The Woman Inside (11 page)

“Are you going to run off and defend her, too?” he couldn’t help snapping at
Roland. He kicked a stick into the fire, raising sparks.

Roland raised one brow and sipped his steaming drink. One glance took in
Uric’s ravaged lip and foul expression. “From all appearances the girl is more
than able to defend herself.”

Uric’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t take anything she wasn’t glad to give,
Roland.”

A shrug communicated Roland’s unconcern. “Hadn’t thought otherwise.” His
mouth quirked. “I’m a light sleeper.”

A grunt was Uric’s only comment.

He avoided her all morning, but there was no escaping her words. They ran
round and round inside his skull, bitter and cold. Made free with her body, had
he? He shot her a poisonous glare. Who did she think she fooled? They both knew
she’d been willing. As for her being his woman ... he gritted his teeth. Company
aside, he should have finished the deed last night. Then there’d be no crazy
talk this morning about who was whose.

It was hard for a woman to deny possession when her man had been inside
her.

In spite of the pain she’d caused, her resistance just made him more
determined. Yes, he wanted her. Maybe she thought her little speech would cure
him of it, but she’d misjudged her man. Maybe if she’d made it before he’d made
love to her it might have worked, but she’d made a strategic error. He’d tasted
her now; knew her passion for him. Nothing she could say or do would stop him
from pursuing her.

And as for her heart ... He shook his head, ignoring his unease. All women
talked of hearts and flowers, likely because they didn’t want to admit they felt
the same lust as men. It was a cover, just a way to ease their guilt when they
gave it to a man. Experience had taught him that the woman interested in him had
expected something material in return. They had no tender hearts. His mother had
taught him that. No one who’d come after had changed his impression.

His eyes narrowed. She might not want to admit it, but she craved him. Like
it or not, she would have that craving satisfied. He’d see to it.

Personally.

* * * *

“Cheer up, mistress Ceylon! Baron Uric has assured us that we will reach a
hospitable shepherd’s house in a mere two hours.”

Ceylon answered Odell with a strained smile. The young bard had been trying
awfully hard to raise her spirits and deserved for her to make an effort to be
appreciative. “I’m counting the minutes, trust me.”

At the mention of Uric’s name, Raven, who rode on her opposite side, growled.
Even worse, his eyes narrowed to hot dark slits. Somehow, he knew. They all
knew.

She fidgeted in the saddle, causing her horse to snort in annoyance. The
blisters on her abused bottom throbbed in angry protest and her stiff muscles
creaked. Everything hurt, especially the tender organ in her chest.

When Uric had addressed her as Ceylon in front of his men she’d seen their
expressions, and hated him for it. With one word, one possessive word, he’d
turned the speculation she’d feared into confirmed fact. It had been that more
than anything that had fired her temper. True, she’d needed the distance from
him anyway, but his utter disregard for her reputation had galled her. Thank God
she hadn’t let him go any farther last night.

Guilt pricked her at that thought. Very well, so he had never pressed her.
Why was a mystery, unless he’d feared that the others would hear. But if that
were so, why call her Ceylon this morning, in that tone?

Her angry thoughts were interrupted as her horse abruptly stumbled on the
slick trail and collided heavily into Odell’s mount. The black lurched, tossing
the unprepared bard off with his desperate twist to avoid falling. There was a
sickening thud as the boy hit a bolder.

“Odell!” Ceylon was off her horse and at his side in moments. “Where are you
hurt?”

He drew in thick breath and gasped. “Shoulder.” His voice was taunt with
pain.

She nodded and quickly undid his coat, reaching for the buttons of his
undershirt. Uric and Roland were headed their way, and those closest to them
crowded round, trying to see or help.

Odell grabbed her wrist with surprising strength. “No.” He gritted his teeth.
“I can wait until we get where we’re going.”

She shook her head. “If it’s dislocated it will be easier to set right before
the muscles harden. Trust me. I’m a healer, remember?”

Sweat popped out on his upper lip as he cut his gaze to their audience. “Then
send them off, up ahead a bit. I don’t need anyone standing over me.”

“You might need help,” Roland started to object.

“Please!” Odell’s voice rose to a high pitch and cracked. He cleared his
throat and held Ceylon’s eyes as he said harshly, “A man has his pride. I don’t
need witnesses to my hollering.”

