Authors: Anne Barwell
* * * *
Tomas awoke to the smell of herbs and spices permeating the air. Shivering, he snuggled down farther into the soft bedding, blankets rough against his bare skin, his brain trying to work out where exactly he was.
The ceiling above him appeared to be made of some kind of straw, reminding him of pictures he'd seen of an old-fashioned thatched cottage. A cool breeze wafted through a slit in the wall nearby, the air carrying a distinct smell of dampness with it. Damn, it was cold. Pulling the blankets farther up and around him, his brain suddenly caught up with an earlier thought.
Bare skin? What the fuck? Sitting up with a start, he lifted the blankets to find he was completely naked.
Blushing bright red, he contemplated his next move, not wanting to make a complete idiot of himself but certainly not about to prance around the countryside in nothing but his birthday suit. Where were his clothes? He had to get out of here, to find Cathal.
What had those women done to him? Memories flooded back, and he groaned, massaging his temples in an attempt to get rid of the dull ache in his head. Mulled wine and some herbs. God, how had he been so stupid? He'd relaxed, all right, into unconsciousness.
How many hours had he slept? It was still light outside but definitely not as cold as it had been. A blanket carefully wrapped around him, he shuffled down the bed to squint out one of the slits in the wall. However, all he could see through what he presumed was meant to be a window was a shed of some sort and a horse grazing in the field behind the cottage. Slumping back down onto the bed, he shivered, focusing his attention on his surroundings. The women were nowhere in sight, but that didn't mean they weren't nearby.
The fire still burned in the hearth, but not as bright as it had been; the embers were now more of a deeper red against a background of charcoal. Hanging above the fire on a metal tripod was what appeared to be a cooking pot; he wondered if it was the source of what he'd smelled when he had first woken. Sniffing the air once more, he decided it well could be.
In the greater scheme of things, he should be relieved that at least he hadn't woken up in a dungeon, a cell, or something of that ilk. Or, his mind helpfully supplied, not regained consciousness at all.
He needed to make the most of the fact they'd left him alone and make his escape. However, without clothing and with no idea where he was or where to find Cathal, that was going to be easier said than done. He sighed, glancing around the room again. The bed consisted of a slightly raised base on sturdy wooden legs but was nothing fancy. Pulling back the rough cloth led to the discovery that the so-called mattress was merely straw arranged underneath, the top cover tucked to hold it in place. Still, it was surprisingly softer than he'd thought it should be.
The question was, whose bed was this? Deryn--correction, Lady Deryn, had been dressed much more finely than her older friend. This cottage hardly seemed a place he could imagine her living for long, more somewhere she would tolerate or visit.
Tomas frowned, backing up his thoughts a bit. He was jumping to a lot of conclusions in regard to her. She'd seemed friendly enough, but his gut feeling told him she was not to be trusted, even if she had shown no reason for that suspicion as yet.
They'd drugged him and taken his clothes. Surely that was enough? Leaving him in his present state also meant he wasn't about to wander too far.
What if she knew Cathal? Tomas had passed out before she'd given him an answer. His options were limited. As much as he disliked the thought of relying on either one of the women, he first needed to find out if they held answers to any of the questions he sought.
The only door opened, and he dived back down under the blankets, closed his eyes, and pretended to be asleep. Straining, he made out Deryn's voice and another deeper one. It was difficult to recognize her, as they both spoke barely over a whisper.
"Is he the one?" the male voice asked, footsteps growing closer. Tomas felt a hand shift the blankets slightly; it took all his self-control not to pull them around him and tell the person to fuck off and leave him alone.
"Yes," Deryn replied. "It appears that our suspicions were correct. It explains rather a lot, doesn't it?"
The man snorted. "Lord Emerys is not as subtle as he thinks he is." The footsteps moved farther away. "You play a dangerous game. I'm concerned for both of you."
"I do what I need for the future of our people," Deryn said. "Cathal has a part to play in that whether he wishes it or not, and I intend to make sure he takes responsibility for at least part of it."
The door opened and closed again. Tomas found he was shaking. She knew Cathal and had to know where he was. Fuck whatever those responsibilities were. He already knew Cathal was being forced into living a life he didn't want. To hell with helping her take away his choices still further.
