Briar Rose (18 page)

‘You do this every night?’ she asked.

‘No. I usually eat my meal before the curfew, perhaps have a pint of ale and then sleep here if one of the beasts is unwell or unusually skittish. I’m thinking they’ll be fine
tonight.’

Always her mother’s child, Briar began to catalogue the negatives. ‘What if there is a fire?’

‘The smithy is nearby and he holds a key to the stable. He will free the animals.’

‘What keeps someone from breaking in and stealing a horse?’

‘No one is out after curfew,’ he said curtly. ‘You well know what that’s like.’

She did indeed. Nevertheless, if something happened to Ruric, she wouldn’t last a day. Briar forced herself to shake off that thought and hustled to catch up with him. Long-legged guys
were not always a good thing.

‘I’m taking you to the Inn of the Seven Fools,’ he explained. ‘It’s the best of the lot. Since there are only two inns in the village, that doesn’t say
much.’

The Seven Fools was brightly lit, and from the noise issuing from the open door, it was doing a brisk business.

‘I thought you said people weren’t out after curfew.’

‘They won’t be. They’re having one last ale before they head to their hearths.’ Ruric leaned closer. ‘Be cautious. There are spies everywhere and they will
willingly sell your secret to the regent. Give them no opportunity to do so.’

Briar nodded her understanding, even more nervous now. As they stepped over the inn’s threshold, the scent of roasted meat and yeasty ale assaulted her nose. Instantly her mouth watered
and her stomach growled. More troubling, voices stilled and eyes turned in their direction.

‘Good evening, chandler,’ Ruric said, clapping a pockmarked man on the back. ‘How was trade today?’

The man looked up from his meal. ‘It was fair. And yours?’

‘Not bad. Worth getting out of bed.’

A snort from a nearby table where the reeve studied them with sharp eyes.

‘You have a new mare in your stable that has no owner,’ he said. ‘I’d count your day went very well.’

Ruric’s smile faded. ‘If I were so callous, perhaps. We must remember what it cost that mare’s owner for it to become mine.’

The reeve huffed. ‘I see you still have your cousin tagging after you.’

‘As it should be.’ Ruric gestured for her to join them. ‘Briar, this is John of Leeland, our reeve. John is a man of many talents, most of which involve the consumption of
ale.’

A hearty laugh returned. ‘Do not let this young man lead you astray, girl. He has his
own
vices, though I doubt he will be parading those in front of his cousin.’

Ruric’s good humour faded. ‘Too true. How is the stew tonight?’

‘Good. Worth the coin,’ the man replied.

‘I shall take that as a recommendation.’

Briar was led to a corner table, one with uneven legs, and she found it greasy like everything else in the inn. She gingerly sat on the bench, tucking her feet underneath her skirt.

‘I’ll get us some food,’ Ruric said. ‘Mead or ale?’

Ale didn’t sound that good. ‘Mead’s OK. I’ll deal.’ At his puzzled expression, she added, ‘I’ll make do.’

While Ruric waded back through the crowd towards what seemed to be the bar, Briar checked out the other patrons. There were only three other women in the room, one of whom appeared to be the
innkeeper’s wife. Another was sitting with a young man, laughing at something he’d said. At her feet a spotted mongrel gnawed on a bone.

Most of the others were deep in their cups, beyond the point at which they should be drinking. Voices rose as a vigorous argument began between two men as to how bad the winter would be and if
there would be adequate hay for the livestock.

It all felt wrong somehow. The patrons’ laughter was forced, often interrupted with glances over shoulders, as if they were unsure of whom to trust – except the reeve, who kept a
critical eye on everyone, no doubt to report to his boss. His eyes were on her right now, judging her.

What did he see? Ruric’s cousin or someone who didn’t belong here?

