Chapter 12

R osamund tried to ignore her rumbling stomach, but it was difficult when it was making so much noise. The meager pieces of bread and apple she had the night before were not enough and she was out of apples. Her only hope was that Edward didn’t hear.

As they continued on in amicable silence, he cut her a glance. A wisp of a smile was on his face. Something told her he heard her growling stomach even with the distance between them.

“You know,” he said, “there’s a town not far from here. We could be there by midday and have a meal before continuing on.”

A heated flush crawled up her neck to her cheeks.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, sheepish.

He laughed. “Truthfully, I’m famished, too. I’ve never been one to miss a meal.” He gave her a sideways grin.

“Nor I,” she said and then laughed. It was funny how much alike they seemed to be. From his clothes to his mannerisms, she suspected he was part of the nobility. But the question was from which kingdom? Hers or Woodhaven?

She didn’t know all the nobles in Myst, so it seemed reasonable he could be from there.

“What do you say? Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded. “That would be nice.”

He veered his horse to the right to head north. She did the same. But as they headed toward the forest, they heard the thunder of hooves behind them. She glanced back but saw nothing. Even so, her heart picked up speed. It sounded like more than one horse, which alarmed her.

“Do you hear that?” Her voice was a roughened whisper.

“Horses? Sounds like they’re behind us.” He seemed unconcerned.

But Rosamund had a knot of fear deep in her gut. She clutched the reins so tight, her hands cramped. She cast a swift glance back over her shoulder again and saw the four riders charging down the path. They were all dressed in full plate armor. One carried the sigil of Myst Hall.

She emitted a strangled gasp.

“What is it?” he asked, glancing at her with concern.

“I think we should hurry.”

She kicked her horse into a gallop, not really knowing where they were going. She dashed through the trees, leaning down close to her horse as she steered the mare through the dense vegetation.

“Rose, wait!” he called.

But she didn’t have time to wait. Those were her father’s soldiers. They were no doubt looking for her to bring her back to the castle. The last thing she wanted was for that to happen in front of Edward.

The thunder of hooves behind her told her he’d caught up to her. Even so, she pushed her horse harder and faster, heading for the tree line in her sights. All she had in mind was getting out of the forest and into the town he mentioned. Perhaps there she would be able to blend in for a bit.

“Rose,” he called. “Slow down.”

She said nothing as she continued on her way, her focus dead ahead.

Finally, he pulled up next to her, reaching for her reins. “Slow down.”

Much to her dismay, he slowed her horse to a trot.

“What was that about?” he asked, confusion etched on his face.

She sat straight and tall in the saddle, her mind racing to come up with an excuse. “I thought those men were chasing us.”

A ridiculous excuse, but hopefully he’d buy it.

“Those men back there?” He nodded behind them. “They looked like soldiers from Myst Hall.”

Exactly why she didn’t want to get caught. A breath shuddered out of her. “Did they?”

“Yes, they did.” His gaze narrowed as he looked her over. Suspicion laced his tone.

Her nerves jangled. She kept her eyes forward so her expression wouldn’t give her away. She didn’t hear the sound of the men behind them, so she hoped they had put enough distance between them and left them far behind.

“How close is this town you mentioned?” she asked, trying to make it sound as if it were nothing more than an innocent question.

“Westcliff is just outside the forest,” he said.

“Good.” She gave him a bright smile. “I’m ravenous!”

Luck was on their side. True to his word, they arrived in Westcliff around midday. By then, her hunger pains had become almost unbearable. She was lightheaded to the point of fainting.

But she managed to ride on as they entered the bustling town through the gates on the southside. Westcliff was part of the kingdom of Woodhaven near the southern border near the boundary of the Mystwood Forest.

It was larger than she expected. The main thoroughfare was lined with buildings. At the end of the main street, the church. Beyond that, more streets that hosted thatched roof huts for residences. And beyond the streets, fields and gardens where the residents grew their crops and grazed their animals.

Edward seemed to know where he was headed as he trotted down the narrow main street which was jammed with people, horses, and carts. She spotted a black cat darting through the crowd.

She followed, keeping her reins tight as her head swiveled from side to side, taking it all in. This was not like Briar Hill, where she stopped at the tavern and the kind woman, Anne, reclothed her.

No, this was much bigger. The buildings, she realized, were businesses. Everything from a dressmaker, to a candlemaker, to a baker, to a smithy. There was a shop for weapons, an apothecary, even a cobbler. The smell of refuse reached her and she frowned, trying hard not to gag.

He saw her expression and chuckled. “The tavern is just there.” He pointed ahead.

She nodded and followed him through the narrow street to the tavern, where he tied up his horse. She dismounted and did the same, glad to be out of the saddle. Glad, too, for the bustle of the town and hoped it would keep her concealed. She also hoped the soldiers had decided to go another way and not follow them out of the forest.

The faded sign over the tavern read The Red Lion and a picture of a roaring lion underneath it. Edward headed for the door, then paused to see her staring up at the sign.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not at all.” Then gave him a reassuring smile.

She followed him through the door into the rowdy tavern. The place was full. A bar lined one wall with every stool occupied. He led her through to the back, where one table was open. There he took a seat against the wall, positioning himself so he could watch the door. She took the seat next to him rather than across from him. There, she, too, would be able to watch the door in case the soldiers ended up here looking for her.

Moments after they sat, the tavern maid bustled up to their table. Her gown was old and stained. Her face, haggard and her eyes tired. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face with sprigs sprouting from what was once her perfect coif. She plopped down dark bread and two tankards of ales.

