Always

  Another round of snores erupted on either side of her, and Rosamunde sat up abruptly before she could be rolled up on again. Moving carefully to avoid accidentally waking either man, she got to her feet and eased cautiously out from between them.

  This time when she heaved a sigh of relief, it came from her very toes.

  Aric shifted where he lay, his nose twitching, a smile gracing his lips. He could swear that the scent of meat grilling over an open fire was teasing his nose. But it could not be. He must be dreaming. It was very hot where he lay, and the night had been cool.

  Blinking his eyes open, he stared at the bright sunlit sky above, then jerked to an upright position with a curse. It was full daylight. The sun was already a quarter of the way across the sky. He had overslept. Impossible. Why had his friend not awakened him?

  A glance to the side answered that question: Robert was asleep. But he also saw, that the redhead he had married the day before was not.

  A frantic survey of the clearing showed that a bonfire raged several feet away. That was why he'd been so hot! And the scent of roasting meat had not been a dream; the meat was rabbit, and it had been killed, cleaned, and impaled on a branch that was presently suspended between two Y-shaped branches over the fire. His wife, however, was nowhere in sight.

  Reaching out, he shook Shambley. "Robert, wake up. Damn!"

  Aric was on his feet, sword in hand. Robert rolled sleepily over to peer up at him. "What is--" He blinked. "It's full morning!"

  "Aye," Aric agreed grimly, turning slowly, scanning the surrounding trees.

  "Jesu! How did we oversleep so?"

  "We were overtired."

  "Aye, but--what are you looking for?"

  "My wife."

  Robert's eyes widened at Aric's terse words, his gaze dropping to the bare ground beside him. "Where did she go?"

  "That is what I am trying to discover," Aric snapped impatiently, stilling at the sound of someone thrashing their way toward them through the brush.

  Robert was on his feet and at his side in a trice. Swords at the ready, back to back, the knights prepared to confront whatever approached. They both sagged with relief as Rosamunde stepped out of the woods.

  She had changed into brais and a loose tunic, and pulled her hair back from her face, securing it in a ponytail at the base of her neck. Her face was dirt-and soot-smudged, her hands scratched and filthy, and her arms, where her sleeves were rolled up, were streaked with dirt. She was carrying a huge stack of wood, made up mostly of small-and medium-sized branches she had gathered. She beamed on seeing them awake and about.

  "Good morn, my lords," she called out with disgusting good cheer. "Did you sleep well?"

  Robert smiled sheepishly at the question, but Aric's lips tightened grimly as he took her in. "What have you done?"

  Rosamunde's sure steps faltered near the fire, confusion covering her face. "My lord?"

  Aric gestured toward the roaring blaze at the center of the clearing, and Rosamunde's eyebrows rose.

  "The fire you built last night died," she explained uncertainly. "So I--"

  "Created an inferno?"

  Rosamunde swallowed at his cold voice. He sounded furious. "I--"

  "I am surprised that this forest fire you made has not drawn every bandit and thief in Anglia to us. Certainly the smoke billowing above the trees is enough to get their attention and lead them here. Why did you not simply climb up a tree and shout, 'Here we are! Come kill and rob us!'"

  Rosamunde paled at his words. Letting the wood she held drop to the ground, she moved quickly to kick dirt onto the fire, doing her best to kill the flames. "I am sorry, my lord. I did not think. I was sitting about waiting for you to awaken and I got the idea to catch and cook something to take with us for our lunch and--"

  "That is another thing," Aric interrupted grumpily. "Getting us killed by bandits was not enough. You then decided to lure every wild dog and wolf for miles with the smell of cooking meat."

  "Aric!" Robert placed a restraining hand on his friend's arm.

  "What?" Aric snapped impatiently.

  In contrast, Robert nearly whispered his own words. "Surely there is no need to be so harsh?"

  "Am I wrong?"

  "Nay. There is truth to your accusations," he admitted quietly. "But Lady Rosemunde obviously was not aware of it. Would you speak so to a new squire should he make a like error?"