Resignation swept Ceylon, as well as familiar frustration with all things
male. She shut her eyes and sighed. “Leave us.” When no one moved, she fixed
Uric with a firm stare. “Just up ahead. It will only take a few moments. Trust
me, I won’t need you.”

His jaw flexed at that unintended barb. “As you say.” He jerked his head at
his men. “We’ll be just around this bend.”

A disk of pain sliced a raw spot inside Ceylon’s throat as he moved away. Now
was not the time for this. “You, too, Raven,” she ordered when he made no move
to leave. “I haven’t got all day.”

With great reluctance, he took their horse’s reins and followed the others.

As soon as they were out of sight, she opened Odell’s shirt and impatiently
flipped it open. And froze. Her eyes slowly rose to meet the bard’s.

“Remember you oath of discretion, Healer,” Odell challenged him. The pain
made the youth grimace, ending his silent challenge.

A nod was all Ceylon felt capable of as she did what she had to do. The sight
of Odell’s chest explained so much. Now that she’d seen what she had, she had a
few ideas as to why a young man would chose to brave the storms of winter to
escape over the mountains. She just wondered what Odell was running from. Or
who.

Odell didn’t scream as Ceylon set the shoulder, but Ceylon wanted to moan in
sympathy. She really made a far better herbalist than a surgeon. “There. I’ll
pack compresses around it when we reach the shepherd’s place. In the meantime I
have some syrup in my kit that will help with the pain.”

Shaken and pale, Odell accepted her hand up, then held her gaze. “And the
other?”

Ceylon nodded in acquiescence. “I’m always discrete.”

“I thank you.”

The rest of the ride was very quiet, and everyone paid careful attention to
the way they guided their horses down the slopes. Though he said nothing to her,
Ceylon saw Uric glance back often. It wasn’t until they neared their
destination--as indicated by a distant smoke plume--that he signaled her to move
up the column.

“Odell is amazingly quiet for a boy who was worried about broadcasting his
cowardice,” he said mildly.

Surprised by his calm tone, it took her a moment to respond. “He’s tougher
than he thinks, my l--”

He interrupted her before she could get the honorific out. “Is he up to
travel?” His jaw tightened. With the shadow of two day’s whiskers and his
wind-burned cheeks he looked rather grim. “We enter my lands shortly, and we can
be at my castle in Shardsvale by dark if we press on, but if you think the boy
isn’t up to it....”

“I’m sure he’d rather rest, but no, his injury isn’t life-threatening. There
are herbs I can give him for the pain, though I can’t dose him too much without
making him wobbly in the saddle.”

“Then we’ll press on so everyone can sleep in comfort tonight. I’ll have
things to see to in Shardsvale. He can take time to heal there before we move
on.”

“I’ll tell him.” The shepherd’s house and barn came into view, and she
frowned. She’d heard of, but never seen houses built into hillsides. These
earthen shelters were completely covered with sod and snow, except for the
front, which was built of stone.

“It’s more hospitable inside than it looks,” Roland assured her.

Ceylon soon discovered that it was plastered inside, and the shepherd’s table
was waxed and polished, the benches free of slivers. A cheerful fire crackled in
the hearth, and she couldn’t fault the simple meal of cheese, bread and cottager
stew. Still, as far as she could tell the most hospitable element of all was the
shepherd’s blond daughters.

“Here you are, mistress,” one buxom sister said with a smile as she topped
off Ceylon’s steaming mug of cider.

The smile turned positively hungry when turned on Uric. “Anything else you
require, my lord?” The husky purr was made more obnoxious by the way she leaned
over the table, giving him an excellent view of her abundant cleavage.

Uric glanced at her offering without apparent interest. “Perhaps later.”

Roland grinned at the other sister, who pressed against him in an unseemly
manner. “I’m always up for dessert.”

Ceylon bit her lip to retain the sharp words itching to get out. She looked
away, and saw Odell staring into his cup as if misery itself sat on his
shoulder.

She could sympathize. “Sometimes life bites,” she muttered for his ears
only.

Odell smiled and slanted a jaded glance at their companions. “I notice your
Uric is misbehaving.” He slid his good arm around her. “Maybe we should give him
something to think about?”

Raven half-rose and opened his mouth to snarl, but sat down at Ceylon’s sharp
signal.