“What’ll it be?” she said, her tone impatient.

He eyed the bread in front of them, then glanced up at her with his best winning smile. “Beef stew for both of us.”

Nodding, she hurried off, her hips swaying as she went. Rosamund sat straight in her chair, her hands in her lap, as she eyed the door. As though waiting for the soldiers to find her and take her back.

“How did you know about this place?” she asked.

“I’ve been here before,” he said.

“You have?”

He nodded. “Only once. When I was returning home after a hunting trip.”

“So, you hunt?” She gave him a sideways glance.

“Sometimes.”

She noticed he, too, kept his gaze on the door. He seemed to be on edge, like her. Perhaps seeing the soldiers had spooked him as well.

“What do you hunt?” She was making small talk, she knew, and was merely trying to keep the conversation alive.

“Wild boar. Sometimes pheasant. Sometimes deer.”

“Oh,” the word shuddered out of her.

He leaned toward her then and dropped his voice. “Do you want to know a secret?”

She nodded.

“I don’t really hunt.” His face lit up in a wide smile.

“What do you do then?” she wanted to know.

“Sit in taverns and drink ale with my friends.”

With a twinkle in his eye and a sly smile playing on his lips, he exuded an irresistible charm that made it impossible not to be drawn into the mischievous energy surrounding him. Delight shifted through her as a soft chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers wrapping around the handle of the tankard with a sense of contentment.

“You don’t actually kill anything?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Never. Sometimes we camp under the stars and pretend we’re going to hunt at dawn. But we never do.”

“Camping under the stars sounds nice.” Her tone was wistful as she thought about the freedom he had.

She picked up the tankard and sniffed the ale. It smelled sour but she took a healthy swig anyway. The taste was awful as she swallowed it, then immediately grabbed the bread and tore off a hunk. She popped it into her mouth.

Edward chuckled. “Not used to drinking ale, are you?”

“I’ve never had ale.” It was an admission she didn’t want to make.

In her many formal dinners, she’d had wine certainly. But never the dark, heady ale or whiskey her father seemed to enjoy. After their dinners, the men went off to their own sitting room to smoke cigars and drink more ale while the ladies spent the evening in silence either reading or sewing.

Thinking of that now bored her.

She took another swig of ale as the beef stew arrived. The tavern maid dropped two large bowls on the table in front of them, then scurried off to take care of more patrons.

Rosamund peered down at the thick stew with chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes. Her mouth watered. She took up the spoon and dug in with alacrity. When she’d polished off the bowl, she sat back in the chair with a sigh of contentment. Then realized he was only halfway through his.

A wave of scorching heat pounded through her, piercing her cheeks.

He laughed.

“I see the beef stew was good,” he said.

As she was about to answer, the door to the tavern flung open. Four soldiers in armor stormed in. She sat a little straighter in her chair, her contentment wiped away and replaced with a stabbing fear. These had to be the men she saw on the trail behind them. They had caught up and now they were here looking for her.

She pulled her hood up and slunk down in her chair.

Edward, meanwhile, noticed the men and gave her a sideways glance as she tried to hide under the material of the hood.

He dropped his spoon. “Are they looking for you?”

She merely shook her head, keeping her eye on the men who spoke with the man behind the bar. Thankfully, they hadn’t talked to him when they arrived. She hoped to hide in the corner of the shadows. But then the man who appeared to be the leader turned from the bar and scanned the large room, his eyes alighting on each patron.

When he spotted them, he started their way. Edward scooted closer to her.

“They are, aren’t they?” He kept his voice low.

“I fear they are.” She dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap.

The soldier stopped at their table, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Rosamund stole a glance upward to see him scrutinizing both of them. He was not one of the guards she knew. For that, she was grateful. Edward, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair as though the sight of the man didn’t bother him at all.

“We’re looking for a woman. Tall with blonde hair and green eyes,” the soldier said.

“I’m looking for a woman, too,” he snapped back. “Though I confess I haven’t found one worthy.”

The man scowled at him, then looked at Rosamund. “Perhaps you’ve seen her.” It was a question directed to her. “She would have left Myst a few days ago.”

Edward threw his arm around the back of her chair. “My sister and I are traveling through town. We haven’t seen anyone. Especially someone from Myst.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that those of us from Woodhaven prefer not to fraternize with those from Myst.”

Rosamund shifted in her seat as she cut him a glance. He continued to look at the soldier with guarded eyes and she understood then it was all a ruse. The guard’s eyes landed on her then.

“This is your sister, eh?” He sounded unconvinced. “What’s your name, girl?”

“I’m afraid she can’t answer you. She’s mute,” Edward said.

It took everything in her to remain perfectly still and not snap her head in his direction. The guard bent down to give her a closer inspection. She stared back, keeping her gaze strong and sure as he peered at her with black suspicious eyes.

“You have green eyes,” the man said.

“A gift from my mother,” Edward said, sounding jovial. “I can assure you this girl isn’t the one you seek. We traveled together down from Dundeen. She hasn’t left my sight.”

The soldier straightened, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. He did not appear to believe Edward’s story. He lingered there a moment longer, glancing between the two of them, and then turned and headed back to the front of the tavern.

The other three had fanned out through the crowd, asking questions and looking for her. When they finally all left, she blew out a breath. Edward dropped his arm and scooted back to his previous position.

“Perhaps, Rose, you tell me why a soldier of Myst Hall was looking for you.” He turned to face her, his eyes piercing through her. “And who you really are.”