"When do you choose to leave?" she asked.
"Two horses stand ready now. We won’t ride through the night, but I reason we should choose another inn." He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to keep the corners of his mouth straight. "We may not be welcomed here."
Alicia’s smile was bright and the excitement glittered in her eyes. She held up the bag again. "Mine to keep, no matter what? You swear?"
"On my word. Gather your things quickly. Lord Seavers will be more than a little anxious."
Alicia retrieved her shoes from the stable and then dashed toward the inn, her bare feet padding quickly and her bag of coin clutched tightly in her fist. She disappeared into the inn and Rodney walked leisurely to where the horses waited. He was standing there when the door to the inn opened and Alicia reappeared. Just behind her was the red-faced innkeeper, and behind him Rodney could partially make out the printed skirts and curls of the three maids with whom Alicia served. Rodney’s round belly shook lightly as he tried to control an outright laugh. Certainly they had run straightaway to Armand when they noticed Alicia making her bundle of belongings to cart away.
"Ungrateful wench," Armand blustered. "I told meself this haughty wench’d be the first t’run. Aye, ye’ll fly away on the high road wit’ the first willin’ man."
The corners of Alicia’s mouth were turned up slightly as she struggled to keep up a serene front. She met eyes with Rodney and found some of her gaiety reflected there, and that was her permission to smile. Her eyes danced in delight and her face virtually sparkled. She handed the small bundle to Rodney and he worked at fastening it on the back of the horse that would carry her.
"Did ye consider that ye’ll get nothin’ of what’s been promised, girl?" Armand questioned. "Here at least ye earn a civil wage and have a decent place t’lay yer head."
Alicia turned to him. Her eyes were cool and distant as she considered the squat, gluttonous man. "A pile of hay with the rats?" she asked him. "And wage? That sum you send to your brother, Osmond—I earn nothing here. That generous man doesn’t yield me enough from what I’ve earned to buy a bolt of cloth. If not for Mae and her old clothes, I’d be naked."
"It costs t’feed a houseful such as Osmond’s got hisself, but he at least cares fer what he’s got. Ye’ll find no strong arm on the road t’London, miss. Ye’ll be back and ye won’t find me a forgivin’ man."
At this, Rodney turned toward Armand and his eyes were angry. "I’ve seen the protection offered this lass under your care. You’d happily see her mauled and used to sell one more cup of ale. Aye, she’d fare better in the hands of thieves."
Armand’s face got redder and he was about to shout something more to Rodney, but the latter turned to help Alicia mount the horse. Behind Armand he could hear Gert’s shrill whine. "Cartin’ ‘er proper arse off t’court, says she." Her cackle was piercingly clear. "An’ goin’ ‘t snatch ‘erself a foin laird..."
Armand turned abruptly and slapped the wench, turning her cackle into a squeal, but shutting her mouth quickly thereafter.
"Ye’ve a debt t’me, Miss Queenie. I was t’have a wench to’serve through the harvest time. Don’t show yer face here fer honest work when he’s used ye and tossed ye aside fer the next. Aye, I knew ye’d run with the first more’n a year ago when that noble bastard played his way with ye and left without even payin’ his lodgin’."
Alicia had barely settled herself on the saddle when that statement came, and her eyes shot to Armand’s face. Her mouth formed a thin, furious line as she glared at him, and from behind him she could hear the smothered giggles of the other maids.
"Ye thought I didn’t see what ye were thinkin’?" He let go a loud and sarcastic laugh. "I saw the way ye flaunted yerself under his nose and reckon ye hoped he’d take ye out of the shire. Mark me, lass, nobles don’t give a tavern wench more time than it takes t’spoil ‘em and leave ‘em by the roadside."
Alicia’s eyes bore down on him and she instinctively refused to show how it hurt to have her foolishness thrown in her face. She had had years of practice in pretending not to feel the insensitive jeers thrown at her. The remark seemed not to penetrate Rodney’s tough hide, for he turned to Armand calmly but sternly.
