Betrayal in the Highlands (12 page)

He pointed to the black patch.

“And did you give it to your love?” somebody else asked.

“Yes,” another added, “what happened?”

The circle of women drew a step closer.

Make it good, and then get out of here.

“I gave it to her,” Edmund muttered, head bowed. “But by the time I had returned, alas … she … she had already married my best friend.”

There was a collective gasp. Gloved hands covered mouths. Many women surged forward to comfort the clearly despondent Edmund.

“Oh, you poor man!” one of them said.

Edmund put on a stoic face.

“I’ve detained all of you long enough with my tale of woe,” he said. “It was a pleasure meeting you all, but I must return now to my quarters provided so graciously by our wonderful host.”

Terrific! Now get the hell out of here.

Edmund made his way to the door, past numerous outstretched hands touching and trying to console him.

“Wait,” called one last woman from the back of the crowd. “Was that the ring you gave as payment to free Fatty Moron?”

Edmund paused, shoulders hunched. Without facing her, he nodded.

Every woman in the room sucked in air.

“It doesn’t mean anything to me now.” Edmund opened the doors to the hall. “Nothing does.”

Chapter Twelve

“And then I just walked out,” Edmund said, his ever-broadening grin hurting his face. “I was wonderful! I had them eating out of my hand. Some were even crying!”

“I told you!” Pond said, grinning nearly as much as Edmund. “You’re a fantastic storyteller. I love hearing your tales. You should have more confidence in yourself. Maybe you should even write a book or—”

There was a knock at the door of their suite.

Barking, Becky raced across the parlor but skidded to a stop when Fatty Moron snapped his fingers. Looking over her shoulder at the door, she trotted to Edmund and sat down.

“Maybe that’s Baroness Melody coming to congratulate you,” Pond suggested in a whisper. “She probably wants you to return to the party.”

“Probably. Or she wants to introduce me to somebody else.”

You need to forget about all of this and get out of here. You need to find someplace safe before Kravel and Gurding show up in the middle of the night and drag you back to the wet cells.

“Quick, hide the backpacks,” Edmund said.

Pond and Fatty dragged the three overflowing packs into the other room.

There was another knock at the door, firmer and more insistent than the first.

Becky stayed in the parlor next to Edmund, eyes ablaze with manic energy. She glared at the door.

“Who’s there?” Edmund asked when the backpacks were out of view.

“Nobody you know,” a woman’s voice replied.

Pond and Fatty reentered the parlor. Becky sprang to her feet and raced to the door, barking. But Fatty snapped his fingers again and, with an eager whine, Becky returned to where she had been sitting.

“Who is it?” Pond whispered to Edmund.

“Nobody of consequence, I can assure you,” the woman answered from the other side of the door. “However, I do have exceptional hearing. May I come in?”

“She doesn’t sound dangerous,” Pond whispered, even softer. “Go ahead.”

Edmund opened the door.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway was a short young woman in a white gown, her long, raven black hair interwoven with small yellow roses and draped elegantly over one shoulder.

My word, she’s pretty!

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked.

Pretty? She’s gorgeous! But somebody her age shouldn’t be here unescorted.

“I … I’m, I’m sorry,” Edmund said. “It w-wouldn’t … it wouldn’t be proper. People would talk.”

She scoffed, an expression that seemed to come naturally to her. “I’m twenty-three years old and unmarried. Believe me, Master Edmund, they already talk.”

Standing five feet tall in her heels, she barely had to duck under Edmund’s arm as he held open the door.

Becky raced at the woman, barking, but quicker than a flash, Fatty scooped the dog up in his portly arms. Becky wrung and twisted, trying to get away, while Fatty gently stroked her head.

“Wh-why, why don’t you take Becky outside for a bit,” Edmund told him, unable to wrench his gaze away from the woman inspecting the parlor. “We’ll be with you in a few m-m-moments.”

Nodding, Fatty lumbered to the door. He smiled at the visitor.

She smiled back, touching his arm as he passed. “It’s nice to see you again. Cute puppy.”

Becky thrashed and barked, crazed with excitement.

“D-do … do you know him?” Edmund asked when Fatty and Becky had gone.