  Aric frowned at that reasoning, then let his shoulders relax. He sighed. Shambley was right, of course. Rosamunde could not have known these things. How could she? It was doubtful she had ever even left the abbey ere this, let alone camped outside and learned the dangers that lurked beyond the convent's walls. Yet he had attacked her as if she had deliberately set out to get them killed. He would never have been so sharp and impatient with a new squire.

  It did not take much soul-searching to recognize the real source of his anger. He was embarrassed at his own carelessness. Not only had he overslept, but he had slept through the racket she must have caused by finishing all those tasks in the clearing that morning.

  She had chased, caught, killed skinned, and cleaned a rabbit, then built a roaring fire to cook it over, and fashioned a makeshift spit. She had even moved the horses to another spot with fresher grass. Yet even the jangling of the horses' harnesses had not stirred him. He was a warrior. Such sounds should have awakened him.

  Good Lord! Had she been one of those bandits he had been snarling at her about only moments before, they would all be dead. So much for his sworn oath to the king, her father, to protect her!

  It did not salve his conscience that Robert, too, had slept through her activities. He was not the one who had sworn an oath to the king. Worse, Aric was angry with himself, and he had taken it out on her.

  Sighing, he nodded at last at Robert to reassure him that not only had he heard his words, he heeded them. He turned to apologize to the woman who was now his wife, but instead squawked her name in dismay. "Rosamunde!"

  She was on her knees beside the fire, her back to them, her bottom--snug in tight brais--in the air and pointed in their direction. It had been bobbing gently up and down as she worked at something he could not see, but she had shifted slightly just before he shrieked. Now her behind was still, her whole body gone stiff.

  Glaring at Robert--a grin had suddenly covered his friend's face at the vision Rosamunde was thoughtlessly presenting them--Aric hurried over to block his friend's view of her derriere. Pausing, he took a moment to attempt to rein his reawakened temper in, then leaned over her slightly to peer down at what occupied her. "What are you doing?" he tried to ask calmly.

  Rosamunde winced at the harshness of his voice. Aric was intimidating enough when he was bellowing and roaring at her from across the clearing, but now he was looming over her like murder, his body a dark cloud that cast her in shadow as he scowled down at her. She supposed she deserved his ire, though. It had been foolish of her to build such a huge fire. Cooking the rabbit was another mistake. As soon as she had understood that, she had moved to correct her error. Grabbing the stick the meat was impaled on, she had dropped to her knees beside the fire, set the rabbit on the ground, and quickly dug a small hole. She had laid the rabbit in the hole, and was in the process of burying it when her husband's voice had interrupted her.

  Quickly raising a hand, she wiped furiously at the tears leaking from her eyes. It was foolish to cry. Tears solved nothing. Knowing that, Rosamunde rarely ever did, but just now she was unable to help herself. It seemed she could do nothing right. First the fire, then the meal...Burying the rabbit to stop the smell was probably wrong, too. The way her luck was working that morning, she had probably set the horses to graze in a field of nightshade and they would be dead by noon.

  "I am burying the rabbit to hide its scent, my lord," she explained herself quietly.

  "Nay. Do not do that," her husband protested, kneeling beside her and quickly catching at her hands as she would have thrown more dirt on the meat. When
she stilled, but refused to raise her face to look at him, he sighed and made his tone gentler. "Forgive me. I am as grumpy as a bear when I wake up. I should not have yelled so. I should have realized you could not have known about the dangers out here, and been more patient. Instead I was over harsh and am sorry for that. Forgive me?"

  Her tension easing, Rosamunde nodded, but still would not look at him.

  Aric released her hands and tugged the rabbit out of its would-be grave. "Let us see if we cannot rescue this."

  "But what about the dogs and wolves?" she glanced up in surprise.

  Aric took in the drying tears on her face with self-disgust. He had caused those. He was not doing very well as a husband so far. He had protected her as poorly as a shield made of stale bread, and treated her with less kindness than he would a new squire. This was most likely not what the king had intended when giving her into Aric's care.

  Forcing a smile, he shrugged slightly. "Aye, well, 'tis not just the four-legged variety of beast its scent would tempt, but the two-legged as well, and I am one of those. It smelled delicious and nearly finished. Is it?"

