Fool's Errand (37 page)

“That depends on your definition,” he replied. “Do you consider real criminals to be those who steal from their betters, set fires, cause riots and generally do whatever they can to cause unrest in all corners of the kingdom?”

“I do.”

“Then we are real criminals, Gypsy girl,” he said with a nod of satisfaction. “You've nothing to fear from us, though, for we do not trade in slaves or scalps. Our only quarrel is with the Regent Mordecai and all those who dance to his hateful tune. You and your companions do not count yourselves among that lot, do you?”

It was clear that he'd asked the question in jest, and it was on the tip of Persephone's tongue to tell him that they most certainly did
not
count themselves among “that lot.” At the last second, however, she changed her mind. For the truth was that in a twisted way, she, Azriel and Rachel
were
dancing to the Regent's hateful tune. And some instinct told her that if she lied to or misled this man now, she'd someday have cause to regret it.

And so, casually dropping into a fighting stance—just in case he lunged at her when he learned the truth—Persephone took a deep breath and said, “We do not count ourselves among ‘that lot' but neither are we exactly what we appear to be.” Slowly, she extended the hand upon which she wore the ring that bore the crest of the Erok royal family and added, “For you see, though I am a Gypsy, I am also sister to the Erok king, Finnius.”

In response to these words and the sight of the ring, the man dropped to one knee so fast he probably would have shattered his kneecap if he'd been standing on stone. “
Princess
,” he breathed, pressing his clasped hands to his breast. “Tales of you, your beauty and the generosity you've shown to the lowest in this realm come before you. Let me be the first to say that it is an
honour
to meet you.”

The other ruffians—who were still lying face down on the ground—all murmured and nodded without lifting their heads.

“Really?” said Persephone, casting a rather nonplussed glance at Azriel, who managed a grin in spite of the extremely heavy dwarf upon his back. “Oh! Well, uh, that's … that's good to know.” She stopped then and waited for the kneeling man to say or do something. When he didn't, she cleared her throat and, feeling rather foolish, said, “Rise and, um, tell me your name.”

The swordsman leapt to his feet at once. “Your Highness, some call me Robert the Champion and some call me Robert the Rascal.”

Persephone smiled. “And what shall I call you?” she asked.

“Your most humble servant,” he purred, bowing with a lack of grace no nobleman in the realm would have been shown and a sincerity that no nobleman in the realm could have matched. “Indeed, Your Highness, if there is ever anything I or any of my men can do for you, you need only ask.”

Persephone smiled again—this time with gratitude. “I thank you kindly for the offer, Robert, and would take you up on it at once,” she said. “For you see, in addition to being in rather desperate need of food and drink, my companions and I require help getting out of the forest for we have urgent business on the coast. Oh, and I'd be much obliged if you'd ask your, uh, little man to get off my. my.”

“
HUSBAND
!” called Azriel irritably as he made yet another futile attempt to throw off the dwarf.

“Ah! The prince consort,” said Robert reverently as he leaned over to brush a mouldy leaf off Azriel's face. Snapping his fingers at the dwarf (who used Azriel's head to help push himself to his feet), Robert said, “Big Ben is not ‘my little man,' Your Highness. He is one of the fiercest resistance fighters in the kingdom.”

Rachel gave Big Ben a tentative smile. “We have a very large friend who goes by the name of Tiny,” she whispered.

“So?” grunted the dwarf rudely.

Robert laughed.

“Come,” he said. “It is too late to safely lead you to the forest's edge now, so if it pleases Your Highness, you may sup and stay with us this night. Upon the morrow we shall take you where you seek to go that you may continue on your way.”

The rebel camp consisted of several stout storage sheds containing items ranging from weapons, coils of rope and canvas tents to purses of gold and women's undergarments, as well as at least three dozen sturdy shelters nestled high among the trees and cunningly connected by a series of narrow swinging bridges. As they supped, Robert explained that they'd not always lived thusly. Years earlier, when he and the first of his band had initially sought refuge in the Great Forest, they'd lived on the ground as men. However, after having lost one man too many to attacks by the night beasts of the forest, they'd given up and climbed into the trees.

At the mention of the night beasts, Azriel commented on the remarkable good fortune that he, Persephone and Rachel had had to have passed four whole nights in the forest without being attacked by one.

“'Twas not all good fortune,” said Robert as he wiped his greasy mouth with one of the white linen napkins that had belonged to the soldiers he and his men had earlier slain. “The three soldiers that were following you killed at least two timber wolves and one very large cat—it was the discovery of their carcasses that first alerted us to intruders in the forest. If I didn't know better, I'd say those soldiers were trying to keep you alive. Mayhap we'll find out for certain when my brothers return with the one that got away.” Robert paused to pop a pilfered sweetmeat into his mouth before adding, “If the wretch is still breathing by then, that is.”

