Shield of Fire (A Bringer and the Bane Novel) (6 page)

“We’re here,” he said.

His arm draped around her waist. The weight of his touch and the frosty air tempted her to sink against him. Before she could give in to the urge, he leaned forward and pointed to an opening in the trees. Distracted by the black strands of silk brushing her cheek, it took several seconds before she noticed the distant voices. She looked around but saw nobody.

“We’ll enter the main road from there and appear as casual travelers.” He paused and lowered his arm. “I think we should pose as husband and wife.”

She spun to face him, the ache in her ribs erupting. “What? Why?” The incoherent argument tumbled from her mouth. “I don’t think—me, a wife? I can’t cook and do laundry, plus…I’ve never even been with a man.”

“I don’t believe any of those things are a prerequisite.” Was he laughing at her? “Our relationship will be only for show. Icarus and the Bane are devious. I can’t risk them slipping in during the night to steal you.”

She stared straight ahead. Of course he was right. She couldn’t fight the demons in her weakened state.

“Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But could she promise him the same? “I’ll try. What do I do…to be a wife, I mean?”

“Nag. Whine about the accommodations. Talk about having children.”

She craned her neck to see him. “Do wives talk like that?”

He smiled.

“You’re teasing me?”

“A bit. If it puts your mind at ease, it’s been a long time since I’ve shared quarters with anybody. Especially a woman.”

She harrumphed. “No, that doesn’t ease my mind at all. At least one of us should know what we’re doing.”

“Rest assured, Lady Ravyn, I know what I’m doing.”

A spike of pleasure raced through her body. “Yes, I just bet you do.”

“You
will
have to pretend to like me.”

She could do this. “A heavy burden, indeed.”

He gave her a brilliant smile and she groaned inside.

He clicked softly and moved Sampson onto the path.

Chapter Six

They emerged from the woods and onto the muddy road. Sampson skirted the edge of the track to avoid the water-filled ruts carved through the center of the dirt pathway. Ravyn tried to lift her foot above the splattering muck, but her efforts failed. She hoped Rhys hadn’t lied about the hot bath.

A bellow of distant voices rolled down the road toward them. She stretched to see around the bend. “Is there a town nearby?”

“No, but this road leads to Itta.
The Dirty Habit
is a frequent rest stop for travelers. It’s like a small town. I’ve know the owners for years.” He chuckled. “They’re a very prosperous lot.”

“The Dirty Habit? What kind of name is that?”

“For a century, members of The Order of the Saints have stopped at the inn to rest and change out of their dirty habits. I believe the inn’s original name was
The Dragon’s Head.”

“I like that much better than
The Dirty Habit
.” She sighed. “Then again, I might be prejudiced against anything named after The Order.”

“With good reason.”

They continued toward the noise. She scanned the area visually and mentally for signs of danger. Nothing seemed out of place—no needling bites or oppressive darkness.

A polished wooden box hanging between four white horses crowded the road. A skinny boy holding a tether leaned on, more than led, the animals picking their way through the mud. Ravyn’s gaze narrowed, bringing the oncoming conveyance into focus. Smoke furled from a small chimney on the roof. Only the wealthiest or most holy traveled by horse litter.

Sampson veered into the trees and stopped. Sympathy bloomed as Ravyn watched the boy slog through the ankle-deep mire. How many miles did he still have to travel? Dark blue tapestry curtains ensconced whoever rode inside. She squinted. Silver symbols embossed the curtain, a flame inside a crown. She sank back, pulling the blanket up to cover her mouth and nose.

Rhys’s arm tightened around her waist. “What is it?”

“That symbol represents The Order of the Saints.” She muffled her reply behind the blanket. “What if I’m recognized?”

“I doubt it. The Sisters might not even know you’re missing.”

She nodded and watched the litter’s slow progress. Though she was nobody in the eyes of The Order, gossip traveled fast. Fueled by Powell, the news of her escape would quickly spill to every abbey and monastery in Inness. With a few discreet questions and several well-placed coins, Brother Powell could uncover her trail within a day.

The litter pitched from side to side as the horses moved toward her and Rhys. A thin crack widened between two curtains. Ravyn pressed against him, willing herself to vanish. Pale eyes peered out from the litter. Had she seen them before, perhaps in her nightmares?

The haunted stare pinned her in place. She bit the blanket, trying to stifle her panic and silence her fear of being seen. A whimper slipped from her lips.

