The Woman Inside (6 page)

Uric watched her stalk off, completely baffled and a little angry. What did
she have to be annoyed about?

Kate clucked her tongue. “That one’s been too long without a guiding hand, I
think. Too used to doing what she pleases, and never mind the gossip.” She shook
a finger at Uric. “You’ll not let her go on and get herself in trouble, will
you? She seems a nice girl, if a bit green.”

“Don’t worry, Mistress Kate. I promised the queen I’d deliver her in good
condition. She’s in good hands.” His dark gaze went to the stairwell. And if she
doesn’t watch herself these hands may flip her over my knee and deliver the
spanking her father never gave her.

* * * *

“Mmm....”

Ceylon’s eyes opened.

“Oh ... yes,” someone moaned in a breathy whisper.

Ceylon’s eyes rolled upward, crossing in the dark as she tried to see the
wall behind her without having to disturb her warm covers. The sounds were
coming from there.

“Oh, yes! Do it! Just like that.”

Jaw locked, Ceylon tried to bury her head under her pillow, but the sounds
just got louder from what she hazily thought was Uric’s room.

The wall began to vibrate as the bedstead on the other side rocked.

That’s it! Ceylon tossed the pillow off and sat bolt upright. What Uric did
was his business, but not when it disturbed her sleep.

She pounded on the wall with her fist. “Shut up back there!”

There was a short pause, a giggle, then a man called, “You can join us if you
like.” More snickers and a feminine squeal. The pounding began again.

Thoroughly irked, Ceylon tossed off her covers and pulled a robe over her
head. She was already wearing socks, but tucked a woolen pair into her pocket,
unwilling to wait while she put them on. It didn’t sound like they were going to
stop anytime soon, and the noise was only getting worse. Making certain to slam
her door on the way out, she trotted down the short hall and negotiated the
stairs by the faint glow coming from the common room.

Uric was there, nursing a drink. One blond brow rose when he saw her, and he
stood politely. “They started about ten minutes ago,” he said sardonically. “I’m
surprised you slept this long. My room’s on the other side of them.”

Ceylon sat down, rolling her eyes as her head sank onto her folded arms.
“Blasted inconsiderate of them. Surely the deed can be accomplished with less
noise.” She yawned.

Unseen, a dimple popped into Uric’s cheek. He couldn’t resist the chance to
tease her. “You wouldn’t know?”

She raised her head and glared at him under her lashes. “You’re as bad as he
is, inviting me to join them.”

That remark made him scowl, but only for a moment. “Trust me, Ceylon-sweet,
if I invited you to my bed, neither one of us would have energy left for anyone
else.” He winked. “It’s probably Roland, seducing a widow so he wouldn’t have to
share a room with Raven.” He doubted it, for Roland would never be so rude, but
if it put him in the healer’s bad graces for few hours it was well done. “Likely
he’s drunk and won’t remember come morning.”

There came a put-upon sigh. She put her head back in her arms.

He let her rest a moment before he said, “Ceylon?”

“Why are you calling me that?”

He ignored her question. “I’m sorry if you were offended earlier. None of us
think you have light morals.”

She groaned and propped her head on one hand. “I know. Ignore me. I just get
moody now and then.” Her sleepy gaze moved over his face with languid interest.
“So were you born beautiful or were you one of those lanky youths with spots on
his face and puppy scruff?”

A crack of laughter caught him by surprise. “What?

Eyes half-closed, she stifled a jaw popping yawn. “You heard.”

His snort ruffled the surface of his beer. “You’re something when you’re
half-asleep, Ceylon-sweet.”

A soft snore was her only comment.

* * * *

“What?” Roland demanded over breakfast. “You’ve been glaring at me since you
came down.”

Uric hid his grin behind his mug as Ceylon, as he thought of her, flicked a
bit of lint from her sleeve. She didn’t look the worse the wear for being
carried upstairs last night and tucked in bed.

The memory made his smile grow. She’d snuggled down in his arms like a
kitten, without waking, and made a soft protest in the back of her throat when
he withdrew the warmth of his arms.

It was a wonder he hadn’t joined her. He’d been tempted.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your activities quieter in the future. Some
of us might be trying to sleep.” She stabbed a sausage link, held his gaze, and
deliberately sliced it.

