The Beauty Bride (The Jewels of Kinfairlie) (25 page)

* * *

It
was nearly midday and still there was no sign of Rhys. How long could it take
the man to buy bread and apples?

The
horses had disappeared into the town and Madeline had returned cautiously to
her earlier place. She had seen precious few men come and go from the town
since Rhys had disappeared. Moffat’s gates seemed to swallow souls and not
allow them to depart. She would go mad if she stood vigil, fretting, any
longer.

With
a start, she realized that she could walk into the town, just as Rhys had done.

Madeline
surveyed herself. Her garb was dirty enough and austere enough that none would
grant her a second look - not unless she rode a fine horse and drew every eye
to herself. She would leave the horses here, as Rhys had done.

She
could pretend to be a farmer’s wife. No, she knew no one locally and that alone
would prompt suspicion. She must concoct a fitting tale of who she was and how
she came to be in Moffat alone.

She
could pretend to be the wife of a mercenary seeking news of her lost spouse.
Aha! It was unfortunate that she was not round with Rhys’ child, as yet. A
pregnancy would elicit sympathy as well as ensure that she was not assaulted by
some fiend like Kerr.

The
thought was too good to abandon. Madeline rummaged in Rhys’ saddlebag, feeling
like a thief for no good reason, and claimed a pair of his rumpled chemises.
They smelled of Rhys and she impulsively buried her nose in them for a moment,
breathing deeply of the scent of his flesh, curiously as reassured as if he
stood beside her.

She
could have done worse for a spouse, that much was certain. Rhys was no
courtier, but she fancied that his heart was good.

She
knotted his chemises into a round bundle. She tore her own chemise and secured
the bundle beneath her skirts as if she was indeed ripe with child. She patted
the lump, well pleased with her efforts, and ensured that the horses were well
tethered.

“Stay,”
she bade the hound, which watched her so warily that she could not be certain
it would obey.

A
farmer’s wagon, drawn by a weary plough horse, came through the town gates just
as Madeline made to step out of her hiding place. She impatiently settled back
into the shadows as she waited for the wagon to pass. It would not do for the
horses to be stolen while she retrieved Rhys. She dared not be spied as she
left this place, and would have preferred to have no contact with any soul upon
the road.

The
wagon was cursedly slow, as if its driver meant specifically to try her patience.
The farmer seemed merry enough and was obviously chatting with his boy who rode
behind him. Madeline heaved a sigh, certain they had savored the ale in town
overmuch, for they sang loudly and tunelessly. She wished they would hasten
themselves home. The hound watched them as keenly as did Madeline. They rounded
the hill, laughing like fools, and she knew she was nearly rid of them.

To
her dismay, the wagon halted at the base of the hill on the far side from the
village. The boy, who proved to be large enough to a man, rolled out of the
back. He tripped over his own feet, the drunken lout, and landed face-down
beside the road. The farmer laughed so hard that his state could hardly be
better.

Madeline
was less amused, for she knew that dark tabard and dark tousle of hair all too
well.

Here
she had stood worrying, while Rhys had been drinking himself into a stupor! Her
cursed spouse stumbled drunkenly to the woods on the other side of the road.
Madeline looked away in disgust as he fumbled with the lacing on his chausses.
He tripped anew, fell harder, and did not move again.

Here
she had been fearful for the man’s very survival! The prospect of throttling
him herself grew mightily in appeal.

Madeline
simmered, even as she watched the farmer stagger to Rhys’ side. The older man
gave Rhys a poke in the shoulder, but Rhys did not move. The hound growled at
Madeline’s feet and she put a hand upon its collar.

The
farmer punched Rhys harder, and Rhys took a drunken swing at the other man,
rolled to his back and began to snore.

The
farmer found this so amusing that he had to sit down on a stone until his
laughter subsided.

Oh,
Alexander had done well, in finding Madeline a husband not only charged with
treason, but rough of manner and unable to resist the allure of ale! What need
of an auction? He could have abandoned her at the nearest tavern to find such a
rare prize of a spouse.

But
then, Alexander would not have had Rhys’ coin. Madeline grit her teeth, so
heartily displeased was she with the men in her life, and glared at events
unfolding below.

The
farmer wiped his brow, gave his drinking partner one last salute, then climbed
into his cart and whistled to his ancient horse. The cart creaked as it began
to move and the farmer started to sing a drunken ditty. Rhys did not move, so
deep was his stupor.

Madeline
should leave him there to rot! He deserved no less for such selfish folly.

But
the sorry fact was that Rhys was little good to her drunk in a ditch. He was
her husband: Madeline had pledged herself to him. Though this was worse than
she had expected, she was not a woman to forget her pledges.

What
to do? She could not carry the man, nor even drag him to his steed. She
supposed she should go to him, like the sweet dutiful wife she was not, and see
just how badly he was impaired.

And
if he was not in pain, she could ensure that he was.

The
prospect of such vengeance made Madeline smile despite herself. She knew she
could never injure Rhys, so much larger and stronger was he. Still, she could
have a word with him. It would not do for him to drink with such gusto with any
frequency.

She
peered after the wagon, which was well and truly gone, then made to stride down
to the road.

But
when she turned, Rhys was racing up the hill toward her, looking no more besotted
than she.

“We
ride!” he declared even as she gaped at him. He pointed across the road. “There
is a path that cuts through the hills and joins the road you spoke of...”

“But
you are not drunk!”

“Of
course not.” Rhys’ glance was scathing. “Only a man of no merit whatsoever
drinks himself to a stupor this early in the day. What manner of men are your
brothers?”

