The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (32 page)

“I
wanted you out of the rain, lest you be chilled,” Rhys answered as if sorely
tried by his wife. He exchanged a glance with the ostler, who looked most
sympathetic before he ducked away, leading the horses to the stables. The
innkeeper came to the portal, taking care to remain out of the rain, while Rhys
urged Madeline closer to warmth and a hearty meal.

“So,
I am chilled and prepared to retch, thanks to your thoughtlessness.” Madeline
snapped. “It is a foul combination, sir, and one I would have readily forgone.”

Rhys
pretended to take umbrage at this. “Then you should not have insisted that we
had to visit your mother immediately!” He flung out one hand. “You might have
been home in your own bed this night but for your own demand. You cannot be
warm at home and warm at your mother’s abode on the same night!”

The
innkeeper bit back a smile at this exchange, and gestured grandly to his humble
inn. They stepped through the door and were immediately perused by the dozen or
so men gathered there to drink. The smoke stung Rhys’ eyes and it was dark, but
he did not think he knew anyone in that chamber.

Though
it was impossible to be certain that no one knew him. The men glanced up and
Rhys was afraid.

Madeline
began to behave like a spoiled child. “How could I remain in that unholy place
you insist upon calling my home? My mother will aid me with this child you have
put in my belly, my mother will show me kindness as no one in your cursed
household will do!”

“But,
my dear...” Rhys did not know what to do, much less what a doting husband
should do. He glanced to the innkeeper, then to the other men gathered there,
all of whom took a sudden and considerable interest in their cups of ale.

Indeed,
they turned their backs upon the feuding couple and ignored them.

Madeline
burst into tears, so adept at pretending to be a distraught woman that Rhys was
discomfited. “All I asked was to visit my mother!” she wailed. “All I asked was
to have a good husband! What sin have I committed in my days to deserve this
unkind fate?” She pushed him aside and swatted his arm. “You liked me well
enough before your own seed made me fat!”

The
innkeeper cleared his throat. “Perhaps the good sir would prefer a chamber,
that the lady might slumber in privacy?”

“That
would be most fitting,” Rhys said.

“And
a bath!” Madeline cried. “I would sell my soul, sir, for a hot bath.” She
leaned closer to confide in this innkeeper. “We have only one servant in his
abode, and she is the most lazy creature I have ever seen with my own eyes. She
is fortunate that I did not insist upon her accompanying us, for my mother
would take a switch to her!”

“I
have no doubt that a bath can be had for a slightly more reasonable price,”
Rhys interrupted, feeling some irritation that he was being cast in such
unfavorable light. He nodded to the innkeeper. “A cup of ale, a bowl of hearty
stew and a piece of bread will go far in restoring my lady’s mood, to be sure.”

“Of
course, sir. I have a chamber at the top of the stairs, which overlooks the
street. If you will be so kind as to follow me?”

“One
piece of bread?” Madeline snarled as they followed the innkeeper up the narrow
staircase. “I could eat six! This child has made me ravenous and you, you would
save a penny rather than see me granted a decent meal. With such cruelty, I
shall end up bearing you a dark child, so shriveled that even the fairies will
not have any desire of stealing it.”

Rhys
barely kept himself from giving her a shake. “I thought you were too ill to eat
much.”

The
lock upon the door seemed to require every mote of the innkeeper’s attention.

Madeline
straightened like a queen on the threshold of the chamber and glared at Rhys.
“I shall do what I must to ensure the vigor of our child,” she said haughtily.
“Though you will not thank me for it, to be sure.”

Then
she turned one of those smiles that left Rhys so dazzled upon the innkeeper,
leaving that man blinking as well. “This chamber is lovely,” she said warmly.
“I thank you for the offering of it and look forward to both bath and meal.”

With
that, Madeline swept regally into the small chamber, which in truth was barely
big enough to accommodate the pallet upon the floor. Rhys did not doubt that a
few fleas could be found in the linens.

“A
feisty one,” that man muttered beneath his breath. “But fair to look upon, if I
may say so, sir.”

“It
is the babe that vexes her,” Rhys agreed in an undertone. “I am certain that
her sweet nature will return with the babe’s arrival.”

“That
has not been my experience, sir, but I wish you better fortune than mine.” The
innkeeper leaned closer. “And if you would have a decent night’s rest yourself,
I would note that among my own wife’s skills is that of making a good potion.”

“What
manner of potion do you offer?”

“One
that will ensure your wife sleeps deeply this night.”

He
named a price that seemed quite reasonable to Rhys. Indeed, it would suit Rhys
well to know that Madeline slept soundly - remained out of trouble and asked no
questions - while he made the necessary arrangements for the continuation of
their journey to Caerwyn. His friend’s ship would sail south on night after the
new moon, and Rhys intended that they should both be upon it.

“It
will not injure the babe?” he asked, knowing that he should do so to maintain
their disguise.

The
innkeeper shook his head. “Nay, my wife learned it from a midwife.”

“I
think it a sound notion. Exhaustion does little to aid one’s mood, and my lady
never sleeps well when we are away from our abode. I thank you for the
suggestion.”

“Grant
me a few moments, sir, and I will return with all.” The innkeeper then raised
his voice to shout for a brazier for the chamber.

Rhys
crossed the threshold and closed the door behind himself with relief. He was
utterly unprepared for Madeline to launch herself into his arms, her eyes
sparkling with delight.

“Were
they not fooled?” she whispered, clearly pleased with her ploy. “There is not a
soul who will be able to identify us on the morrow. Did they not look away from
us, each and every one of them?”

Rhys
smiled at her, unable to resist her delight in her feat.