Slipping off the bed, he looked around the room for anything that could be used as clothing. Apart from the blanket, there was nothing. Damn it! So close, and yet there was still nothing he could do!
They didn't know he'd overheard any of their conversation, and although he hadn't understood the details or known who the man was, all that mattered was that Cathal was in trouble. There were two choices open to him. He could reveal what he knew, but he had no aces up his sleeve, nothing to bargain with but his life, and that was not worth anything. Or he could play dumb, pretend to take any offers of help at face value, and hope like hell she led him to Cathal. He had no idea what might happen then, but at least that way he and Cathal would be together, and that surely had to give them a better chance.
What had been meant by "is he the one?" Tomas frowned, trying to make sense of it. The man's voice had sounded familiar, but surely that wasn't possible? He was a stranger here, and he'd never met any of Cathal's people before.
Hold up.
The Falcons.
Crap.
That was where he'd heard the voice before. It was the red-haired man, the one Cathal had called Gwalch. What the fuck was his connection to Deryn? Whatever Tomas had walked into, it had escalated quickly into something far more serious than a simple quest to find Cathal and bring him back. It was doubtful it had ever been that in the first place. The little Cathal had let slip about his people and his own situation had done more than hint that right from their first conversation.
"Up and about, I see?" Deryn's voice cut across Tomas's thoughts. He hadn't noticed her reenter the room. She smiled. He forced himself to return it. "You appear to be well rested after your sleep. We decided it was better not to disturb you but let you wake on your own."
"I feel a lot better, thank you," he replied politely. "However, I would appreciate you returning my clothes, as this blanket isn't exactly a very practical substitute."
She laughed. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I've burnt them."
"You've what?" Tomas nearly dropped his blanket, grabbing it just in time, noticing her eyes following the path of it toward the floor with interest. His cheeks flushed. "You can't!" Fuck. What about the flute? It was his and Cathal's way out of this place. It had never occurred to him that she'd do anything like that. Removed them so that he wouldn't go far, yes, but burning them seemed a little extreme.
"They marked you as an outsider," she explained calmly, a hint of amusement in her voice. "You want to blend in, not stand out."
He snorted. "I'm sure dressed like this, that's a given."
"As much as I'm tempted to leave you with just your blanket, I've sent one of my servants to get you some suitable clothes." Deryn smoothed down the front of her own dress, the hem of it swishing against the dirt floor as she walked over to sit on the bed, patting a space next to her to indicate he should join her.
"Your servant?" Tomas looked at her blankly, not moving.
"Why, of course," she exclaimed. "Surely you do not think a lady of my standing would perform such a task myself." Deryn laughed again. "Come now." She indicated their surroundings. "This cottage is Merran's, not mine. I am merely a visitor in her home. My own is a good two hours' ride from here and certainly not as humble as this."
"What about Cathal?" Tomas still didn't move. The last thing he wanted was to sit on a bed with her with just a blanket wrapped around him. He felt exposed enough as it was.
"Ah yes," Deryn murmured. "Your friend." Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and then she looked directly at him, something very hard fleeting across them for such a split second that he wasn't sure whether he'd imagined it. "I know of him, yes. In fact, there are very few who do not."
Tomas decided he didn't like the tone in her voice. "Can you take me to him?" He paused for a moment, then reluctantly added, "Please."
"Why, of course." Deryn seemed delighted that he'd remembered his manners. "It would be remiss of me not to honor such a request." The sides of her mouth twitched. "We merely need to wait for more suitable clothing." There was a knock at the door. "Enter," she instructed, raising her voice slightly.
A young man dressed in plain grey trousers and a loose-fitting tunic opened the door and came into the room. He appeared to be several years younger than Tomas, although it was difficult to tell. After all, Cathal had been alive in 1918 and had only aged a few years since then. "My lady." He bowed. "I have the items you requested."
"Very good," she replied, rising to her feet. "I will take my leave," she told Tomas, "and enjoy the sunlight we have left in the few hours until dusk." She nodded toward the young man standing in the doorway. "See to it that Master Tomas gets any assistance he needs."
"Yes, my lady." The man nodded, careful not to meet her gaze directly, keeping his head slightly lowered. She swept past him, and he closed the door behind her.