That
they should agree so vehemently on this matter was somewhat astonishing. Rhys
did not wait for a reply, which was fortuitous as Madeline could not summon a
word to her lips.

“I
feigned drunkenness to be ignored. A drunken mercenary is not remembered, my
lady, not even by the ale-maker who takes the drunkard’s coin.”

His
thinking made splendid sense. “You feign such a state so well that I was
fooled,” Madeline said. “Should I fret that it is your own extensive practice
that grants you such skill?”

Rhys’
grin flashed. “I have eyes in my head, no more than that.” He lashed the bag he
carried behind his saddle. “I have brought food, but we shall have to eat
later.” He fitted his hands around Madeline’s waist to lift her into her saddle
and froze at the changed shape of her belly.

His
grip tightened around her and he did not lift her higher, holding her so that
their gazes were level. “You conceive with uncommon haste, my lady.”

Then
he smiled a wolfish smile, one that set a thousand stars dancing in his eyes
and awakened a fearsome tingle in Madeline’s belly. She was very aware of the
heat of his chest fairly against her breasts, of their breath mingling between
them, of his resolute grip upon her waist.

Madeline
found herself flushing furiously. “I meant to follow you. I was concerned that
you took so long, and it seemed good sense to disguise myself...”

Madeline
could not finish her explanation, for Rhys kissed her with an enthusiasm that
made her forget her own thoughts. Her hands found their own way around his
neck, and he caught her close against his heat. They kissed hungrily and she
knew that she was not the sole one relieved by his safe return.

“I
like it well that you fret for me,
anwylaf
,” he whispered when he finally raised his head. “But I do not mean to
die just yet.”

“And
how bold is a man who believes that choice is his alone?” Madeline demanded
sternly, unsettled by the happy gallop of her heart in this man’s presence.

Rhys
held her gaze for a heady moment, as if he might make some sweet confession.
Madeline held her breath, until Rhys shook his head and turned, leading their
steeds back to the road. His manner was watchful and silent once more, and
Madeline did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he had said
no more.

He
was safe by her side, and for the moment, that would suffice.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Madeline
and Rhys spent precious hours winding a path back and forth around Moffat,
trying to ensure that their destination appeared to be Carlisle when it was
not. Rhys wanted to ensure that many souls saw them upon that road, and only
when he was satisfied that there had been enough witnesses did he take to the
concealed track that the farmer had mentioned.

“How
do you know that he will not tell another what he told you?” Madeline demanded.

“He
was drunken enough that he will be asleep himself by the time any other party
catches up with him,” Rhys said grimly.

“And
on the morrow?”

Rhys
shrugged. “I doubt he will recall his own name, let alone the nameless
mercenary who bought him ale.”

“How
much ale did you buy for him?”

Rhys
chuckled. “Enough to ensure as much, though he had an uncommon thirst.”

“You
will be impoverished if you continue to waste your coin thus,” Madeline chided,
having no idea how much coin Rhys possessed.

“Aye,
I have dispensed a great deal of coin upon women and ale on this journey.” He
cast her that beguiling smile. “Though I cannot call the expense a waste, in
all fairness.”

She
could not take offense, not when he looked at her thus. Indeed, her heart
thumped with painful vigor beneath his smile, and she felt herself flush.

She
would have to steel herself against her husband’s unexpected allure, lest she
become fond of a man who had wed her solely for the fruit her womb might bear.

* * *

To
Rhys’ relief, the path not only existed, but it was where the farmer had told
him. It was also deserted, much as the one Kerr had taken across the moors.
Ever cautious, Rhys only chose to halt after they were a goodly distance from
Moffat. They dismounted in a small clearing that would be out of clear sight of
a rider.

Madeline
looked about herself. “You chose this place because you can see the path.”

“Without
being readily seen ourselves,” Rhys agreed, appreciative of her perceptiveness.
He laid out the results of his excursion, apologetic that there was so little.
A noblewoman would be accustomed to finer fare than he could offer, not only on
this day. “Apples and cheese, bread and ale. There was little other than that,
as it was not market day.”

Madeline,
however, seemed untroubled by the simple repast. “How long must it last?”

“Perhaps
until Glasgow. Perhaps we shall risk another town before then.”

“But
you would prefer not to be seen,” Madeline concluded, no censure in her town.
She divided the food with quick efficiency, granting him a measure more than
herself and putting a good bit back in the sack. “The bread will be hard by the
morrow, so we shall eat it today, half now and half this evening. Be sparing
with the cheese, for it will keep a good while with that good rind upon it. We
shall each have an apple or two at each meal, at least until they are gone.”

As
he stared at her, impressed by her pragmatism, she gave an elaborate shrug.
“And the ale is clearly for me, as you must have had your fill of it already
this day.” She granted him a glance of such mischief that he was tempted to
forget the meal in favor of continuing their efforts to conceive a son.

Madeline
must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, for she flushed scarlet, then
sat down and busied herself with the meal. Her hands shook slightly and Rhys
hesitated before joining her.

“Are
you so afraid of me as that?” he asked.

She
glanced up, her gaze clear. “Are you a traitor?”

“That
depends upon who is asked.”

She
frowned. “That is not an answer.”

Rhys
shed his tabard and turned it around again, so that the red dragon of Wales was
clearly emblazoned again upon his chest.

Madeline
watched with interest. “There were those at Ravensmuir who said you tempted
Fate by wearing that insignia so openly. Why?”