The Woman Inside (5 page)

He was just as fast to pay the tailor, who fortunately had a few things made
up and ready to sell. This time Uric bade Ceylon to wait in the coach to save
time. Bare moments later he sent the beaming Raven out with an armful of
clothes. Nodding to the coachman, Uric mounted his own horse and they headed
out.

“What’s all this?” Ceylon asked in surprise as Raven staggered into the coach
with an armload of clothes. Amazed at his generosity, and a little
alarmed—surely the queen hadn’t meant for him to be that generous—she watched
Raven spread his loot out on the floor.

Raven grinned and held up a garment. “I know! I couldn’t believe--” he
noticed what it was he held and flushed. Seconds later the smallclothes
disappeared behind his back.

Ceylon looked down, grinning.

More subdued, Raven held up a fine linen shirt. “Look at this! He got me
three! And a doublet, and a tunic, hose, pants....” He showed her each item in
turn with the enthusiasm of a small child. “He barely even looked, just checked
for fit and tossed it on the pile. Didn’t even blink when he heard the price,
either.” There was awe in his voice.

“I think he bought the entire shop.”

Ceylon let out a breath and bit her lip. Raven was too occupied with his new
clothes to notice.

She stroked the furs that covered the coach seat, taking in the rough texture
of black bear. There were more and softer fur covers folded on the floor, as
well as a blue and yellow velvet quilt. Orange and red brocade cushions,
complete with gold cording, sat on each side of the seats. An unlit lantern hung
from the ceiling, and hot bricks warmed her feet. A basket of edibles had even
been placed inside, ready for her pleasure.

All this for a mere healer?

Her unease only increased when spied the neatly wrapped package under Raven’s
seat. It was done up in brown paper and tied with a string. The large tag had
her name on it.

Raven helped her drag it out. “What is it?”

Ceylon gulped as the paper fell away. It was a blue velvet cloak lined with
fur.

Really worried now, she laid the cloak aside and opened the window. The first
thing she saw was Roland. “Er, Sir Roland?”

“Yes, mistress Ceylon?”

“Have you seen the princesses?”

He frowned. “Yes.”

“And are they....” There was no way to put it delicately. “Just how ugly are
they?”

His brows rose.

She sent a wild look inside the carriage, alarmed anew by the richness of her
surroundings. “I can’t do miracles, you know.”

Roland stared at her for a moment with the strangest expression, then threw
back his head and laughed.

Uric dropped back to see what was so funny. In spite of the chill, his head
was bare, and he barely seemed to notice the wind ruffling his fine curls. “Is
there a problem?”

Ceylon bit her lip and glanced behind her again. “Is all of this on loan
then?” The idea relieved her. “That is, I know the coach is, and of course
everything in it, but the cloak and Raven’s clothes ... will we have to return
them?”

Uric exchanged a glance with Roland, his eyes twinkling. “I doubt the queen
will want to wear Raven’s clothes.”

Ceylon flushed. “You know what I mean!”

He shrugged, still in good humor. “What is one cloak and few clothes? Of
course you may keep them.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and ducked back inside. It worried her
that she knew as little about the job at hand as she had before. Still, how ugly
could the women be? Even worse, what would the queen do to her if she failed to
make them more attractive? Callion was said to have an even temper, but she had
also placed more than one charlatan in the stocks for daring to try his arts on
her sisters.

She stuck her head back out, interrupting Uric and Roland’s conversation. “I
want you to witness that I never claimed to be able to help the princesses,” she
said forcefully. “I’ve never made any claims at all.” When they stared at her
with twin expressions of incredulity, she added, “It might keep me out of the
stocks if you would remind the queen of this if I fail.”

Uric looked nonplused. “She’ll hardly send you to the stocks, Ceylon.”

She swallowed hard. “Just in case, pray remember.”

Roland squinted and scratched the side of his head when she ducked away
again. “Do you think she’s been sipping away at one too many of her own
potions?”

Uric only shook his head, equally mystified. Who knew what went on in the
mind of a woman?

They stopped to rest the horses at noon. Ceylon had been dozing in the
carriage, but was quick to take advantage of the stop for a jaunt into the
woods. On her way back she noticed Raven returning from a similar errand and
decided that she may as well use the time to begin breaking in her new
“servant”. It only took a moment to retrieve her crossbow from the coach.