“Oh, sure. Everybody does. Thank you for helping him, by the way. I wish somebody would have taken him in years ago.”

Taken him in?

She approached Pond. “You must be the one called Thorax.” She held out her gloved hand like a man.

Pond shook it, looking sidelong at Edmund.

“A-actually,” Edmund said, “he’s … he’s Pond. Thor, Thorax … Thorax died.”

“My mistake. And terribly sorry for your loss. Still, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pond.”

“At your service,” Pond said, bowing. “And at your family’s.”

“Oh, to hell with my family.” She snorted. “May I sit?”

Not waiting for an answer, the woman sat on the settee, her billowy skirt overflowing around her like she was sinking into a bathtub full of silk bubbles.

Edmund stared, mouth open.

She smells like Lily of the Valley.

“So, how did you lose your eye, Edmund? May I address you by your first name? Or is it just ‘Ed’? I hate all that ‘Master’ this and ‘Baroness’ that. It’s so tiresome. And it consumes far too much time.”

Edmund and Pond exchanged glances.

“Since you haven’t asked,” she went on, smoothing out her skirt, “my name is Abigail Marie, though most people generally call me Abby—when they have cause to call me anything nice, that is.”

Abby crossed her legs.

Edmund spied the hint of a creamy white calf appearing from underneath the mountain of lace and fabric. He forced himself to look away.

“So?” she prodded.

“I’m … I’m sorry, Miss … Miss Abigail, was it?” Edmund drove his hands into his pockets. He pulled them out and folded his arms awkwardly across his chest. Seconds later, his hands were fumbling into his pockets again. “Wh-wh-what … what … what exactly was your question?”

“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” Pond said.

“What? No … no. Stay,” Edmund said.

“Nope!” Pond winked as he headed for the door. “I’d better check on our large friend and your little monster.” Bowing to Abby, he added, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Please stay as long as you like. Ed doesn’t have any plans for the rest of the evening.”

Edmund’s eye narrowed at Pond.

Bastard!

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Pond,” Abby said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

“I hope so,” Pond replied, bowing again. He winked one last time at Edmund as he closed the door behind him.

Edmund and Abby stared at each other for a moment.

“You can sit if you like,” she said.

Edmund lowered himself into the chair across from her.

“So,” she began, when it was evident Edmund wasn’t going to say anything, “tell me about your eye. I’m guessing goblins did it, am I right?”

“What? Wh-why … why would you say that?” Edmund crossed and then uncrossed his legs.

“Because I noticed some marks when you adjusted your patch. Your eye was burnt out, rather than cut out or damaged in some other way, such as by a sword blow, which means you were probably captured by goblins at some point.”

Edmund touched his eye patch and stared at the space Pond had just vacated.

“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “I hope this isn’t an inappropriate conversation.”

Inappropriate? Being alone with me in my suite is inappropriate!

“I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” she went on, “but I find you fascinating.”

Say something. Ask her a question. Do something other than sit there slack-jawed!

“S-so … so why do you think I was captured by goblins?”

No! Ask her about herself, you idiot! Change the subject!

“You don’t strike me as being a peeping Tom, which leads me to believe your eye was burnt out by goblins rather than cut out by a jealous husband. They wouldn’t do that sort of thing on the battlefield, not while the battle was ongoing, you understand; therefore, you must have been captured.”

She’s smart!

“So, tell me …” Abby leaned forward, dark brown eyes exploding with delight. “What’re they like? And how did you escape? Tell me everything. I want to hear it all!”

Edmund opened his mouth and blinked.

“I, I … I … I would rather, rather not, if it’s all the same to you,” he sputtered. Then, after shaking his head, he asked, “What … what exactly do you want?”

“I want to go with you,” she said.

Edmund rocked back.

“Go?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “Go where?”

“To wherever you and Mr. Pond are going. You’re leaving; I heard you through the door. You’re leaving tonight.”

“Eavesdropping!” Edmund huffed. “Well, I, I … I never!”

Abby laughed. “Yes, yes. It’s horrible of me. So is asking you about your eye so directly. But I can’t help it. Honestly, if we can’t get past a few minor personality flaws—”

“Minor personality flaws?” Edmund repeated in disbelief.

