Roses & Thorns (4 page)

Angelique
wasn't certain how long they'd been driving, although she was grateful for the
time alone. She hadn't expected to cry. It was something she seldom did. But
after a bit, her tears stopped, and she became more aware of her surroundings.

It
was as grand a carriage as the six matched horses had suggested. Its simple
lines outside, however, had given little hint to the extent of luxury within.
She sat facing forward on a full bench lined in crushed, red velvet. The seat
was thickly padded and slanted back at a comfortable angle so that the larger
bumps and potholes did not throw her about too severely. Across from Angelique
was a half-bench, similarly cushioned. Beside it stood a cabinet which had deep
holes set into its top for decanters. A glass covered tray with fruits and
sweetbreads was nestled into the cabinet-top next to a decanter of wine. On the
wall beside the cabinet, where a window should have been, leather pockets were
neatly arranged to hold glasses and silverware. Small lanterns flanked the
doors, delicate pink-glassed chimneys hanging in little brass rings. Directly
above them were narrow slits in the roofing which drew the smoke away when they
were lit.

But
what most took her breath away, however, was the slender vase affixed to the
wall beside the door she had entered. It held a single pink rose, a bud barely
in bloom. Angelique lifted it gently from the glass, wary of thorns, only to
find someone had carefully stripped it of those sharp barbs. She wondered again
about this lonely noble who lived in such isolation.

There
was a knock at the door, but, before she could respond, the door opened without
the carriage halting and Culdun climbed deftly in. He took the seat opposite
her. "I trust that I am not intruding, my Lady?"

"No,
not at all."

He
nodded in satisfaction, settling himself more comfortably as he tugged down the
sleeves of his coat. Angelique noticed the box step that had been built into
the floor beneath his seat. It compensated for the man's shorter height, so
that his feet could rest there instead of dangling.

"I
see you found the rose."

Angelique
smiled, again lifting the pale bud to smell the light, sweet scent. "Was
this your doing, Culdun?"

His
smile was kind as he answered, "I admit I'd been thinking I should, miss.
But as it turned out, I found my Liege had already attended to it... just as
you were hoping."

She
laughed faintly. "Am I so transparent?"

"No,
only nervous. It's the least one can expect given the circumstances, isn't
it?"

His
eyes lost their tenderness, replaced by a searching intensity. Angelique
frowned, trying to decipher the unspoken part of his question.

"I'm
sorry." He passed a hand tiredly over his face. "I’ve
come
to offer you a chance for questions, not make you frown."

"Questions?"

"Aye,"
he grinned broadly, gray eyes twinkling again. "Such as how long is the
journey?"

"I
was curious," Angelique admitted cheerfully.

"Well,
that depends on you."

"Oh?"

"We've
fresh horses posted along the way, and it's quite possible to pull straight
through. But traveling is not much fun for the less experienced. My Liege has
no wish to exhaust you for the sake of a day or two. If we drive through, we'll
arrive tomorrow afternoon."

"So
soon?"

"Aye,
we've a swift lot of horses. However, we've also brought pavilions and comforts
for overnights if you'd rather stop for the evenings. In that case, we'd be out
for three or three-and-a-half days."

"Sounds
like an awful lot of bother for just one person's comfort," Angelique
mused.

Culdun
chuckled, but assured her, "It would not be a bother, miss. And I do not
expect you to answer me now or in the hour. You simply manage as far as you
feel capable and then tell us. We'll call a halt for you. If you feel the need
to stretch your legs, we can make a stop at any time you'd like. And, of
course, you're always welcome to walk about when the horses are being
changed."

"That
is most kind. But I must say I disagree with you, Culdun," Angelique
murmured with a half-smile, eyes on the rose in her hand. "You are taking
an awful lot of trouble over me."

His
responding laughter was soft and friendly, making Angelique feel less alone
than she had for years.

"What
else may I ask you, Culdun?"

"What
else would you like to know, my Lady?"

She
moistened her lips, her mind jumbled with all the things Aloysius had not been
able to say. "Can you tell me about...?"

"My
Liege?"

Anxiously,
she nodded.

"What
has your father said?"

"Very
little."

"And
yet you are here?" Suspicion suddenly separated him from her again.

Angelique's
voice was firm. "My reasons are my own, Culdun."

"Mistress,"
he acknowledged, tipping his head, his growing respect evident. "I did not
mean to pry."

She
held her silence then, turning to replace the rose before wrapping her shawl
more securely around her. As her gaze drifted to the window and the passing
scenery, Culdun waited patiently.

The
carriage rattled and swayed over a particularly bad bit of road. Angelique
barely seemed to notice, but when they had settled into a smoother ride, she
ventured, "Does he have a name Culdun?"

"A
given name? Drew."

"Andrew?"
She looked at him finally.

"Drew,"
Culdun repeated succinctly.

"Aloysius
said," her gaze returned to the window, "his — my Liege's father was
a count?"

"Parents?
Yes, Drew's father was a nobleman. Drew' mother died in childbirth. There was a
stepmother. She came in the later years. But for a long time there was only the
father and the child. I must admit, I did not know the parents. They did not
live at this estate."

Angelique
nodded faintly. "There is a village?"

"Yes,
it is a small community hidden in the woods beyond the palace grounds. There
are common lands for farming. A good forest for hunting, although we do not
grant outsiders hunting privileges. Not even for wolves. My Liege is strongly
committed to the safety of all within our little valley and that protection
extends to the animals of our forests as well as to the people. And since we
are self-sufficient, my Liege has never found reason to humor the neighboring
poachers. Hunting for sport is simply not allowed."