"I can get dressed myself," Tomas told him stiffly, not about to drop his blanket with an audience, however things were done here.
He shook his head, looking stubborn. "My lady has insisted that I help, and that is what I shall do." He glanced somewhat nervously toward the door. "She'll have me whipped if I don't."
"Whipped?" Tomas felt his stomach churn. Surely he couldn't be serious.
"Yes, Master Tomas." The manservant bowed his head, awaiting instructions.
"Just Tomas," Tomas insisted. "And your name would be?"
"Will." Will suddenly grinned at him. "It's important I help you. After all, my lady is taking you to see Lord Emerys, is she not?"
"Yes, but...." Tomas couldn't see why going to see Cathal meant he had to put up with this man insisting on dressing him when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.
Will looked more than a little smug. "It's not every day that a commoner such as yourself gets to meet with the king's nephew, now is it?"
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Chapter Twenty-Two
"The king's
nephew
?" Tomas stared at Will, his mouth dropping open. "You're kidding me, right?"
Will smiled. "I would not joke about so serious a matter, Mas... Tomas." He nodded at the blanket Tomas was still clutching to himself. "My lady does not like to be kept waiting. My orders are to dress you, and that is what I need to do."
Nodding slowly, still feeling a little numb, Tomas didn't protest further when Will gently removed the blanket and began dressing him. The undergarments were soft against his skin, the fastenings similar to what he remembered of Cathal's, laces rather than the zippers Tomas was used to. The trousers fit him snugly; the loose cotton shirt went over the top of a very warm undergarment; the outfit finished off with woolen hose and long boots. All were of a grey-blue color, although the boots were brown. A cloak still lay on the bed. Will draped it over Tomas's shoulders before fastening it around his throat.
"There, that is much better," Will murmured his approval, straight brown hair falling slightly over his face before he brushed it back in what appeared to be a practiced motion. "You are fit for an audience with Lord Emerys now."
"Where are we going?" Tomas felt much warmer, and his mind had begun to work again, although his thoughts were still spinning around in circles. He suspected that the materials these clothes were made of weren't entirely what they seemed. It was no wonder Cathal had not appeared to feel the cold.
"Why, to Lady Deryn's castle, of course." Will gave a small bow, more of an inclination of his head. "If that will be all, I have other duties to perform before we set off on our journey."
"There is something else." Tomas spoke hesitantly, unsure as to how far he could trust this man to give him the information he sought. "Lady Deryn...." He struggled to find a way to ask this without sounding too obvious that he had no idea of the situation in which he now found himself. "She knows Cathal... Lord Emerys. Are they related?" The little he'd overheard did not imply they were friends as such.
Will raised an eyebrow. "No, they are not related. Not yet, anyway, although,"--he lowered his voice--"she very much would like them to be, but he refuses."
"Refuses?" Tomas felt his mouth go dry, his mind racing to conclusions he did not like. Was she the one Cathal had spoken of? The one he was supposed to be with because of family expectations?
"Lady Deryn says that they are betrothed, but Lord Emerys refuses to acknowledge it." Will was quiet for a moment. He glanced around nervously. "Rumor has it that perhaps his interests lie elsewhere. But people talk, especially servants, and you can't always believe what is said."
The fucking bitch.
Tomas scowled, sure now why his gut feeling had said not to trust her. He muttered something under his breath. "I'm ready to go now," he told Will. The sooner he got to Cathal, the sooner he could tell Deryn exactly what he thought of her.
"All walls have ears, Tomas," Will warned him, watching him carefully. "No one is to be trusted."
"Then why should I trust you?" Tomas demanded.
"You shouldn't," Will confirmed. "After all, my loyalties are to the person I serve." He leaned in close to brush an invisible speck of dirt from Tomas's shoulder, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And like those I follow, I, too, believe in dragons."
What the hell was it with all this talk of dragons? Even Mikey and Wynne were fixated with them. "Do they exist here?" Tomas asked.
But Will just shook his head, behaving as though his last words had not been spoken. "Loyalty does, yes," he said. "As do rumors and lies. There is a fine line between all of them. Choose your path carefully, as often nothing is what it seems."
