Blood Moon (4 page)

His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t just that
he doubted her word. She sensed he didn’t like the answer, though
she was at a loss to know why. “A beautiful woman has more suitors
than she has need of. Try again. The truth this time.”

Aslyn blushed. She wasn’t certain
whether it was because of the compliment, or because he’d so easily
seen through the lie. “I did not realize this was an
interrogation,” she said stiffly, evasively.

An expression, almost of amusement,
crossed his features. “You were never in any doubt of
it.”

That was certainly to the point. Any
doubts Aslyn might have nursed that his curiosity was out of a
personal interest were neatly disposed of. Aslyn felt her blush
deepen. “My betrothed … died,” she responded tightly.

He frowned. A look, almost of anger,
flickered in his eyes. Obviously, he did not care for her answer.
“And it is for this reason you went on pilgrimage?”

Flustered, Aslyn burned her finger when
she dropped the needle into the water, which had begun to boil at
last. Instinctively, she shoved the injured finger in her mouth.
When she looked at Kale once more, she saw that his gaze had been
drawn by the action to her mouth. The look in his eyes sent
something warm and liquid flowing through her, wreaking further
havoc within her.

She snatched her throbbing finger from
her mouth and shoved it into the snow. “Mostly, yes,” she said,
responding at last to his question.

His gaze, she saw with a good deal of
discomfort, had not left her lips. Slowly, as if it was an effort
to pull himself away, his gaze moved up her face and locked with
her own.

“So … you crossed the channel to make
pilgrimage through a foreign land … instead of your
own.”

Aslyn looked down at her
finger, examining it, though she knew the burn was as nothing. “No.
I traveled within my own country and
then
crossed the channel.”

Amusement lit his features, gleaming in
his eyes. “One must wonder what you could have done that would make
you feel the need for such an extensive pilgrimage.”

Aslyn didn’t know how to respond to
that. Thankfully, she was not required to. The squire approached
them to report that they’d managed to right the cart and repair it
enough for travel.

The huntsman rose abruptly. “We should
be on our way, then and see if we can pick up the
trail.”

Chapter Three

The cart was full almost to overflowing
with family and household goods by the time the soldiers had helped
Jim and his wife onto it. Enid turned to smile at Aslyn. “Find
yourself a spot on the back.”

Aslyn looked at the cart doubtfully.
“Thank you, but I believe I’ll walk beside the cart.”

Aslyn was acutely conscious of the
party of men behind them, watching their departure. She was not
aware of Kale, however, until he swept her off her feet. Stunned,
she stared up at him, her mouth slightly agape as he strode toward
the creeping cart and deposited her on a mound of linens in the
back.

Without a word, he turned, strode back
to his horse and mounted. Pulling the horses about, the group
departed in the same direction from whence they’d come. Aslyn
watched until they became black specks and finally disappeared over
a rise.

The ‘town’ of Krackensled, Aslyn saw as
the cart slowly rumbled up the main thoroughfare, was little more
than a large village, though it boasted a maze of crisscrossing
roads lined with cottages and a few shops, and as poverty stricken
as the majority of the bergs she had seen in her travels. She had
learned to expect it. She had not learned to accept it.

Her nurse had often tried to impress
upon her that life was not fair, that one should not expect it to
be. Fairness was a concept of civilized man that directly opposed
the laws of nature. Nature randomly selected individuals and gifted
them with beauty, or superior strength or intelligence … or not.
Those with superior strength or cleverness had long since
established dominance for their line in the days when true
civilization was born. Everyone else was left to scramble for
survival.

The rich inherited wealth. The poor
inherited more babies, to make them more poor still, except,
perhaps, in joy or love. But, however joyful the occasion of a new
addition to the family, Aslyn found it difficult to believe the joy
could outlast the toil required to rear them, or the heartache of
burying them, as was so often the case with the poor.

That was not to say, of course, that
the poor were passed over when nature bestowed beauty, superior
strength or intelligence. She’d seen enough to dispel the
prejudices of wealth and privilege she’d been born to. It was
merely that those who were fortunate enough to receive those
attributes in poverty found them more a curse than a gift. Her own
poverty since she’d fled her home had taught her that
lesson.

Without the protection of wealth and
position, a beautiful girl only became prey for the privileged. The
strong were reduced to the status of beast of burden and the
intelligent were left to rot in ignorance.

Life was, most assuredly, not
fair.

Despite the size of the town, the
streets were almost deserted. Aslyn wondered if this was due to the
season’s inclement weather, the rumors Enid had told her of, or
merely typical of the town, which, in truth, did not seem large
enough to attract a great deal of commerce. The few people they
passed on the road stopped, watching the slow progress of the
cart.

Aslyn had learned to gauge the
desirability of remaining in a town by the expressions she
encountered on the way in. Towns seemed to have a life essence of
their own. Some gave one the feeling of welcome. As often as not,
they gave one the feeling that one’s departure would be more
welcome.

Krackensled seemed to fall somewhere
between the two. The expressions of those they passed were neither
sullen, not friendly. They were mildly curious or
reserved.

Aslyn interpreted that to mean that it
would be safe enough to stay for a short time and that, if she had
arrived alone, it would not have been.

Jim pulled the cart to a stop beside a
rickety shack near the very edge of town. It looked as if it had
been abandoned for some time. With an effort, she struggled down
from her perch and looked around as Jim and Enid did the same. “The
healer, Gershin, lived here. I thought, if you were satisfied with
it, I could talk to the landlord for you and see if he would agree
to the same terms he’d had with Gershin.”

It looked dismal, but beggars could not
be choosers. “Do you know the terms?”

Enid shrugged. “Most likely service for
his family and a tithe of what you earn in service to
others.”

