Chapter 16

Sixteen

It was only as she inhaled her supper that Rosalynde realized how very famished she was and how long she'd gone without supping—not since yesterday morn, long hours before leaving London. Goddess forgive her, but never had she enjoyed the consumption of cooked flesh with such abandon. She had relished every small bite, including the charred skin. Consequently, as her mouth was moving without any true purpose of speaking, she learned a number of things.

First, the power of mind over body was fascinating. She had been too preoccupied to allow herself to feel any hunger, and now that she had essentially acknowledged it, she was like a wild beast, snarling over her food, and eating with all the eagerness of a London beggar.

Secondly, Wilhelm of Warkworth was conflicted. She recognized his love and his concern, even as she acknowledged his anger. It was there in his eyes and his voice when he spoke to his lord brother. Whether it was because of Lady Ayleth, or some other grievance, she hadn't any clue, but it wasn't really her concern.

Thirdly, the man didn't seem know what to do with her, though he was perfectly content to ignore her. Unlike his brother—who couldn't seem to keep his eyes off her—every once in a while, he peered out of the corner of one eye and then swiftly away when she met his gaze.

And fourthly, like a child looking for validation, Wilhelm talked a lot, rambling on and on about everything, from the difficulty of catching cony, to the idiosyncrasies of a good war horse, to the dissembling of Stephen. Rose wondered if Giles realized that a simple thank you from him might actually tame his brother's prattling. And nevertheless, since it wasn't forthcoming, Wilhelm carried on. And on. And on…

Now, he took it upon himself to name every known infraction Stephen ever made—everything from the breaking of his oaths to her father, to the handling of the kingswoods.

But, of course, neither of these men had any inkling they were speaking about Rosalynde's father, and she hadn't any inclination to tell them. She sat quietly, watching, listening.

"You were not there, Giles. I distinctly heard him say—with his own mouth—he would overturn Henry's forest laws," Wilhelm talked through greasy fingers, as he gnawed at his bone, spitting out slivers. "Still he has not. Twelve years of lies and more lies."

The differences between these two brothers couldn't be more distinctly evident by the manner of their supping. Wilhelm, dark and brooding, tore after his meal with more zeal than Rosalynde had, much to her chagrin because it wasn't very attractive to watch. But at least she had the veil to hide her greasy teeth and lips. Giles, on the other hand, purposely sliced his meat from the bone, placing the neat slices into a growing pile. "I have no issue with the kingswoods," Giles said. "As it stands, there's hardly any boar left anywhere. At least Henry's Forest Law protects them."

Wilhelm argued, "There's boar in Pickering and Inglewood."

"For now, and yet the instant he overturns that charter, every man and his brother will hunt them. They'll be gone before you know it."

Wilhelm harrumphed. "And you think that man honors Henry's Law because he cares about boar? Nay, brother. He maintains those kingswoods because he covets them for himself."

Giles offered his brother a lift of his brow. "There's much I do not respect about our king, but I warrant he hasn't time for hunting, Will. Gossip doesn't behoove you."

Wilhelm growled, tossing away his bone, sliding Rosalynde a prickled glance. Meanwhile, Giles leaned back against the stump Rose had been seated upon earlier, staring contemplatively into the fire, and every now and again he looked at Rose, studying her as though she were a suspicious roll of knucklebones.

Only now that she had a bit of food in her belly and she could think more clearly, she realized that, whilst she continued wearing the veil, the worst case might be that her eye color would change, and Giles might note it. Else-wise, much of her face remained hidden, and if either of these men suspected something, there was hardly any chance they would rip the veil from her face to reveal her.

And nevertheless, she could not abide the smell of the veil now that she had cony grease all over it, and if the itchy fabric wasn't annoying enough, the foul odor made her long to rip it off and toss it away.

Truly, now that she was away from London, there was no reason to keep the glamour or the veil, save that these two arguing brothers had already seen her face, and how would she explain it? She had but needed the glamour to escape London without being recognized. Here on the road, it was enough to be wearing the habit.

She tried her best to ignore Giles, eating quietly, listening intently, and therein also discovered precisely where they were—not in any of the kingswoods, so it seemed, even despite their heated discussion over the subject.