"You sound like you've been speaking with Cathal," Tomas snorted, beginning to wonder if this manner was merely a part of their society of which he was unaware.
"Lord Emerys," Will corrected gently, turning to leave. He paused before opening the door. "Do not keep my lady waiting, or give her confirmation that the rumors are true. She does not take competition kindly and is ruthless toward anyone or anything daring to stand in her way."
"What rumors?" There was no way anyone on this world could know of his and Cathal's relationship, and it was doubtful that Cathal would have spoken of him to anyone else.
Will simply smiled. "Now that would be telling, would it not?" And with that he opened the door and slipped out, leaving Tomas on his own once more.
Rumors and lies. Will's comments could simply be a combination of either, or perhaps he was telling the truth? Tomas knew all too well that often nothing was what it seemed; his trip through this particular rabbit hole had proved that. However, until shown otherwise, he would continue to believe in Cathal, and in the moments they had shared. Whatever was really going on, one thing was certain, and that was that Cathal was in trouble and needed his help.
The idea of Deryn and Cathal together made Tomas's skin crawl. His eyes narrowed. Will had said that she was ruthless toward anyone standing in her way. If Cathal was continuously refusing to acknowledge their betrothal, that alone might be enough to place him in danger.
Another thought struck him, and he froze, his fingers paused in adjusting his cloak and loosening it from around his throat. He hated tight clothing and feeling restricted, especially there. Surely she was not behind the Falcons coming after Cathal and dragging him back here? She knew Gwalch; that was suspicion enough to start connecting dots to build a picture Tomas did not like.
There was a knock at the door, and Will called out. "Master Tomas, my lady is waiting for you." His tone held more than a hint of disapproval. Apparently being tardy after she had requested one's presence was not the thing to do.
Tomas bit back a snort. Lady, or whatever the title meant, did not guarantee that he would be at her beck and call, at least not once he had found Cathal. For the moment, though, as much as he disliked the idea, his choices were somewhat lacking. Sighing, he pulled his cloak around him and left the room. It appeared that the next part of this adventure was about to begin, whether he was ready for it or not.
"Ah, I see you've finally decided to grace us with your presence," Lady Deryn greeted him, nodding in approval at his new clothes. "They suit you," she decided, "and look so much better than the strange garments you were wearing." A slow smirk crossed her lips briefly. "I'm sure Lord Emerys will agree once he sees you."
"Where is he?" Tomas demanded. Surely Cathal couldn't be expecting him? Unless.... He frowned, thinking about the flute. Had Cathal left it for him in the hope he'd follow? Surely not, considering Cathal's concern in keeping him safe; it had been the reason he'd repeated several times for not sharing the information asked of him. But then, a lot of this did not make much sense.
"My, my, such enthusiasm." Deryn gestured to someone standing in the shadows. "We really must be setting off then. After all, we've kept your
friend
waiting long enough." She handed him a pair of gloves. They were soft, appeared to be made of leather, and fit him perfectly when he put them on. "I am so looking forward to the two of you being reunited. It should be quite the touching moment."
Not liking her tone in the slightest, Tomas bit off a rude comment when a man started walking toward him leading a huge grey horse. It pulled at the bit in its mouth, shaking its head as it whinnied, apparently just as keen to meet with Tomas as he was to have nothing to do with it. He shook his head. Surely she couldn't be serious? He had no idea how to ride a horse, let alone an animal as large as this. It was a long way between it and the ground. The only time he'd tried to mount one, during a school outing, he'd fallen off and made a complete idiot of himself.
Deryn took the reins of the horse Will brought to her. "Is there a problem, Tomas?" she asked politely, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"No, of course not," Tomas said quickly, not wanting to give her a reason to enjoy his discomfort any more than she did already. Scanning the horse, he noted stirrups and a saddle. All he had to do was get from the ground onto the horse. It couldn't be that difficult, could it? The horse stared at him, almost as though it sensed his nervousness. He'd let Deryn mount her horse first and then copy what she did.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Deryn nodded toward Will, who held the horse steady while she put one foot in the stirrup and mounted.
"Ladies first," Tomas told her, his mind helpfully supplying the added thought,
although bitches don't count
. "Where I come from, that is good manners."