Angelique
raised her eyebrows in response to this bit of information.

"You
disapprove of this policy?" Culdun prompted watching her closely.

"It
is..." She hesitated, shaking her head and choosing hi words carefully.
"It is a different perspective. It seems reasonable…

"But?"

"The
villagers do not object?" Her brothers were always speculating about
bounties for wolf pelts. She imagined many families could have used such extra
money. But if the village prospered, what need would they have for that
dangerous sport?

Angelique
realized suddenly that Culdun had not answered her. She shifted about, nestling
comfortably into the corner, and faced him. His eyes were studying her again.
She said nothing to distract him, but rather folded her hands and waited.

Culdun
began to nod, and then he murmured, "Your father said you were
independent."

Angelique
blushed, but admitted, "I have been so accused."

His
voice took on a much more assured tone. "I think the man was right. You
have a mind of your own." He made it sound like a compliment, and it drew
a smile from her. "Will you permit me to show you something?"

At
her curious nod, he began to shed his coat. "Our villagers are—" he
grinned crookedly, "of a different perspective too. We would each give our
life for our Liege. The valley has become a sanctuary for us as well as for the
animals.

"Originally
my folk came from the deep woods of England and from the Emerald Isles beyond.
Centuries ago most of us were forced into exile. It was a bitter time, and I
still vividly remember that last battle of my childhood." He rolled back
his sleeves and astonishment chased aside the confusion his words had created.
Culdun smiled again. He was pleased at the curiosity that made her lean forward
as he extended his arms.

"My
folk are known simply as the Old Ones." Angelique shook her head, not
recognizing the reference, and Culdun nodded. "Few remember us. We were
scattered. Some fled to the northern icelands. Some crossed the sea to try and
begin again in the Great Forest. A few stayed, hiding scavenging like animals
in the deeper woods. But mostly we crossed the dividing waters and sought a new
way among your Continent's peoples. We were not well received. We appeared odd.
We were too short for laborers. We were too clever to be trustworthy. With our
painted bodies, we were seen as too heathen to be—"

"No,"
Angelique breathed in protest, gazing at the magnificent writhing coils of
vines and snakes. "The work is beautiful. Surely beyond the metalwork
crafts."

"Even
the snakes?" he challenged boldly, turning his arms and flexing the
tendons, to make the images seem to come alive.

Angelique
offered a quizzical expression and sat back in her seat. "Why would
someone not like snakes? I have come to respect the guardianship of a great
many garden snakes, Culdun. I prefer stepping around them in the barn and
fields as opposed to chasing filthy rats with my broom."

"These
are not garden snakes, mistress," he warned softly.

"Ah,
then I am mistaken? You are not here as my guardian?"

His
lips curled slowly, and the soft laughter began again.

Angelique
shared his smile, adding quietly, "There are a great many sorts of
guardians, Culdun."

"And
I am merely one with a different perspective?"

"So
it would seem."

Her
sleep that night was fitful. Not from the rock and sway of the carriage, but
rather from dreams. Aloysius' nervous eyes stared out of vine-latticed prisons
as shimmering red and blue snakes guided her down a path, their bodies glowing
as they kept the darkness at bay. But only until she reached the end of the
road and then there was nothing but a portal into blackness. And so Angelique
welcomed the jostling which kept waking her. She was not prepared to find what
that blackness was hiding.

For
the most part, Culdun rode up top with the driver. He shared meals with her,
producing lavishly filled baskets full of all sorts of cheeses, meats, and
sweets. He lit the pink chimney lanterns at dusk, and once she even awakened to
find a soft, quilted coverlet and satin pillow had been arranged around her for
comfort.

She
was touched by Culdun's concern, but the fact that he had not awakened her with
his movements was alarming. After years of tending an invalid mother, Angelique
knew only too well that she should have noticed the touch of Culdun's hand, but
calmed herself by remembering that Culdun had spent many years learning to move
this quietly. But as the next day wore on, Angelique began to admit that the
little knot in the pit of her stomach was not simply nervousness. It was fear.

She
was a fairly clever woman. It would have taken far less to draw her suspicions,
especially where Aloysius' adroit use of half-truths was involved. But she had
been preoccupied with the rational, typical sorts of things he might so
conveniently overlook.

Now
Angelique realized, much more than the usual details must have been neglected.
Culdun was of a very different kind of person. In fact, she was now certain he
was not quite mortal. She had to wonder at what sort of person could claim the
loyalty of a folk who were not-quite-mortal. Her mind said it was likely a
person who was not-quite-mortal himself. But what did such a person want with a
very mortal bride?

Culdun's
worry for her waning appetite and growing silence resurfaced at lunch. Again he
had asked if she agreed with the terms of the proposal; it was not too late to
be returned home. She had assured him that it was the anticipation she was
finding difficult, not her regrets. When he left her alone, Angelique realized
that not once had she considered returning to the dreary prison of Aloysius' house.
Instead, her thoughts had been singularly absorbed with the fears of the
mysteries to come — her fear that she would prove inadequate in meeting the
challenges ahead. No, it had not been regrets which plagued her.

The
insight lent some relief, and the rhythmic jostling of the carriage began to
lull her into a less fretful sleep. The air was warm. The sun filtered
cheerfully through the wooded ceiling that branched above the road, and for a
short time she slept, feeling safe.

When
Angelique woke it was to the sound of voices outside the carriage. Culdun's
back blocked the door's window as he stood on the step, speaking to another on
horseback.