“He’s funning, Raven. Relax.” Even so, Ceylon couldn’t help the heat that
crept into her cheeks.

“You don’t need to entice that slippery handed lord into a jealous temper,”
Raven hissed under his breath. “And by the mark on his lip I’d say you’ve
already tasted it enough.”

Her shoulders hunched. Ceylon wanted to squirm in embarrassment. Still, it
wasn’t fair to Uric for Raven to think he’d mauled her. Before she could open
her mouth to correct him, Uric’s head snapped around. Blue eyes sizzling with
wrath, he glared at Odell’s arm around her shoulders.

* * * *

Roland looked up at the sound of Uric’s low oath. His brows rose in surprise.
“Well, thank the Most Holy. I was beginning to have doubts about that boy.”

“He’s dead.”

Roland jerked him back down before he’d gotten half-way up. “She’s playing
with you,” he said sensibly, then frowned as Odell caressed Ceylon’s cheek with
the back of his hand while looking deep into her eyes. He whispered something in
her ear and she giggled. “Or not.”

Uric’s look could have smelted metal as he stalked to Ceylon’s side of the
table and took her hand. “Rise, Ceylon. It’s time to go.” He burned Odell with
his stare. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling so much better, boy. You’ll need your
energy to keep up this afternoon.” Because he would be hanged before he’d slow
down to compensate for him. He fixed Ceylon with a no-nonsense stare. “You’ll
ride up front with us to Shardsvale.”

Ceylon slanted several cautious looks at him as they rode, but Uric pretended
not to notice. Not only was he still annoyed with her, but the closer they got
to Shardsvale the more tense he became.

As if mirroring his thoughts, Roland said, “I don’t know about you, but I
plan to take my dinner in the village. Dinning with your mother always gives me
indigestion.”

Uric gave him a black look.

“Don’t bother, man.” Roland grinned. “You know I’m beyond redemption.
Besides,” he tilted his head in Ceylon’s direction. “She doesn’t look up to
interrogation tonight.”

It was true. Even in the dim light Ceylon appeared a hollow-eyed. By the way
she slumped in saddle and gripped the horn, it was clear she was on her last
reserves. Besides, there was Odell to think of. Now that his annoyance had
cooled, Uric was ready to have pity on the lad. A glance back showed him to be
holding up, but the flat line of his mouth indicated pain.

“Fine.” Uric turned back around. “We’ll eat at the Dog and Cat.”

A snort of amusement warned that Roland was about to start.

“Don’t,” he warned him. “You know they make the best beer and have the best
cook in Shardsvale.”

“Sure. Just don’t ask what’s in the kettle.”

“Roland....”

“Meow.”

Uric ignored him. In truth he felt more relaxed already at the thought of
delaying greeting his mother. Homecomings were never the pleasantest thing, and
he’d rather not deal with her on top of a long day.

He was glad the minute he walked into the Dog and Cat.

“Uric! Lord Uric’s back!” Glad cries and a blast of cheerful warmth met him
as he walked in the door. The innkeeper himself, a one armed veteran of middle
years, met him at the door with a slap on the back. “Are you back to stay, yet,
commander? Faith, but you’re frozen through! Brandy, bring your lord a platter
of our best!” While his servant girl scurried off, the innkeeper turned his
attention back to his guests. “Ah, Roland. How much trouble have you gotten
yourself into since last we met?”

Roland grinned. “Not enough, Murdock. Not enough.”

Murdock laughed and caught sight of Ceylon. Instantly his mirth vanished,
replaced by smoky appreciation. “And who is this lovely lady?”

Before Ceylon could answer, Uric touched his hand to her back and guided her
to a table. “My guest,” he informed Murdock once she was seated. “And off
limits.”

Madoc laughed and shook his head. “I might have known. You always get the
pretty ones.” He winked at Ceylon. “And what can I get the loveliest lady to
ever grace my poor tavern? We have all manner of fine wine. Sweets fresh from
the pasty maker. Stuffed goose, succulent quail ... Your wish is my command.” He
bowed.

Amused--and tired--enough to forgive his assumptions, especially since Uric
had deliberately planted them, Ceylon managed a polite smile. “Anything hot
sounds good just now. I’ve forgotten what my feet feel like.”