  "Aye," she admitted with a sigh.

  "So with the fire out, the scent will no longer carry on the wind. There is no sense in letting this excellent fare be wasted." Even as he spoke, he began to brush the dirt from the rapidly cooling meat. "How long have you been awake?"

  Watching dubiously as he brushed at the rabbit, she shrugged distractedly. "I am not sure. A couple of hours or more, I should think. It was still dark when I awoke."

  "You are an early riser."

  "Everyone rose early at the abbey."

  "Hmm." Standing, he went to the river's edge and submerged the meat in the clear water, giving it a quick swish back and forth to remove the worst of the dirt. Dangling it from one hand, he turned it this way and that for a quick inspection, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good as new."

  Rosamunde eyed first the meat, then her husband doubtfully, but said little as he returned to the fire and dangled the mistreated meal over the few glowing embers that remained of her once glorious fire. He turned it about over them briefly, then turned to her with a grin, holding the meat out as if making a grand offering. "Cleaned and dried, madam, and perfect for our consumption."

  After a brief hesitation, Rosamunde accepted the meat. She peered at it closely as Aric moved off to have a word with his friend. Amazing, she thought, and shook her head. The wild herbs and spices she had found, shredded, and cooked onto the meat had all been rubbed or washed away, but most of the dirt seemed still to cling to it. She had no idea how he had managed that. Still, mayhap that was how he liked it.

  Smiling in mild disgust, she moved to pack the meat away until the nooning meal, deciding as she did that she would stick with the fresh fruits and bread that Sister Eustice had thoughtfully packed away for them to take. If they wished it, the men could eat the rabbit.

  Chapter Four

  "Delicious!"

  "Aye, the best I have ever tasted."

  "I am delighted you are pleased, my lords," Rosamunde murmured, biting the inside of her lips to prevent her amusement from bubbling out. It was difficult to take their praise of the rabbit she had cooked seriously when they kept pausing to spit out bits of stone and dirt. The men were just trying to be kind. They had been nauseatingly nice ever since setting out that morning.

  Rosamunde had ridden on Aric's mount with him again. As had happened the day before, he did not ask or invite; he merely mounted, took his reins in one hand, and leaned over to scoop her up with the other. And as she had the day before, Rosamunde had held her tongue. But it had been harder this time. Her tenderness from the day before was gone now, and she was not used to being coddled. There was very little coddling in a convent. Rosamunde had learned to be self-reliant at a young age, and while she disliked the discomfort of riding her own mount, she did appreciate the independence. Still, she had kept her silence, attempting to maintain her vow to her father to obey her husband.

  She had not said a word all morning as they had ridden. Mostly she had spent the time dividing her gaze between the passing scenery and watching Robert's horse. She had thought when they had first set out that the horse was favoring one of its legs, but after watching him for a moment, she had decided that she must have been mistaken. Still, she had glanced over at the beast every once in a while to be sure. Other than that there had been little to distract her attention, and she had been about to burst with boredom by the time Aric had called a halt to their journey and announced it time to stop for some of the "fine rabbit" she had cooked for their lunch.

  Now they sat, companionably eating. Neither man seemed to notice that she had forgone the rabbit and stuck with the provisions Eustice had packed. She supposed they were too busy digging dirt out of their own meals.

  Grimacing and spitting out another small stone, Robert chewed and swallowed the meat that remained in his mouth, then raised an eyebrow at Aric. "As I recall, 'tis only another hour or so ere we reach the next village."

  "Aye. I thought to trade the horses there."

  Rosamunde stilled suddenly. She had not really been listening to the conversation, but those words caught her attention. "Trade the horses?"

  "Aye," Aric answered as he brushed a clod of dirt off the meat into which he had been about to bite. It seemed he had not cleaned the hare as thoroughly as he had thought that morning. He had not managed one bite of the meal without at least half of it tasting of grit. It served him right, he supposed. He had behaved in a beastly fashion that morning. Mayhap it was justice that he eat a lunch fit for nothing but swine.

  "Nay!"