"Aye, there’s a debt, man, and I trust it’s to this one who’s served so well through the summer. What do you owe her for her work?"
"Owe her?" he questioned.
"Aye. Her ‘honest wage.’ Your brother won’t need it for her keeping, now that she won’t be going back to him."
Alicia blinked her eyes closed, hard, fighting tears. Earlier, as she had bundled her few belongings together, she had felt such optimism and hope, but then Culver Perry had been a long way from her memory. It wasn’t until Armand taunted her with her folly that she felt fear and apprehension rise within her at the thought of leaving the village with Rodney. It was possible that this man was no more trustworthy than Perry. But it was too late to take the easy way. She would go. And if being left by the roadside was to be her lot, she’d drag herself up and manage from there.
Armand opened his mouth to protest Rodney’s request for payment and Alicia held up her hand to stop him. "No debt, Armand," she said. "Put what I’ve earned toward what you lost from the nobleman who didn’t pay you."
Rodney looked at her with a slight frown. He detected the sadness her features had taken on. He shrugged and climbed onto his horse. "Then let’s be away. Enough on the matter."
Rodney took the reins from Alicia’s mount in his free hand and, clicking his teeth and spurring his horse, they started away.
"Ye’ll not find the promises answered, miss," Armand shouted at her back.
Alicia blinked back tears. There had seldom been promises made to her. Only once, and Armand was right. She’d been a fool. She’d been used and cast away. The first illusion that this would be a dream come true was struck from her mind, and she willed herself to strength. She would take her chance in any case, and hope there was something more down the road for her than a straw-filled attic and regular beatings. Something more than being abused and unwanted.
"Ease your mind, maid Alicia," Rodney said. "You’re deserving of a great deal more than the innkeeper would have you believe."
She smiled her thanks for his soothing words, but inwardly she feared that this journey would be only the beginning of her challenges. With a sigh, she took her own reins from him and edged her mount along beside him.
Three
Alicia stood by the window of the inn and looked down into the dark street. The only lights came from the windows of the tavern below her and what little brightness broke through from behind covered windows along the street.
A loud crash and subsequent shouting from below caused her to jump in surprise. She rubbed her upper arms with her hands and shivered, both cold and a little frightened.
The journey to London had been uneventful, Rodney carefully looking after her food and lodging along the way, and she traveling easily and silently beside him. They had rested the night before in a lodging house (it could not be called an inn by any measure, though rooms were rented to travelers) and left early in the morning before having anything to eat. They arrived in London early in the day. Rodney had explained that they were near enough to the city to have traveled the entire distance without stopping for the night, but he preferred to have her come into the city with him in the light of day.
She could plainly see his wisdom in this now. The inn near the wharf where he had placed her was grim enough in the morning. Had she been brought through the wild common room below her in the evening, she would have been too frightened to stay in this room alone. The Ivy Vine had its share of drinking and trouble, but from the sounds in the common room tonight, it was nothing compared to a London ordinary.
In this meager setting, there was the nearest thing to a raised bed, one leg missing and replaced with a rough chunk of wood. It wobbled piteously as she tested it, but it still outshone any sleeping arrangements she had ever had
. There was one stool, and a table used for eating as well as holding a washbasin and pitcher and one stubby candle. A dirty and ragged towel had been tossed into the empty basin. Not even water and linens had been delivered to her since Rodney left her hours earlier.
Alicia moved to the table and plucked at the filthy rag that was meant to dry her whenever she was lucky enough to wash. "Your great wealth comforts me, milord," she whispered to the empty room.
A cracked mirror without a frame hung from a nail on the wall. She looked into it but found the image lacking. It was a poor reflection and she couldn’t plainly see the dirt on her face, the snarls in her hair, or the disappointment in her eyes. Squinting, she looked closer, touching the long and tangled hair that dropped around her shoulders. Combs, she thought despairingly. A brush and combs would greatly improve her looks, but in the inn, she had shared the one brush with three other maids, and, though she might have made away with it without being caught, it had not occurred to her to take it. She wished now that she possessed a more devious and self-serving mind.