For a brief moment, the bustle of the establishment faded away, as if she were standing outside the curse, looking in. There were the tables and the people and . . . the darkness, the part of
the curse that wanted to kill her. It hovered in the corners like mutant shadows, growing stronger, moving closer the longer she was inside the nightmare. There was no place to hide. She would
always be the foreign body here, the disease the curse would seek to eradicate. It hadn’t been able to do it when she’d first arrived, so now it was recalculating, looking for weakness.
Like a predator stalking its prey.

It was the first time she’d thought of the curse as a sentient thing and it frightened Briar to the core.

As Ruric waited for his food, the third woman sauntered up to him. He smiled as she pulled him into her arms and collected his kiss on a cheek. She whispered something to him, then she gave a
pointed look over her shoulder towards Briar, daring her to intervene.

You skank.

The moment she thought it, the fortune teller’s warning came back to her. Briar had to find her prince or she wasn’t getting out of this alive. Was it possible for Ruric to fall in
love with her? And did he realize just how much she wanted to kick that girl in the shins?

His admirer was still joking with him, but Briar could tell he wasn’t interested. It was the way he held himself, the way he kept his eyes on her, not the wench.

Why did the curse allow Ruric to save her from the wolves? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to leave her unprotected? Or was there a counter-curse at work here, one that had sent her the
fortune teller so she could find a way to survive?

Briar was deep in her thoughts when someone breathed in her face. It wasn’t a good experience. She looked up into two red-rimmed eyes and an overly large crimson nose. The man was so drunk
he was lurching around, unable to keep on his feet.

‘You’re a right fair maid,’ he said, grinning. She smiled back, not sensing any menace.

Ruric returned at just the right moment, jested with the fellow and then made sure he left her alone. Once he’d placed the bowls of stew on the table, he sat down opposite her.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked, following the drunken man’s uneven progress towards the door.

‘Benton lost his son last year. The lad was sure he could break the enchantment so he found a way into the castle and he’s not been seen since. Then Benton’s wife died only a
few months later. He has no solace but the drink now.’

That made Briar’s heart ache. This might seem like a fairy tale, but there was no joy here, no happy ever after. It would be the same for her: in time, the curse would crush her. That was
its job and it wouldn’t stop until it had fulfilled its prime directive.

Pushing that depressing realization aside, she dug into the stew with a crude wooden spoon. A tentative taste told her it was really good and she began eating at a pace that would have earned
her a reprimand from her mother. Ruric didn’t seem to mind, a hint of a smile in place as he addressed his own meal. The dark crusty bread he provided offered the perfect means to soak up the
remaining juices at the bottom of the bowl. By the time she’d finished off her meal, her stomach felt as if it would burst.

Briar slowly sipped on the mead. It was less strong than the drink Ruric had given her earlier in the day. Apparently the innkeeper watered his drinks.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. It would do the family no good to believe I starved you.’ He leaned closer and delicately wiped something off her chin.

Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks warm again. ‘It’s a good thing you’re my cousin,’ she said.

Ruric laughed. ‘Am I that enticing?’

‘You’re . . . nice.’
And handsome and, though you live in a fairytale curse that wants to kill me, you might be my prince.
Or maybe not.

‘I’m only
nice
?’ he said, sounding genuinely offended. ‘How degrading. I am known as a scoundrel in my village, the black sheep of my family, who gambles and
drinks and frequents the bordellos. But to you I am only . . .
nice
.’

Briar frowned. ‘It was a compliment,’ she insisted. ‘You’re nice and kind and you don’t scare me, not like some of these people,’ she said, her eyes trailing
across the room. Three men in particular made her very uncomfortable. They’d been staring at her since she and Ruric had entered the inn.

Her companion’s eyes followed hers. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, his voice quieter now. ‘Your instincts are good.’ He pushed back from the table. ‘I think it is time
we retired, cousin. I have secured us a room for the night.’

He didn’t wait for her reply, but was already on his way to collect a candle from the innkeeper. When he motioned for her to head upstairs, Briar threaded her way through the crowded room,
embarrassed at the ribald comments that came her way. Even the tavern wench gave her a knowing wink.

