Never Kiss A Stranger (12 page)

Alys was reaching for the only thing left—the roll of bandages—when Layla scampered over and snatched up the old ball of cloth and began to worry at it.

“It’s no toy, Layla, give it over.” Alys leaned forward and swiped at the monkey’s hands, snagging the end of the bandage in her fingertips. “Give it, before he comes back and we’re both caught.”

Layla chattered indignantly and threw the ball forcefully at Alys. It bounced off of her cheek and to the ground, unrolling like a skinny rug as she held on to its end. As the last bit unfurled, it spit a small golden object onto the dirt.

After an instant of disbelief, Alys raced the monkey to the piece and snatched it up just as Layla screamed with frustration.

“Oh, stop,” she muttered, holding the golden thing between her thumb and forefinger and peering at it.

It was a ring, made of thick, hammered gold. At its center was a dark, oval carnelian stone, engraved with a bold letter M.

“Em,” Alys mused aloud. “Mallory, perhaps? But why would Piers have the Mallory signet ring? Bevan was Warin Mallory’s only son.”

Don’t be so certain.

Alys frowned at Layla, working out the riddle aloud. “Judith Angwedd is not Piers’s mother. Bevan is his stepbrother, and Bevan tried to kill Piers. Piers alluded to the fact that Bevan was not Warin Mallory’s only—oh!” Alys
gasped and Layla chattered nervously. “Piers is Mallory’s son, as well! But, then Bevan would be his half brother, not step. And ‘tis obvious that ugly oaf is of Judith Angwedd’s issue. Bevan would only be Pier’s stepbrother if Piers was Warin Mallory’s son and …
and Bevan was not!”

Alys let her hand holding the ring drop to her lap as her mouth hung open. She continued to advise Layla, who was now sitting on her heels with both small hands over her eyes.

“Piers is on his way to see the king, and Judith Angwedd and Bevan are desperate to stop him, even to see him dead. It all makes sense now! Piers is trying to take Gillwick from Bevan!
Piers is the rightful lord of Gillwick Manor!”

Alys’s breath huffed out of her disbelievingly as Layla scampered away to sit atop their bag and worry at the fur over one knee, as if the monkey was trying to ignore her. Alys looked down at the ring once more.

“He is noble,” she whispered. “Sybilla
would
allow it.” Her head turned, and she stared down the river where Piers had disappeared. “I knew the Foxe Ring couldn’t be wrong.”

Then she hurriedly gathered up the string of bandage and rewrapped the ring, shoving it deep into the bottom of the pack once more. She retied the flap closed and placed the pack in what she hoped was a nonchalant position against her own limp bag. She adjusted its slouch twice for effect.

Her thoughts tumbled, like the river over the rocks below. She couldn’t be certain of what she suspected of course, not until Piers confirmed it. But she was just certain enough now to not give up on him.

“A celebration is in order,” Alys said to Layla. She patted her thigh while she gained her feet, and the monkey came
scampering, climbing her skirt in a blink to sit on her shoulder. She picked up her bag and untied the drawstring, holding the bag open by its edges.

“Go on,” she said to Layla, and shrugged her shoulder. “I know you don’t like it, but I can’t leave you behind and you’ll have a great treat once we’re through.”

Once Layla was safely—albeit resentfully—confined, Alys drew the strap across her body. She paused in thought for only an instant before seizing and then shrugging into Piers’s too-big pack. Then she left the rock shelter and began to climb the bank.

Alys knew she was taking a grave risk by following the road into Pilings, even though she didn’t let her shoes so much as touch the packed dirt. She skipped-ran along the fringe of trees in her haste, one arm around the warm lump that was Layla, to keep from offending the monkey too much with her hurried passage. But she had to find some way to be of use to Piers, to get him to trust her. Perhaps by gaining them some much-needed supplies, he would feel her more worthy as a traveling companion, and even a friend.

Alys wondered with a wry lift of her mouth if all wives struggled so to gain their husbands’ confidence.

He was rough, she admitted readily. Like a field dressed side of meat, rolled around in the dirt. Show him a bit of washing up though, expose his toughened hide to a generous warmth, and he could very possibly be quite delicious. Never in her life had she been responsible for another person’s wants or needs—not even her own, really, and Alys was determined to win this challenge. If she had to steal, she would steal. But she would not return
to the little camp by the river without the booty she set out for.