She selected a tree and moved a little away from the others. “Raven, come
here!” She handed him a woven coil target the size of saucer. “Hang this on that
tree, would you?”

Raven frowned at the huge oak just on the edge of their clearing. “All
right.”

When he returned she handed him the crossbow. “You once said you wanted to
learn how to use these. Now’s a good time to teach you.”

Faint color came into his cheeks as he darted a glance at their escort, who
were watching them with idle interest. “I know how to use one,” he informed her
a touch scornfully.

Her brow rose at his tone. The boy had better watch it or she’d let him walk
to Queenstown. “Show me.” As expected, her frosty stare took some of the starch
out of him.

Lips compressed, he fired at the target. And had to jog out to retrieve the
red-flagged quarrel. He returned it sheepishly.

Ceylon accepted it and the weapon sent a quarrel into the target’s heart. She
raised her brows in cool expectation. “Now will you pay attention?”

Raven scowled and darted a glance toward men. “I can’t let a woman teach me
such things.”

That annoyed her. She’d just about had enough of fragile male pride for the
morning. “Then don’t tell anyone,” she retorted. “Besides, no one will care as
long as you can shoot the eye out of a lizard. Get on with it.” She handed him
the bow and gestured for him to walk closer to the target.

“Who taught you to shoot?” Uric handed her a mug of hot soup and sipped his
own as they watched Raven run after his quarrel.

She accepted the mug with a nod of thanks and curled her chilly fingers
around it, inhaling the savory steam. “My father felt a woman of my size would
be hopeless with a heavy sword, so he trained me to use a crossbow and hunt. He
didn’t want me to starve if anything ever happened to him.” She was silent a
moment. “He knew I would never marry.”

“Why not?”

Ceylon frowned at him from the corner of her eye. “My face, of course.”

“It looks well enough to me.”

“Now. Get your arm up, Raven. Use the sights—don’t just guess at your
target.”

Uric fingered his ragged ear. The tip had been sheared off in battle. “I know
how you feel. I often think that this is the reason I have such a hard time
finding a bride.”

“Don’t be silly, “ she snapped. What a stupid comparison. “Who would notice
it?”

His lips turned into a sly smile.

Her eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re doing. But my face was ten times more
marked than yours will ever be. They called me--” her mouth snapped shut as she
realized what she’d been about to say.

“Dung face?” he asked softly.

She flinched.

“They were fools.” He placed his crooked finger under her chin and gently
lifted. “I wouldn’t have let my friends treat a girl so poorly.”

She pulled her face away. “Come, Raven. It’s time to go.”

Ceylon spent the rest of the day playing at travel chess with Raven. The
board was specially made with pieces that fit over pegs on the board to prevent
jostling. Raven was terrible, but he was learning.

The windows were too fogged up to see out, but occasionally Ceylon rubbed the
glass with her fist and peered out at the white world. Mostly there were trees
shrouded in ice. Occasionally they passed a snow covered field, but there were
far more trees in this stretch of road than anything else. Even the undisturbed
snow on the underbrush showed how little this route was used by man.

Then there were the ruts. Ceylon winced as another one jolted her bones. By
the time they entered a village of log houses and pulled into the yard of the
town’s only inn, Ceylon was more than eager to get out. She looked askance at
the faded paint on the wooden sign. “The Quaking Robin?”

A boy of eleven or twelve ran up to them with a slightly older girl at his
heals. “Yes, miss! Named for honor of our grandmother. Da says a minute with
that old blabbermouth and you’d be quaking like a robin.” He leaned closer
confidentially. “Ma’s got her tongue.”

His sister slapped his shoulder, jostling the gap-tooth grin from his face.
“Hold yours, John-Wesley! You know better than to bother the guests with stupid
chatter.”

Her plain, pimpled face smiled up at Ceylon, an unusual occurrence. She
really was a tiny thing. “Welcome, miss! Are you to stay the night? Just tell me
how many and I’ll run straight away to prepare the rooms.”

Ceylon glanced at Roland, who had appeared by her side, for direction.

He smiled at her. “Go on inside and warm up. I’ll handle this.”