Seconds passed before the curtain snapped closed. The hold over Ravyn vanished. Her breath stuttered from her lungs in tiny huffs, but her gaze remained riveted on the litter. The horses lumbered past and carried their mysterious rider around the bend and out of sight.

Her voice wavered. “Let’s go.”

She straightened away from Rhys, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction. The Order of the Saints unnerved her, but those eyes—they were too familiar. But the occupant of the litter must possess a fair amount of power among The Order, why would she recognize the eyes?

Rhys moved Sampson to the edge of the road. A hive of activity greeted them as they rounded the turn. The odor of manure and hay mingled in the air and rough wood-hewn buildings with woven thatch roofs clustered together in what looked like a small market. This was a happy place—and a far too busy place. Her anxiety at being discovered in this teeming area heightened.

“Try to act natural,” he said in a low voice.

She gave a weak nod and sat a little taller in the saddle.
Natural. I can do this.

Rhys pointed to a massive dwelling that soared three stories high. Cedar shakes covered the roof, and dozens of multi-paned windows gleamed in the morning sun. “That’s the inn.”

“It’s wonderful.” Her glance darted around the courtyard, trying to see everything at once. “There are an awful lot of people here.”

He said nothing but gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

Men congregated on the front porch and lounged against a railing that stretched the length of the inn. Who were these people? Patrons of the inn? Sympathizers to The Order? Ravyn resisted the urge to shy away from the crowd. With concerted effort, she relaxed her shoulders, letting them sag.

A young girl cranked a large handle attached to a pole, reeling in dry laundry, as another girl plucked the items off the line and tossed them into a small wagon hitched to a goat. An elegantly dressed woman smiled into the dirty face of a giggling baby held by his gypsy mother. A twinge of jealousy nipped at Ravyn. Perhaps one day she’d have a life that would allow her such untroubled days.

Several young people with various shades of orange hair bustled about the inn.

Ravyn blinked. “How curious.”

Rhys’s quiet laughter rumbled against her back.

A round-faced man waved to them from across the yard. The same bright orange hair wreathed his balding head. “Ahoy, my lord.”

“Good morning, Orvis. I see business is good,” Rhys called back.

The man wiped his dirty hands down the front of his apron and waddled toward them. “Thanks be to The Sainted Ones. I’ve many mouths to feed.”

“Darling, may I present Orvis Giles, the owner of this fine establishment.”

Ravyn stared at the innkeeper, listening to the men talk. A not-so-gentle squeeze pinched her arm and Ravyn realized Rhys’s comment had been directed at her. She forced a smile, certain her expression looked anything but natural.

Orvis gave her a toothy grin and a proper bow. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your inn’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you, thank you. We do what we can for our customers.” He folded his hands across his ample belly.

“Are all these children yours?” She pointed to the scurrying crew of carrot tops.

“Indeed, they are.” His voice rang with pride. “The Saints blessed me with fertile loins. There are ten in all. My wife and I care for and feed them, but they do their parts. No room for lollygaggers here. Too much to do.”

He radiated happiness and honesty. But she had to wonder—what kind of woman could give birth to ten children? She’d seen the animals at the abbey give birth and just thinking of bearing one child made her knees press together.

Orvis beamed. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

The lie flowed smoothly from Rhys’s lips. “Lady Blackwell and I are traveling south, and we couldn’t think of a better place to rest for a few days.”

If possible, Orvis’s face brightened further. “You’re married? Well, bless my soul. I never thought I’d see the day when you settled down, my lord. She’s a real beauty.”

Ravyn pulled the blanket more tightly around her.
Now
who was telling the lies? She might be many things, but a beauty wasn’t one of them—especially after brawling with a deranged monk, submerging herself in a dirty trench, warding off an attack by the Bane, sleeping outside in the rain, and riding on a horse all morning.

“Thank you, sir, but I must look a fright. I took a tumble from Sampson.” She absently picked at a patch of mud on her skirt, unable to lie directly to the man’s face. “And uh, landed in a large mud puddle.”

Lies did not come easily for her. Every falsehood she’d ever told growing up in the abbey had been met with painful and humiliating punishment. Deceit was a sin you burned in The Abyss for. Was it her imagination or did the fires of damnation just roar to life?

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” The concern on Orvis’s face deepened her guilt.

For his benefit, she plastered on a cheerful smile she didn’t feel. “I’m fine. Only my pride was injured.”

“Glad to hear it, my lady. You don’t want to start your marriage bruised and battered.”