Long past Darkwood, Giles had directed them to some small woodlot south of Whittlewood and Salcey, where only small quarry survived, which was indubitably the reason the woods seemed so quiet. Sadly, it couldn't even be called a forest. Unlike Darkwood, with its thick cluster of trees, the woods were thin and sparse. There was hardly any place for hart or boar to roam or hide—nor for that matter, any place for anyone to hide, which, in essence, was the deciding factor in Rosalynde's decision to leave—the sooner the better.

So much as she appreciated these brothers grim and their sweet, lovely horses—and so much as she'd like to believe the Goddess had sent them to aid her—she had no choice.

Rhiannon once told her that following the will of the Goddess should be easy. It was only difficult if you were attempting to force your own will over the will of the Mother. So, if, at some point, all of life seemed to be conspiring, it was time to reexamine one's decisions.

Therefore, so much as she had hoped Giles could be her very own champion, it mustn't be so. It was too difficult to be in his company; and there were many, many reasons to leave, only a few to stay. And truly, considering that she hadn't actually anticipated finding herself a champion at all, there was only one true reason to stay: the mare.

On the other hand, when she considered all the many reasons to flee, they were a multitude.

Most significantly, there was the matter of the warding spell—without it, she would never sleep at night. And, when it came right down to it, two surly brothers with shiny swords were hardly any defense against her mother, and, anyway, both men were far too immersed in their own squabbles to have any sense for impending danger.

Moreover, even if Rosalynde could manage to find a good warding spell to be used without a proper pentacle, she was afraid they would be shocked to see her cast it, despite that they could no longer witness the effects it wrought upon the aether—startlingly beautiful formations, not unlike fae dust, or tiny, winking stars.

Sadly, most folks could no longer see the things a dewine saw, nor hear the voice of the Goddess. But to a dewine's eyes, all things were made of stars—even this… strange appeal betwixt her and Giles. Rose felt it like an annoying tug at her heart and a crackle in the air, and it was hardly as comforting as she'd imagined it should be. It filled her with incredible angst, and she had more than enough of that already with worries over Morwen.

So, then, whilst Wilhelm continued to complain about Stephen's reluctance to overturn her father's Forest Law, despite his promise to do so, Rosalynde planned her escape…

If she could manage to slip into those puny woods, perhaps these contenders would be too busy thinking up ways to best each other and too replete to bother coming after her—at least for a while. As exhausted as she was—and, sweet Goddess she was—she knew they must be all the more so, because at least she had managed to sleep last night and a little while in the saddle.

And anyway, neither of these brothers should care about a silly nun. Quite to the contrary, they should be pleased to be rid of her—and, no matter, Rosalynde didn't believe they should trouble themselves with a search when they had days and days left to travel on their own account. Warkworth, she'd learned, lay far, far to the north—nearly as far as Aldergh. It was a week yet to Neasham, or so Giles had said, but that was by horse, and she would be afoot. Neasham was south of Aldergh—perhaps only halfway—and yet, so much as Rosalynde loathed to add another week or more to her travels, if she managed to hide herself well enough, even from these contentious brothers, she'd arrive at Neasham, long, long after they'd departed. Then, she could entreat upon the sisters to sell her a horse—and so what if they should happen to mention a silly nun from their travels. She would have more than enough of the philter remaining to cast one final glamour—one that would mask her dress as well as her face. They would see her as a luckless traveler and she would tell them that she had been robbed. If they wondered why she still had money to purchase a horse after being burgled, she would explain that she'd hidden the gold marks in the hem of her gown—and in fact, she could show them, and once she was gone, that would be the last of her lies.

As for the dream about Rhiannon… perhaps, after all, she wasn't alone. Perhaps Rhi would guide her, and she must trust her sister above all.

"You've been gone a long time, Giles. Not everything is as it was. And nevertheless, I'd not steer you wrongly."

Wilhelm's tone was resentful, and yet, Giles didn't answer, despite that Rosalynde sensed there was a pointed message in his brother's statement. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep? If she hadn't so much on her mind, Wilhelm's rambling would have had the same numbing effect on her.

At last, she decided that the time had arrived—now before she lost her nerve.

If she hurried, she could still find a good place to conceal herself before the sun set.

Scooping up her Book, she got up, belly roiling, though not over the meal she'd so ravenously consumed.

Without a word, she took the grimoire and bounded away, abandoning the cloak. She didn't want them to suspect, and she didn't need the cloak anyway. She'd only taken it because Arwyn had given it to her and it would be easy enough to cast another warming spell once she was safely away.