"He won’t find much to delight himself in," she told the mirror quietly. "When he spies this wench he’ll likely keep running for days."
Anticipation had churned within Alicia’s stomach several hours earlier when Rodney delivered her to the inn. He had a meal served to her and explained that his young lord’s ship was nearby, and he would hasten to him with the news. "I expect to be bringing Lord Seavers here to meet you very soon." Anxiety drove hunger away and she was unable to eat her meal. Regret grated like rough wood inside her stomach now, for she was very hungry and dinner time was long past. Rodney had been gone for hours.
The crashing of glass below her caused her to start again, and this time she rushed to the bed to grab hold of the leather pouch that held her coins. There was no place within the practically naked room to hide her fortune, and she greatly feared being robbed and molested while alone in this place. She tucked the pouch into her modest bundle of clothing and gave it a pat, finding the hiding place unreasonably insecure.
"Fine bargain, this," she hissed. "A hundred pounds’ll fit me fine when I’m dead and thrown in the street."
The sound of a key in the lock seemed to show her fear was justified, and she turned toward that portal with immediate terror. The clicking, turning, picking, and grinding seemed to go on forever, while Alicia grabbed her small bundle and backed away from the door to the farthest corner of the room. When the door finally opened, she saw the reason for the lengthy fumbling. The man opening the door could barely stand and leaned against the frame for badly needed support. Her first thought flashed: If he can’t walk he can’t kill me.
"Aha," the man said when he saw her.
She retreated even more, her back flush with the wall.
"Ah, yes," he said, his voice slushy. "Aye, you’re the one. And you’ll make a mighty fine bedmate once we get you washed."
He entered and turned to the door to close it and began fumbling with the lock from the inside. Alicia’s heart was pounding mercilessly as she watched him attempt to lock them both into the room. The process of locking the door took nearly as long as unlocking it had, and when he turned to face her again he had a smile of victory on his face. He looked not vicious but boyish with his grin. She could not help noticing that he was dressed richly and was quite handsome. Mother of God, she silently prayed, do I give thanks that it is not a wretch who attacks and robs me?
He dropped the key into his jacket pocket and looked her up and down, his grin vanishing and a look of consternation replacing it. "God’s bones, where’re you from and who, heaven help me, is your seamstress?"
Alicia’s brows drew together in a frown. Then that vanished into a look of astonishment as she wondered how she could be insulted in all her terror.
"Even your shoes..." he started, halting abruptly to belch loudly. He swallowed and regained his attempt at dignity. "Even your shoes are worthless. Did you slop hogs ‘til coming here?"
"Leave me alone," she said quietly. "Go away."
"But I can’t, maid," he said, spreading his arms in mock helplessness. "Destiny brings us together and we are meant...umm...destined to be together... you and I." He shook his head, and his sandy-colored hair flopped about like a thatched roof in a rainstorm. "We need each other."
"Don’t touch me," she begged, her bundle clutched tightly to her chest as she attempted to melt into the wall.
"Don’t worry." he grimaced. "God’s blood, would I be here if touching you before you’re bathed were part of the bargain? It’s hard enough to look at you."
"Then go," she insisted loudly.
But he paid her no attention. He looked her over again, and again he grimaced. Why, she wondered, had he troubled to break into her room if he found her so unappetizing? Could he possibly be aware of her large sum? She wondered if she had worn her concern with keeping the money safe while eating in the common room, thereby alerting some thief that within the carefully guarded bundle of clothing there was wealth.
And this, she quickly reasoned, was a successful thief, for he was well dressed and articulate. He certainly robbed and assaulted only rich people.
"You’ll never do," he said, slurring his words and shaking his head again. "Can’t see how you’ll manage. No breeding whatever, dressed to slop hogs and empty chamber pots, and without washing for a score of years."