Knowing it was best to keep up the ruse, Briar headed up the rough-hewn steps, muttering under her breath. Ruric held back, taking his time to light the taper and she realized he was listening
to the men in the corner, the three that had spooked her. When he finally joined her at the top of the stairs, his face was stern.

‘Are they following us?’ she asked, worried.

‘Not yet. It could be said that you’re too pretty for your own good.’

Briar doubted that. She had dirt on her face, her clothes had horse crap on them and she needed a bath and deodorant, both of which seemed to be lacking in this village.

He led her down the hallways to a dinky room, all of about eight by eight feet, if that. There was no bed, and it was only after Ruric had placed the candle in a holder that Briar saw the two
rolled pallets in a corner. Surely he didn’t think they were going to share this tiny bit of real estate? Sleep so close together?

Ruric must have seen the concern on her face. ‘I’ll sleep by the door,’ he said. He pushed open the shutters that covered what served as a window, and leaned out to study the
view. A moth took immediate advantage, fluttering in to check out the candle.

As she watched, Ruric laid out one of the straw-filled mattresses for her and then added a blanket. The other pallet went in front of the door. As soon as he had arranged it the way he liked, he
stretched out. Propping his head on a palm, he watched her inspect the situation.

This is cosy.
Her parents hadn’t let her double date until she was fifteen and now here she was all alone with a guy only a couple of years older than her. One who admitted to
wenching and being a black sheep. If they had known, her folks would be flipping out right now.

Briar turned back to the ‘bed’ and prodded the mattress with a toe, sure it was probably full of fleas and lice and other bitey things. She looked back over at Ruric and found he was
suppressing a smile.

‘Not like in your village?’ he asked innocently.

‘No. We sleep up off the ground and the mattresses are . . . thicker.’
Way thicker.

Briar eased herself to the floor and sat on the pallet. It wasn’t so bad, sort of like a lumpy sleeping bag. It was then she realized that he’d given her the thicker one.

Their eyes met.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything.’

‘I must admit that I wish I wasn’t so honourable. However, that is not the case.’

He does care for me.
That made her feel good. ‘Why are you doing this? You didn’t have to help me.’

‘I would like to think that if my sister were on her own, someone would take care of her without trying to take advantage.’

That was cool. ‘What’s your sister like?’

The smile finally bloomed. ‘Devilish. Sofa climbs trees and dislikes the gowns my mother purchases for her. She wed this last spring and has settled down now, though her husband did remark
that she is still rather wilful. I suspect her daughters will grow up much like her.’ His smile told Briar that he didn’t mind that at all.

He’d made a big slip – poor people couldn’t afford to buy gowns for their daughters. They made everything by hand or bartered for it. It was clear that Ruric was of noble
blood, maybe even a prince.

The fortune teller was right. I did find him.
But now what?

Briar decided not to call him on his verbal slip, holding the secret close to her heart.

‘I climbed trees when I was younger, until I fell out of one,’ she said.’ My mother was always too protective of me. I didn’t get to do much.’

‘It could be said you’re making up for that now.’ He lay down, staring up at the ceiling as the candle cast subtle lines of light and shadow on the side of his face.
‘Tomorrow I will buy black dye so we may make your hair less golden.’

Briar opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it. He was right – she had to hide her hair to remain alive, at least in the short term.

In the semi-darkness, she touched the charms on the bracelet one by one, thinking of her friends and her home and how much she missed them. Of Joshua and the courage it had taken for him to defy
his family.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Ruric observed.

‘I was thinking of my friends back in Bliss.’

‘And the young lad as well?’

‘Yes.’

‘I did not see love written upon your face when you speak of him. Why is that?’

‘He’s . . . not my type.’

‘What sort of man do you seek?’ Ruric asked.

‘A prince,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

He looked at her long and hard, his expression unreadable.

‘I hope you will find what you seek.’