And besides, she was starving. She hadn’t eaten a morsel in two days; Layla, since the night before. She already knew that Piers’s bag was devoid of anything to eat. So unless he came back from his toilette with a feral chicken, they were all in desperate need of food.

As she hurried, looking around her all the time for sign of him or anyone else following her, she was also taking stock of her appearance. Both her fine cloak and the worn woolen gown beneath it were filthy from sleeping on the ground, full of bits of leaves and winter nettle. She held out one hand to inspect her fingers—disgusting. The creases of her knuckles and undersides of her nails were packed with black dirt. She turned her hand over and saw a thick layer of dried mud—likely from when she had thrown the clod of dirt at Piers. Should she wipe her hands on her skirt, ‘twould only serve to worsen her appearance. She frowned. She could see the dwellings just ahead through the last bend of trees. With the awkward burdens of Piers’s pack and her own bag, her cloak could only conceal a portion of her common skirt. Anyone happening upon her in the village would indeed take her for a thief or a—

“A beggar!” Alys said aloud with a grin. Of course! Should she scamper in to town, a clean and tidy woman walking along the road alone in a sable-lined cloak, it would only serve to raise suspicion and interest. She came to an abrupt halt.

Alys slid out of the pack and eased Layla’s confinement to the ground, then took off her cloak and hid it away in Piers’s pack. She looked fondly at her filthy palm once more before scrubbing the crumbly dirt all over her
cheeks and forehead, while Layla chattered and writhed and fought within the bag on the side of the road.

“Fear not, noble Layla—your captivity will be short. A beggar, they will want to be rid of rather quickly.” She paused suddenly as another idea came into her head. She quickly jerked the tie out of her hair, wincing as several strands went with it, and then bent to the ground, swiping up a large handful of the forest floor. She raked the molding leaves and twigs through her hair, tangling and snarling her locks until they stood out from her face in crazy, dirty lumps.

“There! A
mad
beggar, they will wish gone immediately!” She reclaimed Piers’s pack and hitched her sack over her head to seat the strap across her chest. “Sorry, girl. Ow! Don’t pinch!” She gave the bundled monkey a light pat through the bag and then she skittered around the curve of forest and breached Pilings behind the farthest row of cottages.

The settlement was largely quiet, save for the honking of some goose across the town and the sharp ringing sound of perhaps someone banging a spoon against the side of a pot. A dog barked twice, from a safe distance away, and then all was silent.

Alys stepped carefully along the narrow avenue of daubed wall and wood, her crunching footsteps making her wince. She pulled a face as she realized there was no rear window on the north wall of this particular cottage. She came to the corner of the house and slowly, slowly peered around it. The village center was straight ahead, and empty. She bolted across the twenty or so feet to duck behind the next cottage backing the wood. She reckoned in this manner, she could make her way around the entire town without being seen.

The rear of the next cottage was also devoid of anything useful, as was the one after. She was coming upon the far corner of her current cover, growing more cross with each impatient step, when she ran full body into the woman coming around the side of the house.

The woman, matronly and kind-faced, cried out and threw up her hands, dropping her shallow basket of kitchen scraps. Alys stepped back quickly, and then, remembering her ruse, dropped into a crouch.

“Halloo, halloo! Don’t ‘urt me, milady, I beg of ye!” Alys was rather proud of her put-on accent.

“Good gracious, child!” the woman gasped, and took in Alys’s appearance with a look of distrust. “Just who might you be, and what business have you sneaking about the backside of my house?”

“Only hopin’ fer some small scrap to eat, milady.” Alys bobbed her head and grinned like an idiot. It was quite difficult to keep from laughing outright at the woman’s horrified expression. “Would ye ‘ave mercy on a poor beggar?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you one of the wood people?”

Alys froze. She wasn’t certain if the village woman truly thought her to be one of the storied rebels who, according to legend, dwelt invisibly among the trees, or if the question was some sort of test, and so she didn’t know which answer would best help her mission.

“You can tell me if you are,” the woman continued. “I vow I shan’t turn you in.”