Her smile pulled against her mouth, probably looking more like a grimace than happiness. “Not to worry, my—hu—husband takes very good care of me.”
Husband
sank its claws into her throat in an effort to not be spoken.

“Yes, his lordship seems properly fit. And I suppose he’s handsome enough, if you like the dark, masculine type.” He gave Rhys the once-over. “Luckily, my wife has a more refined palate and prefers a sturdier man.” He patted his belly. “I was the catch of the territory at one time.”

Rhys propped an elbow on his thigh. “Yes, we all live in your shadow, Orvis. I still don’t know how you landed Willa. She’s much too good for you.”

“No truer words were ever spoken.” The jolly innkeeper rocked heel-to-toe.

Ravyn liked the way Rhys teased Orvis. Joking made him more…human.

She cleared her throat and forced her words, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck. “Fortunately, I prefer the dark, masculine type.”

Orvis grimaced. “Careful, or his head will swell like a fall pumpkin.”

“Not with you around, Orvis,” Rhys said.

He cupped the back of her head and stroked downward, stopping at her neck. It felt nice, a little too nice. She waited, unsure what to do. Strong fingers burrowed into her hair and curled around her neck, sending unwelcome shivers across her shoulders. In an attempt to dislodge his fingers yet
look natural
,
she leaned slightly forward. Rhys continued to massage her stiff muscles. Was he toying with her? She was fairly certain actual married couples did not display this type of affection in public.

He pressed his chest to her back. “I’m grateful you find me appealing, wife.”

The word “wife” expanded and filled her like warm soup on a cold day, but his overt flirting horrified her. There was nowhere to go. Trapped in his grip, his body layered against hers, she flushed.

Orvis’s hoot of laughter deepened her mortification. “Ah, now there’s a woman in love if I’ve ever seen one.”

She ground her teeth and smiled.
In love? Ridiculous.
If the innkeeper only knew the true nature of their relationship.

Rhys slid his hand down her back and wrapped both arms around her waist. “I’m a lucky man, indeed.”

A black braid fell forward and caressed her cheek. She couldn’t move, scared he’d pull her farther into his embrace. When Orvis turned away, she elbowed Rhys in the ribs. He let out a small grunt, but his hold loosened. She expelled a pent-up breath when he finally sat back.

“Willie, set that crate down and come over here,” Orvis shouted.

The boy obeyed immediately.

“This is my son Willie.” Pride tinged Orvis’s introduction. “He’s my oldest.”

Though Willie’s build was slight, he was a young man and not a boy. The faint shadow of a ginger beard dirtied his chin. “Welcome back, my lord.”

“Thank you, Willie. I hope things are well.”

He executed a stiff bow. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”

“Take care of his lordship’s mount.” Orvis ran a hand down Sampson’s flank. With a quick sleight-of-hand, he produced an apple and offered it to the horse. “I believe he’s the finest stallion in all of Inness.”

Sampson shook his head and gently retrieved the fruit from Orvis’s grip.

“He’s smart,” Willie chimed in. “He knows not to bite the hand that feeds him.”

Ravyn stroked the animal’s mane and looked at Willie, mustering the sweetest smile possible. “I’d be grateful if you could slip him a small treat during our stay. He was a perfect gentleman after I tumbled off of him this morning. He stood perfectly still while I floundered about in the mud.”

Willie stared up at her, and like the last patch of snow on a spring day, his stiffness melted away. “I’ll treat him like royalty, my lady.”

He took a step toward her. She jerked upright, putting a bit of distance between them. His gaze caressed her. Certainly this wasn’t proper?

Her eyes began to burn and she blinked several times, willing him to do the same. Nobody had ever looked at her this way. She smiled awkwardly, and Willie took another step forward.

What was she supposed to do? She was certain social etiquette required her to say something. The extent of her isolated life mocked her. “Um, thank you, Willie.”

Rhys cleared his throat but Willie seemed oblivious to everything but her. “My name on your tongue is music to my ears.”

Well now, that wasn’t appropriate. She scrambled for a neutral-yet-discouraging response. His hand drifted toward hers. Whether he meant to cover, caress, or capture her hand, she never found out. A sharp smack on the back of his head knocked poor Willie out of his stupor.

Orvis propped his fists on his hips and glowered at his son. “All right, get on with ya, boy, before you disgrace yourself in front of Lord and Lady Blackwell.”

Willie’s cheeks reddened to match his hair. He reached for Sampson’s reins but shot a furtive glance her way. It seemed rude to ignore him, but more errant to encourage him.