Roland flinched. “What activities? The only thing I did last night was
sleep.”

Unconvinced, she measured the bewilderment in his expression and then
considered Uric. Without taking her gaze from him, she asked, “So you weren’t
banging the wall with the widow next door?”

Roland choked, and Uric snorted beer out his nose.

“What widow?” Raven demanded as Uric alternated between laughter and
coughing. “I wish he had! The man snores like a team of colicky horses.”

That earned him a glare from Roland. “Watch yourself, cub.”

Before Raven could provoke him further, Ceylon demanded, “Then who--” Her
eyes widened as she caught sight of the couple walking down the stairs. The
others turned to see what she was looking at. The entire table froze in
disbelief. Could that be the lusty pair?

The wizened, short man with an enormous beak came just to his woman’s
gargantuan bosom. He wore farmer brown, and the top of his scalp hadn’t seen
hair in a very long time. He leered up at the woman, exposing the gaping holes
that once held teeth, and squeezed her bottom.

Madam Twin Peaks squealed and smacked coyly at his hand. Her thin lashes
batted as she rolled her substantial shoulder his way, and her smile lifted the
large, hairy mole at the corner of her mouth. Her left eye twitched.

Roland drew back as they brushed by on their way to the door.

The fat lady winked at him.

Raven coughed. Uric snorted. Moments latter the entire table had erupted in
hearty laughter, all of it directed at Roland.

Even Roland had to grin. “I’ll never be that desperate for a bed.”

It was easy for Ceylon to forget her concerns while laughing with her escort,
but once on the road again they came back in force.

“Describe the princesses to me,” she asked Uric when they stopped. “What
exactly is wrong with them?”

He ticked the problems off on his gloved fingers. “Too fat. Warted. Spots the
size of boils.” He grimaced. “Two of them are as bony as their sister is large.
You won’t have an easy time of it.”

There was silence as she pondered his words. “Yet the queen expects her
sisters to become beautiful. That’s why she sent for me.”

Uric kicked at the fire. “I doubt she expects anything. They’ve had dozens of
‘experts’ up to the castle, and none of them have helped. It’s probably the
princess’ pleading that made her send for you.”

Ceylon’s shoulders slumped. “Yet she sent for me, and I’ve no desire to be
lumped in with the rest of the failures. I can cure the skin afflictions, and if
the princesses will work with me, I can do something with their bodies, but I
can’t make a woman beautiful who isn’t.”

“If you can do all of that, the queen won’t care. She’ll reward you
handsomely simply for taking away the warts. She’s very fair,” he encouraged
when Ceylon merely scowled. “She knows you made no claims.”

Ceylon climbed into the carriage, sending him a dark look just before he shut
the door. “I despise doing things half-way.”

Raven slouched against the cushions, staring at the fogged windows. “I hate
riding in this box. A man rides a horse.”

Since there was no reason to point out that neither of them could afford such
a thing, Ceylon said lightly, “Perhaps I will buy one with the queen’s
reward.”

That lightened the cloud on his face, and he was quiet for some time, likely
dreaming of a war-horse.

A patch of skin on her face itched, and Ceylon scratched it, still pondering
her problems. The dry air was causing her skin to flake and redden, but a bit of
her heavy face cream would soothe it. The only difficulty was that she then had
to use powder to keep her skin from shining like a beacon, and it tended to
leach all of the color out of her face. Short of applying cosmetics like the
ladies of her acquaintance there was no remedy for it, and she had never learned
to use them....

She drew in a quick breath. Cosmetics! That was the other half of the
formula. True, she’d seen them overdone, but surely there were woman skilled in
the subtle use of them. Such a woman could accomplish what she could not, if she
could just find her.

Ceylon started searching that very evening, in an unpromising little hamlet
called Two Dog town.

It didn’t begin well.

“Would you know if there is a woman here who is skilled in the use of
cosmetics?” she asked the scrawny innkeeper.

The man screwed up his dirty face and spit on the sawdust floor. “Only whores
use face-paint,” he said, and went about his business, leaving her scowling at
his back.

“Why?” Uric wanted to know. “You don’t need any.”