Persephone nodded as she sank her teeth into one of the remarkably perfect pears that had been found in the same pack as the linen napkins and the sweetmeats. She was not as surprised as Robert that the soldiers had tried to keep them alive. Dead slaves were of little worth to slave hunters, and Persephone would have bet a small fortune that the soldiers killed by Robert's men had been comrades of the slave hunters who'd met their grisly end upon the mountain. Obviously, the thought that one had got away made her uneasy—almost as uneasy as the idea that she'd been hunted unawares—but whatever threat the soldiers had posed had ended with them.

Tempted as she was to confront the wretch who yet lived—well,
maybe
lived—she, Azriel and Rachel agreed that they must press on at first light whether Robert's brothers had returned or not.

Despite these plans for an early start the following day, everybody sat up late visiting by the light of the moon, the stars and the torches that flickered all around them. While Rachel basked in the glory of being the only unmarried female in a camp full of men who could not do enough for her, Robert spoke at length to Persephone and Azriel about the wrongs he and his men sought to right by their sedition. The Erok lowborn did not seek to supplant their betters, he explained earnestly. They sought only to be allowed to live in peace and to work hard as their forebears had ever done. It was not fair, Robert insisted, that hundreds should be turned off their land so that a single nobleman might put in a garden or a deer park. It was not right, he said, that families should be torn apart, mothers never to see daughters again, fathers never to know the fates of sons.

Much moved, Persephone promised Robert that she would carry his words to her brother, the king, and do all that she could to help him set these wrongs to right. Then, feeling that she ought to give something more than words to this man who'd had so much taken from him by those of high station, she sealed her promise with a gift.

“It is an ancient piece said to confer protection,” she said as she handed him the charm bracelet that Finn had given her. “I would like you to have it.”

“Your Highness is … most generous,” said Robert gruffly. Turning to Azriel, he added, “You are a very lucky man to be wed to such a woman, my prince.”

“Yes,” murmured Azriel, giving Persephone the same look she'd given her first mug of water in two days—a look that sent a ripple of desire shooting straight through her belly, “I am.”

Eventually, Rachel retired alone to the tree shelter belonging to the man who'd won the shoving match granting him the honour of offering it to her. Persephone and Azriel, meanwhile, retired to the “royal chamber,” which—judging by the way Big Ben stomped and glowered—was more commonly known as the “dwarf chamber.”

Upon finding herself alone with Azriel for the first time since being trapped in the crevasse, Persephone rather expected her handsome husband to use teasing whispers, gentle kisses and fluttery touches to try to entice her into allowing him to quench the thirst that had earlier seemed to rage in him so fiercely. To her surprise, he did none of these things. And though Persephone clung fiercely to the image of just how coldly she'd have spurned him if he
had
done them, it did nothing whatsoever to distract her from her traitorous body's response to the feel of him lying so close to her in the darkness.

The next morning, they all awoke early. By dawn Robert and Big Ben had led them to the eastern edge of the forest. At the sight of the rising sun and of Ivan flying loop-the-loops over the wide-open space before her, Persephone felt her spirits soar higher than they had in many days.

They may not have saved any time cutting through the Great Forest, but they'd made it through alive and according to Robert, if they hurried they'd reach the coastal village of Syon as early as midday tomorrow.

Even more encouraging, judging by the appearance of the sky at the distant horizon, the storm season had not yet begun. That meant there was still a chance they'd be able to find a ship willing to take them across the channel to the Island of Ru where the Marinese now resided.

And
that
meant the race to find the Pool and save Finn's life might still be won.

THIRTY-SEVEN

H
IS SMALL HANDS
trembling violently, General Murdock pushed the protruding coil of intestine back into the bloody gash in his belly.

If he'd not been a military man drilled in the acceptance of cold hard facts, he'd have found it difficult to believe that his mission could have gone so badly, so quickly.

For four days, he and his two remaining soldiers had tracked the princess and her companions through the Great Forest. It had been easy, for the misty gloom of the forest had provided ample cover, and as it had evidently not occurred to the princess's Gypsy husband that anything but a dumb animal might be stalking them, he'd made no effort to conceal their trail. General Murdock had not been so careless for he knew that some of the most notorious lowborn rebel bands in the realm dwelled within the Great Forest. That included the band that had instigated the recent riots in which he'd been forced to sacrifice two of his finest lieutenants in order to lure the rebel leaders to their deaths—the riot that had culminated with him nearly being roasted alive in his own tent by Gypsies intent upon rescuing their little tribesman. And while there had been a small, feral part of General Murdock that would have liked to have hunted these rebels down and torn out their throats, the military man in him had understood that any such confrontation would have been detrimental to his mission. He'd therefore steered his men well clear of the Gypsy's clumsy trail and taken all necessary steps to conceal his own.