she knew. What kind of animal was he that he took pleasure in making a woman beg for his favors? He should be locked away before he harmed someone—and Thal thought this idiot was fit to be king!
When she emerged from the river, dried and dressed, Rowan had a small fire going and two rabbits skinned, speared, and roasting.
“I have supper,” he said softly.
“And what must I do to earn it? Go on my knees and plead? Or is begging reserved for the marriage bed? Perhaps to receive food I must bray like a donkey. Pardon me if I do not know your English rules of marriage conduct.”
“Jura,” he said, his voice heavy, “please do not be bitter. Let me explain that I am a kn
ight. I made a vow, a stupid vow that has punished me more than you, but a vow to God nonetheless and I must keep it. If you would only—”
“Where do you plan to go tomorrow?” she asked. She didn’t want to discuss how awful he made her feel: desirable one moment and the next thrust away with all the contempt she had for the Ulten robe.
“You are returning to the Irials. I am going to find Brita.”
She smiled meanly at him over the fire. “I have the map. No, you will not find it on me, even if you could bear to touch my person, for I have committed it to memory. I am going with you. We will find Brita and we will talk to her.”
“Why didn’t I marry a sweet biddable Englishwoman?” Rowan mumbled. “Here! Take this.” He thrust a rabbit leg at her.
“You have made no sacred knightly vows concerning rabbit legs?”
“Only shrews,” he answered. “Now eat so we can sleep and leave early tomorrow. We have many miles to cover.”
“Maybe,” Jura said, and smiled sweetly at Rowan’s glare.
She slept quite well that night even if Rowan’s getting up twice did wake her.
“Wake up,” he said before dawn, and threw the hideous Ulten robe on her. “That should cool my interest in you.” He handed her bread and cheese. “Be ready to ride quickly.”
“Yes, oh sire,” she mocked.
They rode for two hours before Jura told him to halt and follow her down a narrow road leading into the forest. It was a road made for foot traffic and twice Rowan hacked at branches to provide room for the horses.
At noon they stopped to eat cold meat pies Jura had brought with her.
“We should change clothes,” she said. She looked at his greasy hair. “An Ulten and a…whatever you are, each alone is all right, but we make an unappetizing pair. We will not get near Brita’s city dressed like this.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Ten miles from here is the manor house of a rich relative of Brita’s. I thought perhaps the man and his wife might not miss a few garments.”
Jura watched Rowan’s face, and to her surprise, she found herself thinking that the man’s good looks were marred by his artificially darkened hair. Now he was frowning and she wondered if he disliked following a plan made by a woman.