The Lady's Choice (8 page)

‘You have saved her, my lady.' Mistress Orard kissed Benae's hand. ‘How can I ever thank you?'

Benae ignored the surge of hope that rose within. ‘Remember what I said, Mistress. You must turn her every two hours. She is not back with us yet.'

Benae swept from the room, closing her heart against the hurt look that had crossed the poor mother's face. Mistress Orard could not afford to think her daughter would be healed without further effort. She must continue to nurse the girl until she rose from her bed. If in fact she ever did.

Ramón helped Benae into the carriage. ‘Mistress Orard looks upset. What did you tell her?'

‘The girl's fever is broken but her mother must not believe the battle is won. Elin needs all her efforts.'

‘Could you not have given her one shred of hope?' Ramón's face had gone red and a muscle twitched at his temple.

‘Hope will not save her daughter, just as it did not save my parents. I did my best, just as I did with Mama and Papa. Only the Goddess can know if it will be enough.'

Ramón's face had switched from beet to white. ‘I am sorry, Benae, I did not know.'

‘Did not know what?' she snapped.

‘I did not know that you had nursed your parents and . . .'

‘Go ahead, say it. I nursed my parents and failed. I nursed my brother and failed. I used all my skills and I could not even save my own. Sometimes we have no power and that mother must accept that.'

‘It sounds as though she is not the only woman who must accept that.' Ramón bowed and closed the door of the carriage.

Benae scowled at the closed door. She
had
accepted her lack of power. She had been forced to. Perhaps that was really it. Her powers had truly deserted her. Had she been reduced to the level of the peddler who sells tonics, knowing they can never cure anything? What did it matter? All the people she had ever loved were dead and she was building a new life for herself, making choices that would save those on her estate from starvation and the dark elves. If she could not heal then so be it. If only she could know if her talents had really deserted her. The child's fever had broken but so had Benae's parents' fevers . . . just before they died.

‘The child is gravely ill, Lady Benae,' Merel said, her big brown eyes oozing sympathy. ‘You have done your best and must not blame yourself.'

‘I do not know what I would have done without your support these past months, Merel, and again here today. You anticipate my needs before I know them myself. It is a special gift you have.'

Merel laughed. ‘You make it easy to help, lady. It is an honour to serve.'

Benae smiled at the maid and eased herself back into the seat. As the carriage rolled away, she said a prayer to the Goddess to heal Elin and protect her parents and brother.

Ramón was in a grumpy mood. The afternoon had been uneventful but he was bone tired. Two nights without sleep had robbed him of his usual resilience. Tonight he would retire early and not take part in the watch. Just thinking of his blankets made his eyelids droop. They arrived at a stream at twilight. The watercourse marked the beginning of a forest and he gave the order to set up camp in a clearing. The dark shadows under the trees sent shivers of unease down his spine but the merry gurgling of the water eased his fears. All would be well.

Ramón set two soldiers to guard duty while he helped the others pitch the tents and feed and water the horses. As soon as the water over the fire had boiled, Merel took a pitcher and bowl into the carriage. Ramón felt a tightening in his breeches at the thought of Benae's legs, bared as they were the night before they left. He relived the scene in her bedroom when she had tempted him, thrown her arms around him, and he had nearly succumbed. It had been a close run thing, but in the end, honour had won out. Nothing good could come of his laying hands on Benae.

When all was prepared, he sat by the fire awaiting the evening meal. The men brought out a skin of wine and shared it around, but Ramón declined.

‘Those with watch duty are only to have two swallows,' he said. That brought back-slaps and stories about how one or the other believed they fought better with a little wine or ale under their belt. Ramón knew that was not true. He smiled at their bluster but his mood soured at his next thought. He should be on the road in his search for the princess right now, not escorting Lady Benae across the countryside to Wildecoast. Instead, the search had been wound back just when the prince should have been throwing everything into finding his daughter. The longer she stayed with Vard Anton . . . If Ramón thought about what the two of them were getting up to on the road he would never sleep again!