Alicia stood a bit taller. She was not in dire need of bathing, though it had been a couple of days. She did not think she smelled. But then she remembered the odor that greeted her when she entered the room and reasoned that he mistook the stench for her. God above, she thought, do I worry over insults made against me by a thief?
He took a few steps toward her, wobbling dangerously, and she edged along the wall to a safer distance. Catching her was going to be his problem, she could see that. His vision was not clear and his movements were disadvantaged by too much liquor. "Come here, wench," he barked.
Alicia made a quick jump to the other side of the room, not having much difficulty dodging him. Again he advanced, the boyish grin adorning his face, and his eyes barely slits in his effort to clear his vision. Alicia stood still, waiting for him to get closer before quickly jumping away again. But this time the sodden assailant surprised her, making one deft and speedy lunge. He caught her in arms that were strong but clumsy with drink, and caused her to drop her bundle as she struggled to get away.
"Be still, wench," he ordered. "Hold still so I can look at you. I can’t see you clearly."
"Let go of me," she said through clenched teeth.
"Now, how can we get to know each other if you fight me?" He let out a laugh that was not much more than a drunken giggle. "If you hold still I’ll let go," he offered.
She stopped struggling suddenly and stood very still, nodding her head slightly. His arms dropped to his sides and she skittered out of his grasp immediately, dashing around the table, keeping that as the barrier between them.
"Damn wench," he muttered, turning to locate his disappearing catch. "Don’t make me mad," he cautioned, his smile gone.
"Don’t touch me or I’ll scream," she warned.
"Scream," he told her. "And I’m sure the castle guard will come running. Now, behave or I’ll have to beat you."
As he delivered this last threat he stumbled slightly, and she saw that he was so sodden that with luck she could outwit him; and though she feared his strength, she was more angry than afraid.
"Lay one hand to me and I’ll kill you."
"Kill me, eh? I see my work’s cut out. I’ll have to throw up your skirts and give your wretched arse a swat or two. Now come here."
"Never. Get out."
"Bitch," he mumbled, rubbing his neck and looking as though he’d forgotten what he entered her room for. "All right, have it your way...with a fight." He stumbled toward her and grasped the opposite side of the table, his eyes fully open now and fixing her with a glittering stare filled with determination. Alicia’s mouth
opened slightly and once again she feared him. As he made to pull the table from between them, she grabbed the pitcher by the handle, and with no aforethought, she reached over the short distance between them and laid her mightiest blow to his head. The crockery gave way immediately, crashing to the floor all about him.
His eyes grew round and shocked just before they gently closed and he melted to the floor in a heap. She stared at him for a moment, the porcelain handle of the pitcher still in her hand. He did not look dead, but her first thought was that she had killed him. Yet he seemed peacefully asleep. A look of contentment seemed to rest over his eyes and mouth like a warm blanket.
Ah, he was handsome.
A handsome fool, her anger answered loudly. He deserved at least a bump on the head for what he might have done.
There was a knock at the door and Alicia’s eyes jumped from the sleeping form on the floor to the sound. Her heart began to pound again, for now she was caught. Though she did not think herself outside the law in defending herself, she did not expect to be let out of blame easily once it was discovered that she had wounded this man. His clothes were rich. It was possible he was someone of importance, robbing and assaulting women for sport rather than for sustenance.
Again the knocking. Her eyes began to sting with tears. There was no one to help her. "Blast that oaf," she muttered under her breath. "He promised to be near."
And at the moment Rodney crossed her mind, she heard his voice outside her door. "Alicia?" he questioned from the other side.
She went to the door quickly and attempted to open it, grateful enough for tears to spill just because of his presence outside. She wiggled the latch once before she remembered that her attacker had the key safely tucked in his pocket. She went back to the unconscious man and frantically searched through his coat until she retrieved the key. It took her, in all her sobriety, nearly as long to unlock the door as it had taken her intruder. She actually frowned over her shoulder at the man, for it had not occurred to her that it was a difficult lock. She assumed his clumsy drunkenness made the task time-consuming.