She laughed. "How quaint. It is a custom I might have to see if I can implement." Will handed her the reins and then mounted his own horse. Tomas had not expected him to ride alongside her, given his apparent station, but then Deryn's response had not been exactly traditional either. "Normally I would wait for a submissive, but mine is a little preoccupied at the moment."
"Submissive?" Tomas wasn't sure he wanted to know the meaning of the word, especially in any context Deryn might use. It was one Cathal had used too, growing angry when he thought Tomas might think of him in that way.
"Why, of course." Deryn smiled, obviously waiting for him to mount. "In a relationship there is always a dominant and a submissive. Otherwise what is the point?"
"The point is that if you love someone, there doesn't have to be either. It's meant to be mutual and equal." Tomas turned his back on her very deliberately, his lips pursing into a thin line, focusing on the task at hand in an attempt to keep his temper under control. Fucking bitch. No wonder Cathal had reacted, thinking Tomas was implying their relationship was anything but equal. Tomas couldn't imagine Cathal being submissive for anyone, let alone her, and there was no way in hell she'd be given the opportunity to attempt it.
"You do have some interesting ideas,
Master
Tomas," she chuckled, but there was hardness in her reply. He didn't turn around to see the look on her face. "You're an idealist obviously, the same as poor, dear Cathal. I'm sure the two of you will have such a lot to talk about."
Tomas gritted his teeth, determined not to reply to her baiting. What had she done to Cathal? If she'd hurt him, there wouldn't be anywhere safe to hide. The more she said, the further Tomas was convinced that there was anything but a formal audience with the king's nephew waiting at the end of this journey.
Psyching himself up, he swung his left foot into the stirrup, hoping like hell the horse didn't move. Luckily, the man holding it tightened his grip on the reins, murmuring something in the animal's ear. It immediately settled, waiting placidly for Tomas to mount, which he did, surprisingly more easily than he had expected. Gripping the reins tightly once he'd been handed them, he ignored the way his hands were shaking and wondered how he was meant to get it to move.
"Come along, then," Deryn said, already motioning her horse into a canter, Will falling in behind her and alongside Tomas. He leaned over, touching Tomas's horse lightly on its side, and it too started moving.
"You haven't ridden before, have you?" he whispered to Tomas once Deryn was enough ahead of them so that they wouldn't be overheard. The man who had held Tomas's horse had since mounted another and kept pace with his mistress, leaving Tomas and Will to follow behind. Tomas was surprised that there were only the four of them riding together; with her title, he had expected ladies-in-waiting or the like, but it seemed that Deryn traveled lightly with only the two servants. Merran had not appeared again, dismissed from both sight and mind once her purpose had been served.
"No," Tomas admitted, whispering back. "Is it that obvious?" While he was beginning to feel a little less nervous, his stomach was not happy with the up and down movement of the horse, and he had no idea what he would do if it decided to take off at a gallop in completely the wrong direction.
Will grinned. "Very obvious, but don't worry, I'll look after you." Deryn and the other servant moved farther ahead. She did not appear to want to waste too much time, and there was two hours ride ahead of them.
"Thank you." Tomas loosened his grip on the reins a little, his mind already running through likely scenarios of what he might find once they reached the castle. The annoying little voice in his head, which unfortunately seemed to have made the trip to this world with him, reminded him that he had no weapons and that his fighting skills were fairly nonexistent.
"If I didn't and Lord Emerys found out, my life would not be worth living." Will glanced around them, keeping one eye on their surroundings and the other on Tomas. "He is very protective of those he cares about, and it appears he cares very deeply for you."
Tomas's head came up sharply, unsure whether he should confirm or deny, especially considering Will's earlier comment that no one should be trusted. "What makes you say that," he asked slowly, noticing that Will was also keeping a close watch on the riders ahead and maintaining a careful distance between them.
"The risks he has taken," Will said softly, inclining his head to whisper something into his horse's ear, coaxing it to do what he wanted rather than resorting to a riding crop such as Deryn was using ahead of them. He smiled a little, but there were slight frown lines around his eyes. It was as though he'd seen more than he should have for his age; there was an air of maturity about him that Tomas would have expected from someone far older.