  Aric stilled at his wife's dismayed cry, turning away from his meal to peer at her. She went on: "Nay, my lord. You cannot trade my Marigold. She was a gift from the abbess. You cannot trade away a gift."

  Aric blinked at her ferocious expression in surprise, but it was Robert who asked gently, "Marigold?"

  "My horse. Her name is Marigold." She stood impatiently. "I named her. In fact I saw her into this world. 'Tis why the abbess wished to give her to me. We have a special bond. You cannot trade her in, my lords."

  Robert glanced at his friend, frowning slightly at Aric's, blank expression as he eyed his wife, then explained gently, "We must travel quickly, my lady. 'Tis too hard on the horses to travel night and day without rest. We must trade them."

  "But Marigold was a gift. She is mine. 'Sides," she added, realizing that an emotional appeal might have little effect. "They rested last night while we slept."

  The two men exchanged a glance; then Robert murmured, "We did rest quite a while."

  "Aye, but we have also ridden them hard all morn."

  "Only a couple of hours, really," he argued. "We slept late if you will recall."

  "Aye." Frowning, Aric thought it over briefly, then acquiesced. "All right. We will trade only our horses. You may keep Marigold for now. She has been riderless most of the way, anyway."

  "Thank you, my lord," Rosamunde whispered, real gratitude in her eyes. She beamed at him before getting quickly to her feet and hurrying over to offer her precious horse the apple she had been about to eat.

  "Marigold," Robert murmured the name with amusement. "Only a woman would name a horse after a flower."

  "Aye." Aric watched his wife as she held the fruit out for the horse to take a bite, then heaved a sigh. "We shall have to trade her in eventually. Even riderless 'twould be cruel to force the beast to travel night and day till we reach Shambley. I am afraid we have merely delayed her upset."

  Robert was silent for a moment; then he murmured, "We could always stop for the night again tonight. Allow her horse to rest."

  Aric glanced at him sharply. "I thought you wished to travel as quickly as possible to get back and ensure that your father is still on the mend?"

  Robert avoided his eyes and shrugged. "No doubt he is up and about by now. He always was a quick healer."

  Aric watched him narrowly. Something
was up. He could tell. What was his friend keeping from him?

  After a moment of withstanding his suspicious gaze, Robert sighed and admitted, "I am not all that eager to return."

  "Oh?"

  "Aye. Just ere he fell ill, my father was beginning to take on about my fulfilling my own betrothal contract."

  "Ah." Aric grinned. "And you fear that when you return he will bring it up again."

  "Bring it up?" Robert gave a short laugh. "After an illness that almost took his life before he could see those blasted grandchildren he is always carping about, and upon seeing your new bride, he will harp on me endlessly." He sighed. "A delay of a day or two will not be a trial for me."

  "Hmm." Aric peered back at his wife. The horse had finished the apple. Chattering cheerfully to the animal, Rosamunde petted its mane soothingly. Mayhap they could risk another night out in the open. The horse had been a gift, after all, he thought. His bride now turned her attention to Robert's mount, apparently to give it some attention, too.

  Rosamunde shifted to a more comfortable position and sighed. It was several hours since they had stopped for the nooning meal. It seemed like forever that they had been traveling. Rosamunde had never been so bored in her life. It had been interesting at first, she supposed. The excitement of new experience, the beauty of the scenery and so on...but it had not enthralled her for long. Besides, Rosamunde was not used to being silent for such an extended period. The only time silence had been required at the abbey was during meals, and then there had been amusing little hand gestures that they had used to communicate.

  Sighing, she glanced surreptitiously up at her husband's face from beneath her eyelashes. He sat stiff and straight-shouldered in the saddle, his eyes alert and flying over the terrain they passed, his face grim and serious. Neither he nor his friend, Robert, had exchanged a word since setting out upon this journey, except for their brief conversation when they had stopped to eat. And Rosamunde, too, had been equally silent. Mostly because, should she try to speak, she was likely to bite her own tongue off at this pace they were riding. Probably that was why the men were so silent as well. At least she hoped that was why. She did not wish to believe her husband was always so taciturn.