A little embarrassed by his compliment, she glued her eyes on her tankard to
avoid looking at him. She shouldn’t have. The thing was filthy. An unidentified
crusty food remnant fell off the rim and into the ale when she flicked a nail
over it. “No, but the princesses might. Does the queen use cosmetics?”

“All of the woman at court do, but it would take more than face paint to hide
bumpy skin.” He lifted his flagon and inspected it critically. “Not that it
hasn’t been tried. Innkeeper!” He caught the crabby man by his shirttail and
dragged him back when he would have walked by.

Uric’s eyes narrowed. “I paid good coin for this, and expect clean mugs. Have
your boy wash them, and don’t try to pawn your watered ale on us again.”

The innkeeper shrank back and gestured for his ragged serving lad to collect
the mugs.

Uric signaled Raven with a tilt of his head to follow the boy and
supervise.

The innkeeper puffed up, but an ice blue stare from Uric deflated much of his
steam. His complaint came out a whine. “I’m not used to serving such fine
guests, my lord. That lot don’t care what they get so long as there’s a lot of
it.” He nodded to the filthy group of patrons crowded into the rest of the
tavern. Sure enough, they were stuffing their faces without sign of
complaint.

“They have their standards. I have mine.”

His cold tone sent the innkeeper bowing and backing away. “Yes, my lord.”

Ceylon couldn’t help her shiver of fascination. This was a side of Uric she
hadn’t seen. He didn’t even have to raise his voice to make someone quiver. Was
a man born with that kind of authority, or was it something one learned?

He noticed her sideways glance. “What?”

“Is that sort of thing handed out with the title or is it something all
generals do?”

“I’m not a general.” Amusement and a darker irony lurked in his tone.

“Admiral, then.” She smiled, enjoying her teasing.

“I hate to disappoint you, lass, but I’ve never been to sea.” A smile lurked
at in his eyes as he leaned back and accepted a new mug of ale from the
innkeeper’s boy. He slipped the lad a coin, which quickly disappeared.

A new expression, sensual and frankly appreciative, came into his eyes as his
gaze traveled over her. “Though at the moment I’m wishing I were a pirate.”

Fire lit her insides and flooded her cheeks, and Ceylon blessed the smoky,
murky light as she looked away, pretending great interest in the loud laughter
at the next table. He’d fooled her with his impersonal gallantry these last
days, this queen’s warrior. She should have known better, should have expected
something more fiery lurked beneath. Wasn’t he the queen’s champion? Her leashed
berserker? Men grew quiet at his name, and woman shivered. He was a legend. Who
was she to tease him as if they were equals?

Yet she couldn’t find it in herself to quail before him like a spineless
serf.

Since Raven had just returned, she tried to use him to lighten the
conversation that was rapidly growing deeper than she could handle. “I’m not
worried. The ever gallant Raven will protect me.”

Her comment fell like lead into an invisible pool. Raven’s look told her he
didn’t enjoy being put on the spot.

Uric’s said she was a fool is she thought a boy could stop him if chose to
have her.

Their food’s arrival saved her. Determined to avoid anymore verbal games, she
bent her head and pretended great interest her dark, heavy bread.

The sour rye didn’t hold nearly as much interest for Uric as the woman
choking it down. What a funny, arousing combination of daring and maidenly
reserve. She’d pricked his annoyance with her nervous reaction to his taking
authority over the innkeeper—so like the many maidens he’d brought home—and he’d
baited her in retaliation. It had been a delightful surprise when she’d rose to
the occasion before bolting down her proverbial hole. With a little training she
could be a delightful sparring partner.

Among other things.

“Bread not to your taste?” Roland inquired of Uric in his native language.
“Or do you crave something sweeter?”

Uric’s mouth curved wickedly. “Honey,” he murmured in the same lilting
tongue.

Roland smiled.

Chapter 3

No one felt like smiling the next day.

Roland turned the air blue with his choice vocabulary.

Although she refrained from using the same language, Ceylon had to agree.
She’d been tossed to the floor of the carriage when the axle snapped and was no
more eager than anyone else to go back to town and have it fixed. The only good
thing about the accident was that it was only three miles back to town.