Aslyn nodded. She’d expected as much.
“That sounds reasonable enough. Are you certain you don’t mind the
task? I could speak to him myself.”

Enid shook her head. “Likely as not,
he’d try to gouge you. We owe you as it is and I expect you’ll need
to look in on Jim again. If you’d be willing to accept it as part
of what we owe…?”

Aslyn smiled, relieved by the offer. In
her past experience, landlords had been inclined to consider they
might as well barter for ‘special’ favors while they were about it,
as soon as they discovered she was unwed and traveling without a
companion. “Certainly.”

As Enid turned her steps toward the
heart of town, Jim jogged the ox into motion, turned the cart down
a narrow alley, and disappeared beyond a structure almost as
ramshackle as the one that had belonged to Gershin. Aslyn caught a
glimpse of him and the cart once more as he reached a road that ran
parallel to the one where she stood and turned back toward the
heart of town. She supposed they’d settled it between them that Jim
would take their belongings to begin unloading while Enid made
arrangements.

Aslyn turned to survey her new domain.
It looked worse than any of the other cottages that lined the dirt
packed road, but only by a little. Sighing, she made her way to the
door. It was not locked, but the wood had swollen with moisture and
was no doubt sealed with ice, as well. She’d battered bruises on
her shoulder before she managed to pry the door open sufficiently
to squeeze inside. Without any light source, the interior should
have looked much like the cave she’d sheltered in the night before,
for the house had been constructed of sod and thatch and boasted
not a single window. Unfortunately, there were more than a few
unplanned ‘lights’, allowing sufficient illumination for her to
make out the contents.

Without surprise, she saw that it
consisted of only one room. A few rickety pieces of furniture
littered the space. In the far back was a cot … no doubt crawling
with vermin. Aslyn debated briefly with herself, but decided she
was confident that Enid would prevail in her negotiations with the
landlord. That being the case, she saw no reason to wait upon word
when she could be working at making the place a bit more
comfortable.

Moving back to the door, she peered at
the hinges and discovered the leather was rotted on the upper
hinge. It had begun to separate, allowing the door to sag. Lifting
up on the door, she opened it wide to let in more light and,
hopefully, allow some of the musty odors trapped inside to
escape.

She was reluctant even to touch the
mattress, but she most certainly had no intention of using it until
it had been thoroughly aired. Grasping one end, she lifted it from
the rope frame. Expecting it to be heavy with moist, and probably
rotting, straw, Aslyn discovered that the mattress, no doubt filled
with down, was surprisingly light. Having braced herself for more
weight than she’d encountered, Aslyn staggered back a couple of
steps as the down filled bedding flew toward her, tripped over
something lying on the dirt packed floor, and landed on her rump so
hard it jarred the pins from her hair so that they tumbled around
her shoulders.

A snicker greeted her
mishap.

She turned to glare at the intruder and
her heart skipped several beats. A man stood in the open portal,
blocking much of the light. She needed none, however. His armor was
enough to tell her two things; he was a stranger; and he was a
knight, which meant he was a potential threat. She got up with as
much dignity as she could muster. “May I help you?” she asked
coolly.

“I was told I might find the healer
here. Might you be her daughter? Or have I the wrong
cottage?”

A patient … already? Aslyn grasped her
hair and quickly coiled it at the base of her skull once more,
jabbing pins into it to hold it in place. Smoothing her skirts, she
stepped forward. “I am the healer.”

He stepped inside, dwarfing the tiny
cottage. “I hadn’t expected….”

Aslyn ground her teeth but cut him off
before he could voice doubts regarding her skill due to her tender
years. “Neither had I expected anyone to arrive so soon. I am not
even settled in, having arrived in Krackensled less than an hour
ago. Is your need urgent? If not, perhaps you could return at a
later time, when I’ve had a chance to settle in?”

“Alas, dear lady, I am afraid it cannot
wait. If it were for myself I would gladly wait upon your
convenience. My man, I fear, cannot.”

Aslyn’s shoulders slumped. She glanced
around the tiny cottage, but it did not magically appear clean,
and, save for the dirt floor, there was no place for his man to lie
so that she could attend him. On the other hand, if she attended
him outside, like as not, he would be lying upon the snow. “You can
bring him in here. I’ll need some light. I’ve not a candle to my
name, nor lantern, nor even torch.”

He nodded and stepped outside again. In
a few moments, the door was blocked once more, this time by three
shadows, two men carrying a third. It took some maneuvering to
negotiate the narrow doorway, but finally they laid the injured man
upon the floor and departed. The knight entered as they left,
carrying a torch. After looking around the room and discovering
there were no brackets to receive it, he shrugged and held it so
that it fell upon his man’s chalk white features.

Aslyn knelt beside the injured man. He
was unconscious and bloody from head to foot. It was impossible to
even tell where the blood was coming from. “What
happened?”

The knight shrugged. “We found him thus
at first light. He’d been left on watch.”

“This morn?” Aslyn demanded, aghast.
“And he has not been attended … at all?”

Again, the knight shrugged. “There were
none among us with knowledge of healing. We brought him here
because it was the closest town.”

The man was dead. At a guess, he had
been for some time. “There was none among you who knew how to plug
a hole?” Aslyn asked tightly.

To her chagrin, the knight grinned
suggestively. “Indeed, every man of us will avow to a good deal of
skill in … uh … plugging holes, but it makes the task easier when
it’s surrounded by a thatch of hair.”

Aslyn blushed fierily, but only a
little of it was due to his frankly sexual remark. Primarily, she
was furious, both at his cavalier attitude toward ‘his man’ and
because not one among them had taken the time to bind the man’s
wounds. He might well have died anyway, but he had not even had the
chance to live. She got to her feet. “I’ve no skill in resurrecting
the dead. I’m afraid I can do nothing for him.”