“They
did indeed,
anwylaf
,” he
acknowledged with admiration. He cupped her jaw in his hand and slipped his
other arm around her waist. She leaned against him, a heat kindling in her gaze
that made him smile. “And it was all due to your quick thinking.” He claimed
her lips with his own then, for truly, he could do nothing else.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

In
another, much more busy, tavern in Dumbarton, Elizabeth was glad to be out of
the saddle. The destrier was too large a mount for her, she had known as much
as soon as she was lifted into the saddle, though she had not dared to complain
for fear she would be left behind. Her knees ached nigh as much as her
buttocks, for she had had to clench the steed tightly to ensure that she was
not cast into the dirt.

They
had ridden for more days than she could count. Elizabeth could not recall
having ridden for more than half a day before this seemingly endless journey.
She wondered whether she would ever walk with ease again.

She
also wondered why Madeline had ever possessed any fondness for James. Elizabeth
was certain that she had never met a man so tedious in all her days. She could
not imagine that James had any great affection for Madeline, for the man saved
all of his admiration for himself.

Elizabeth
had the definite sense that James had only arrived to wed Madeline because his
father had thought the match a fitting one, though she knew that was an
uncharitable thought.

James
plucked at his lute as they sat at the board, more concerned with some tune he
had composed this day than Madeline’s safety or even the common courtesy of
table manners. He had been most vexed earlier this day that Rosamunde had
refused to halt their search so that he could ensure he did not forget the tune
by playing it a dozen times. He had sulked the remainder of the day, only
conjuring a smile now that he had his lute in his hands once again.

Elizabeth
would have liked to have destroyed the lute, so sick was she of James’ tuneless
plucking. The man imagined himself to be far more gifted than he was, in her
opinion.

But
then, her buttocks ached and she was tired. Perhaps she would have looked more
kindly upon him in better circumstance.

Perhaps
not.

The
spriggan had not been easy company, either. The mischievous fairy had pulled
the horses’ tails, spooked them in the night, and tied knots in their manes. A
skittish destrier was no small challenge, especially for a rider of Elizabeth’s
size, but the spriggan seemed to care nothing for her convenience.

Additionally,
Elizabeth had fished it out of more than one stream and snatched it in the air
when it had lost its grip upon one horse or the other. She felt responsible for
its welfare, as she was the only one who could see it and she had brought it
along, though it had done little to reward her efforts.

At
least she knew what it was and that its name was Darg. It talked to her
sometimes, and told far better tales than any Elizabeth had ever heard.

She
sighed with exhaustion as Rosamunde and Alexander argued about Rhys’ intent and
watched Darg consider the pottery ale cups on the board. The spriggan would do
something, Elizabeth was certain of it, and she only hoped it would not take
much effort to set matters aright. She yawned mightily, wanting only a pallet
before the fire.

“He
means to trick us,” Alexander said, dropping his voice and leaning over the
table. “He will leave in the night and ride south with all haste. We err in
taking our slumber here, especially without knowing his destination within
Dumbarton’s walls.”

“I
only hope that Madeline is well,” Vivienne said with some uncertainty. Vivienne
sat opposite Elizabeth, looking as exhausted as Elizabeth felt. “Finding Kerr
was horrible! Surely you do not think that Rhys would injure Madeline?”

“I
suspect he saved her from injury,” Rosamunde said tightly. “I never liked that
mercenary Kerr and was glad when your father dispatched him.”

“He
did?” Alexander asked in dismay. “I did not know of this.”

“You
should have asked more questions before taking a man into your employ,”
Rosamunde said firmly. “Tynan likely could have told you more.”

Alexander
frowned in consideration of this and looked so troubled that Rosamunde laid a
hand upon his shoulder.

“I
know this has not been easy for you,” she said. “You will learn, Alexander, and
years from now, you will laugh at your own uncertainties.”

“I
hope as much,” he said and drank grimly of his ale. “It seems all I do turns to
disaster.”

No
one argued with that.

“You
could ensure that all ended as well as an old tale,” Elizabeth whispered to
Darg.

The
spriggan laughed, then faced Elizabeth, hands on hips. “
A sorry day it will
then be, if I should aid a mortal like thee. Fate’s sharp needle is meant to
prick, no mortal can avoid its nick.
”

A
man at the next table granted Elizabeth a smile that she dared not return. She
felt her color rise as she deliberately ignored him, knowing that he probably
thought she talked to herself.

She
bent over the board, lifting a piece of bread to her lips that she might
whisper to the spriggan without arousing curiosity. “You could ensure
Madeline’s happiness. I saw what mischief you made with the ribbons. You have
abilities that I do not.”

Darg
appeared to be shocked. “
A uncommon mortal you might be, if Fate’s fine
threads you can see.
” She regarded
Elizabeth with suspicion. “
The ribbons twine for destined souls, tightly
knotted like thorn and rose. Such pairs cannot be rent asunder, come hail or
flood or dark or thunder.
”

It
sounded perfect to Elizabeth and she leaned forward in her excitement. “Will
you aid Madeline? Will you ensure that her ribbon and Rhys’ are properly
joined? I liked him when we met and I think she did as well.” She refrained
from glancing toward James.

Darg
grinned. “
Her betrothed mortal will soon be, so close that she herself can
see.
” Darg looked pointedly at James
then grimaced, not apparently liking the minstrel any more than Elizabeth did.

James
crooned to himself as he plucked his tune, nodding with satisfaction at what
seemed a most simple and uninspired melody to Elizabeth’s ears. He seemed
oblivious of the others at the table.

“Dreadful
manners,” Elizabeth muttered. “
Maman
would have boxed his ears.”

“
This
mortal’s ears are wrought of tin, if he finds beauty in his din,
” Darg said with disgust.