Alys nodded her head once quickly, and waited.

“Oh, you unfortunate thing!” The woman pressed a palm to her bosom. “I just knew they were in a poor state, no matter the rumors. Did they turn you out?”

Alys nodded again, completely baffled by the conversation she was participating in. The woman seemed convinced that Alys was a character from a fictional tale.

“They says I’s mad,” Alys whispered. “‘No food for you! Get out!’ they says.”

The woman pressed her lips together and shook her head. Then her face grew thoughtful. “You’re Ella’s girl, are you not? Your hair, it—”

Alys nodded again. The situation was growing more strange by the moment.

“I thought as much.” The matron smiled sympathetically. “You’d be what? Fourteen now? I haven’t seen you since you were just walking. I must say I’m not a bit surprised for the way they’ve treated you, the lawless heathens.”

Fourteen?
Alys cried to herself in outrage. But outwardly, she smiled and bobbed her head again. “Can you ‘elp me, milady? I’d return to … to me mother and make amends. May’ap I ‘ad some little thing to take ‘er…? A piece of bread or … or a pig. Or a lovely, lovely chair.”

The woman winced. “Of course, of course.” She looked over her shoulder quickly and then held her palms toward Alys.
“You stay here,”
she said slowly and emphatically. She pantomimed along with the rest of her words. “I’ll bring you some food. If my husband sees you—
very cross.”
She frowned and shook her head.

Alys nodded, grinned, gave a sniffling laugh. “Husband cross. Mean. Grr!” Alys raked her fingers through the air like claws and tried not to laugh at the thought of her own husband being slightly put-out with her as well, if he only knew where she was.

“That’s right. So you stay here.” The woman backed slowly away and then turned with a swirl of her plain skirt and disappeared around the side of the cottage.

Alys stood upright with a sigh and stretched her neck by rolling her head. It was difficult work, playing at being mad. Her jaws ached and her knees trembled. She shoved her arm down into her sack, her fingers searching for the little purse. Her fingers fought with the drawn opening while Layla clung to her arm.

“Layla!” Alys whispered through her teeth at the bag, as her fingers tentatively found their intended item and she fought to withdraw her hand from the monkey’s clutches. “Get off!
Let go!
”

The woman came around the side of the house, a rough sack in her arms, just in time to hear Alys’s words, and see her jerk her arm out of the bag’s opening. Alys quickly resumed her previously subservient posture.

“And good day once more, milady!” she keened. At her side, Layla fought and tumbled in the bag, bumping very obviously against her hip.

The woman frowned, and her eyes dropped to the writhing sack warily. “What have you in there, child?”

Alys blinked, her mind searching for a logical reply. “A monkey.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she rolled her lips inward for a moment. “A monkey. Of course you do.”

Alys took a step forward. “Do ye wish to see ‘er? She likely wouldn’t bite ye.”

The woman stepped back quickly. “No! No, that’s quite alright. Well, then, here you are.” She stretched out her arms as far as they would reach, Alys assumed to avoid coming any closer to her than was absolutely necessary. Alys reached out and took the bag with a wide grin and bob of her entire body.

“There’s some meat, and a few other small things, as well. All I could lay hand to quickly without the husband seeing. May God bless us both with it, you poor child.”

Alys shuffled closer to the woman, who cringed for an instant when Alys’s closed fist shot out toward her.

“Fer yer kindness, milady.”

The woman held up her palms with a nervous smile. “No. You may keep whatever it is.”

Alys let a genuine smile replace the mad grin she had been keeping thus far. “Please. I would not be indebted to you, nor take from your family’s mouths without repayment.”

The woman frowned faintly and then after a moment, hesitantly held out her palm, wrapping her fingers around the item Alys placed there, never taking her eyes from her.

Alys kept her true smile as she asked, “Would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of London?”

The woman nodded absently toward the forest, the opposite side of town from which Alys had come. “Simply follow the road.”

Alys gave her best curtsey. “I thank you. Good day, milady!” Then she turned and ran straight into the wood at her back.

After the little blond thing was gone, the village woman opened her hand warily. In her palm lay a shining gold coin.

She looked into the darkening wood with a frown as she heard the sound of riders approaching like the start of a landslide.