She nodded and mounted the steps, admiring the spruce burrow logs that held
up the porch roof. It was the first time she’d ever seen a log dwelling, much
less one of this size. It even had two wings. The window looking in on the
common room was glass, but the others were only oiled paper.

Clean wooden planks thumped under their feet as Ceylon and Raven filed in the
door, making certain to wipe their feet on the rush mat. That is, Ceylon
remembered and made certain to prompt Raven. The orderly atmosphere of the place
rather demanded it. In spite of the antlers and hunting trophies hung about the
walls, the place held the definite stamp of womanly care. Candles and
arrangements of dried flowers graced the mantel and even the tables. Wreaths
decorated the walls and bouquets of dried herbs as well as neat rows of braided
onions and chilies hung from the rafters. And from the mouthwatering aromas
coming from the fireside the innkeeper’s wife certainly knew how to use
them.

“This is quite a place,” Ceylon told the stocky woman who was tending the
fire. “I’ve never seen houses built of log before.”

“Nor will you.” The homely woman punctuated her comments with significant
jabs of her long wooden spoon. “We make real houses here, not those straw and
mud things they make over the border.” She plunked the spoon back in the pot and
eyed Ceylon with frank curiosity. “And where are you from, miss?”

Ceylon grimaced a bit. “From over the border.”

The lady patted her shoulder. “Well, don’t you fret about it, miss. Kate will
feed you right and proper just the same.”

“Er, thank you.” Ceylon allowed herself to be pressed down on a bench as Kate
fetched a mug and dipped it into one kettle.

“Spiced cider? I make the best in town. I’ve also bread from the morning’s
baking, a kettle full of barley soup, simmered chicken and a lovely roast, nice
and juicy.” She winked at Ceylon. “I’ve been expecting your party back this way,
though I worried some about the roads.”

In seconds the cider and a mugs soup were set before her and Raven. Without
being asked the girl from the inn yard also appeared with a tray holding two
golden crusted loaves and a pair of fat pies. She deposited them on the table
and then hurried off. Moments later she reappeared with a stack of plates, mugs
and cutlery. The mugs she took to the tap and filled to the brim with frothy
ale, returning just as Uric and Roland strolled in.

Uric smiled at the proprietress. “Fast service as always, I see, Mistress
Kate.”

Roland raised his nose, took a deep breath and sighed with satisfaction. “And
tasty cooking, no less.” He winked at Kate. “For a penny I’d run off with
you.”

Kate waved her spoon at him. “Now none of that, you rogue. Sit down and eat
your supper, and none of your teasing.”

Roland affected a glum air as he took the bench across from Ceylon. “She
doesn’t respect me at all, love. What should we do with her?”

Ceylon shook her head at him and raised her mug. “Why ask me? You’re the
‘rogue’ here.”

He gave her a rakish smile. “So nice of you to notice.”

“Pay him no mind,” Uric advised between bites. “He’s just angling for a warm
bed so he doesn’t have to share a room with Raven.”

“With Raven?” Ceylon looked between the scowling Raven and annoyed Roland. It
didn’t seem like a good arrangement.

Uric grinned over his mug. “There were only two rooms with big beds left and
one with bunks. I won the coin toss.”

Roland looked downright mean at that bit of news. To keep the peace, Ceylon
offered, “Since they’re bunks, I could give him my room and share the one
with--”

“No!” Raven recoiled in horror. “You’re a girl!”

“Out of the question,” Roland announced sternly.

“You’ll stay where you are.” Uric’s stare brooked no refusal.

Ceylon drew back, surprised at their vehemence. “I was only--”

Mistress Kate clucked her tongue as she refilled mugs. “Where were you
raised, miss? Surely you know better than that.” When angry color rose in
Ceylon’s cheeks, she added more kindly, “Your men are just protecting your
reputation, love. Anyone can see it. No need to get nettled.” She sniffed at
Uric. “Though if you ask me, my lord, you’ll do better to hire a respectable
companion for her if you want to do the job proper. It’s not fitting--”

Ceylon rose, so insulted she nearly choked on it. How dare they assume that
they had to watch her at all times lest she straddle the first man she saw! And
then to suggest that she needed a full time keeper ... “I do not need a
companion! I’m perfectly able to see to my own honor, madam.”