Despite the disconcerting thoughts of Vard and Alecia together, that mission would be a far less complicated one than the one he was currently undertaking. Not for the first time, he cursed Prince Zialni for choosing to travel north rather than escort Benae to Wildecoast. All Ramón's efforts at avoiding Benae had gone to waste and now she was under his nose by day and haunting his dreams by night. As often as he pushed her image away, it slid back to torment him.

Benae brought out his best and worst characteristics. He wanted to protect her but she was too capable. He wanted to be angry with her for not quelling Mistress Orard's fears; instead, he discovered she blamed herself for the deaths of her parents. She had not been able to save them and she saw it as her fault. Would she carry guilt with her for the rest of her life? What other guilt did she carry? He knew all too well how guilt ate at the soul, how secrets festered. He was ashamed of the secrets he held and he regretted them, more than he could ever express. One was his part in allowing Alecia to escape with Vard Anton and the other . . . Suffice to say that if the prince learned of either of his secrets, his life would be forfeit and no doubt about it.

His meal arrived and he ate it distractedly until the ladies appeared and sat opposite him. He stood for them. ‘Lady Benae, Merel. I trust you have had a pleasant afternoon.'

‘Yes, thank you, squire. Merel and I have been planning my wedding festivities. It proved a most agreeable pastime.'

Ramón found himself discomforted at the thought of Benae's wedding. Likely it was just the thought that she had flung herself at him even while betrothed to his liege lord. He must focus on that. A complex lady was Benae; complex and intriguing. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like between them: their love, their lives together. She had a zest for life, no matter how she suffered now, a knack for making the best of a situation. Her interest in him made him walk more lightly, at least when he could forget whom she was destined for. Until Benae, he had never felt sought after by a woman. There had always been another who was more handsome, more riveting, more hypnotic than he.

He swallowed hard as the small but painful darts hit his heart. Alecia had always said he deserved a woman who would love him. He had not given up on the hope that it would be Alecia. In the meantime, there was duty and it was his duty to protect Benae, even from herself.

Ramón realised Benae was staring at him, her eyes hungry, hunting, predatory, but the expression was gone in an instant and she smiled coolly. It was such a contrast with the steamy look it replaced that he convinced himself he had been mistaken. What on earth had they been discussing? He could not remember.

‘We shall be on the road another two days and nights, my lady, but we make good time, despite our long stop today.'

Benae inclined her head. ‘I look forward to a proper bath and a soft bed.' There was that fleeting look again, as if she were on the prowl for a mate instead of having already secured one.

Ramón's mouth had gone dry. He cleared his throat. ‘I—'
Get a grip, man!
‘I will endeavour to make the rest of the trip as comfortable as possible, lady.' There, that was better.

A nervous whinny floated from where Flaire was tethered and Benae frowned. ‘Flaire has been restless this afternoon.' She paused as if listening. ‘I wonder what has upset him.' She speared a piece of meat and delicately prised it off her knife, her rosy lips closing around the mouthful. Benae had wonderful lips, especially when they curved in that lazy smile she often had. It was as if she had some private jest at the world's expense. He imagined she would be full of mirth with those she trusted.

‘It is likely just a bear or a wolf. I will set an extra guard tonight. Nothing will get past to menace your mount.' Ramón scraped the remaining stew from his plate and mopped up the gravy with a heel of fresh bread that the Orards had given them. He turned to the man beside him.

‘Play something lively for us, Henet.'

Henet grinned and took up the flute that lay beside him. Sparkling notes filled the campsite, swirling through the brisk night air. One of the soldiers, Seve, drew Merel to her feet and twirled her around the fire. The shadows of his fellow travellers cavorted throughout the clearing, chasing the last of Ramón's uncertainties away.

Benae sat up in her bed, sweat droplets moistening her brow and her heart pounding. Even awake, she could not dispel the images of the nightmare: dark shapes creeping through the night from tree to tree, man-smell swirling up her nostrils. A nervous whinny sounded from outside.
Flaire!
The pictures in her mind were not nightmares – they were from her stallion. They were real images that he was seeing. She pushed at Merel's shoulder and the maid groaned.