“Look, I’ve found it’s always better to enter a room knowing beforehand what’s being discussed. It’s served me well thus far.”

“Served you well?” Edmund glanced around, hoping he wasn’t the only person hearing what she was saying. “Who are you?”

Abby grunted.

“Fine! We’ll do this the long way.” She got to her feet and curtsied. “Hello, Master Edmund. I am Abigail Marie, youngest daughter of His Highness, Borstson, chief judicial official for the Havenar providence of the Kingdom of Havendor …”

Her father is a judge! I have the unescorted daughter of a judge in my suite!

Edmund felt sick.

Get her out of here!

“… and I want to get out of this shit hole of a town.”

Edmund looked up at her abruptly. Molly had said exactly the same thing about Rood ages before.

Abby plopped onto the sofa with a muffled thud.

“What?” She fluffed out her skirt. “Shocked by my language? Well, I won’t apologize. It’s how I feel. I want to see the world. I want to explore. I want out of this godforsaken town! And nothing you say will stop me.”

She’s crazy.

No, she has a fiery spirit, that’s all.

We’re in danger! Somebody knows where you are! Kravel is probably on his way this very moment. We have to get out of here. Tell her whatever she wants; just get her out of this room before somebody thinks something improper is going on.

“L-look … look, Abby.” Edmund tried to force his mind to stay on one perilous issue at a time. He rubbed his forehead. “You’re a beautiful woman …”

He froze.

What did you just say?

Edmund’s face burned.

Abby sneered.

“Go on. You’re about to tell me how women aren’t capable of adventuring. That we’re not smart enough or strong enough. That we have no legal rights. Is that it?” Her tone hardened. “Well, I bet I can beat you two out of three falls. Being short has its advantages, you know, leverage being one of them; I could knock you on your ass more often than you could me.”

She probably could.

“And I bet I know a great deal more about things than you do,” she shouted. “Like about botany, and the topography of this region, and, and … not grabbing a constable like you did!”

Edmund lifted his finger, trying to interject. “Ab—”

“Why, I’m surprised you didn’t take Fatty’s place in the stocks! And don’t be surprised if they come for you soon. They’ll put you away for a week, no matter how much money you have!”

Edmund raised his finger again.

“And another thing: you don’t know diddly about that wedding ring you gave away. It wasn’t the Ring of Hildegard or whatever nonsense you were spouting on about—”

“Ab, Ab … Abby—”

“For your information, it belonged to Hinrich the Second, King of the Hildorim, and it’s worth a bloody fortune. I have a book that proves it!”

“Ab … Abby—”

“It’s a damned relic! And when people learn what you’d done, giving it away like that, they’ll either beat you silly for your stupidity or rob you blind! You stupid, foolish—”

“All right!” Edmund yelled, jumping to his feet.

She’s right, you know. You are an idiot.

He wandered around the room, rubbing his throbbing temples.

I need a glass of wine.

“All right, what?” Abby asked. “That you’re a fool, or that you need me?”

“I don’t need you.”

Edmund moaned. He was exhausted just listening to her, and his head hurt. Putting distance between him and Dardenello before sunrise was becoming less likely by the minute.

“Will … will you just listen to me? Just for a moment? Please?”

He paced.

Abby crossed her legs and laid her gloved hands patiently across her lap. Edmund tried not to look at the soft curve of her calves but failed on several occasions.

“I … I would love to have you …”

What? What did you say?

Edmund waved his hands.

“I … I mean … think about these p-points for a moment, will you? F-f-first … first, you can’t just go about with, with a bunch of middle-aged men you just met! We could be brigands, for all you know, or worse!”

“I can handle myself. And if I need any assistance, I’m sure Fatty will crush you to a bloody pulp if I bat my eyelashes and ask him like a girl.”

She’s crazy.

She smart! I can see it in her eyes. They’re as bright as the Morning Star
…

“Just listen, all right? Think about it from, from, from everybody else’s perspective. They … they might believe we’ve abducted you or something. Your father … your father is a judge, for crying out loud! What would he say if—?”