‘Up, Merel! The camp is invaded,' Benae said, climbing over Merel and pulling on her cloak. ‘We must raise the alarm.' She peered through the window of the carriage and saw a shadow slip past. ‘Awake!' she cried. ‘The camp is overrun! To arms!'

‘What is it, my lady?' Merel said, pushing her long hair from her face.

‘For the love of the Goddess, get up, Merel, or you will be killed in your bed.'

Benae's words must have finally sunk in, for Merel screamed and threw herself out of the bed. The maid reached into her knitting basket and drew a vicious hunting knife from beneath the wool. The metal gleamed in the faint moonlight.

‘I'll not let them rape us, lady,' she said.

Benae stared, half mortified, half wishing she had a weapon like it.

‘You stay behind me,' Merel said. ‘I'll defend us both.'

Benae was struck speechless by her maid's bravery, but Flaire screamed at that moment and fear lanced through her chest. In her mind, she saw a dark figure grab the horse's head collar and start to untie him. The cries of men and the clash of weapons penetrated the relative sanctuary of their carriage. Benae pushed Merel out of her way and tore open the door.

What she saw made her pause. The camp was in chaos. One of her soldiers lay unmoving before the campfire, an arrow in his chest. The other members of her guard, including Ramón, were locked in combat with more of the dark figures she had seen creeping past the carriage. A hand appeared from nowhere and hauled her down the steps. She fell into the arms of a man whose bright white teeth gleamed in a dark face. As he spun her about and pulled her back against him, she glimpsed pointed ears.
A dark elf!
Benae felt the bite of metal against her throat and froze. The man behind her smelt of forest and sweat. She did not even dare swallow but her eyes flickered to the right where Flaire was tethered. Another intruder was trying to untie Flaire as the stallion leapt and plunged against his rope.

Benae was dragged across the clearing towards the trees but still she dared not scream for fear that the man would slice her throat. She looked to the left and her eyes caught Ramón's. Desperation bathed his face as he battled two of the invaders. They backed him towards the fire and then Benae did scream, for she was certain he would be speared on the short knives of the attackers or burned in the fire. One of the invaders hurled something onto the fire and it flared into the night sky. Ramón grunted as the heat shot past his back.

But Benae's thoughts were torn from Flaire and Ramón as Merel flung herself down the stairs of the carriage and launched herself at Benae's captor. Benae had a moment to marvel at the fierce look on her maid's face before her kidnapper hurled Benae to the ground and met Merel's charge. Benae screamed as the man brought his short blade up to block Merel's knife-thrust, then swung his weapon and sliced through Merel's throat. Cold shock gripped Benae's body as she watched her maid slump to the ground, her lifeblood pumping from her ruined gullet.

‘Merel!' Benae hardly recognised the anguished scream that gurgled from her own throat. Her heart latched onto the hope that she could save the maid but a cold, hard part of her mind told her Merel was beyond anyone's help.
Save yourself!
But Benae could not move. Her limbs seemed frozen to the cool ground beneath her.
Run!

Even as the thought raced through her mind, Benae knew she could not leave Ramón and Flaire to the mercy of these invaders. Her attacker appeared as stunned as Benae was, staring down at the woman he had just murdered, but then he seemed to realise there was a job yet to do. His eyes met Benae's. He was young, not much more than a boy. She stood slowly, backing up towards where Flaire was tethered, knowing the stallion needed her protection. She could not lose him. Her foot came up against something and she glanced down to find the body of an elf at her feet. He must have been the man who was trying to free Flaire. She stepped backwards over his body but saw no movement of his chest. A gash marred his temple.

The approaching elf watched her, blood dripping from the metal blade in his hands. Benae came up against Flaire and he snorted and nuzzled her hair. He was fearful for himself and for her. He sent her images of them galloping through the forest, leaving the elves and the camp miles behind. But she would never make it onto his back. Perhaps if she could slip the halter from his head he could flee. Her eyes fell on the discarded whip the driver used and she bent to retrieve it, bringing it up between her and the elf. Years of horsemanship had taught her how to use a whip. It could be an effective weapon. She flicked the long, sturdy handle and the leather cracker at the end popped, sending Flaire into a flurry of dancing hooves.