Rise (16 page)

With a sigh, Jérôme said, “I am not jesting, Lady Morrow. I brought the gown for a purpose. You cannot go to your sister’s husband in that ragged dress you’re wearing.”

“I thought not to go in a dress at all,” Ember answered.

Jérôme’s eyebrows went up. “Well, that would be interesting.”

Ember made a sound of disgust, and Barrow rose, his hands becoming fists. Before he could speak, Jérôme said, “Peace, friend. I meant no harm—I only thought to lighten the spirit of this dark morning.”

“Sit down, Barrow.” Kael threw a hard bread crust at Barrow. “It’s too early for chivalry. You’re making my headache worse with such noble posturing.”

Barrow stared in surprise at Kael, but after a moment he laughed. “I shall spare your aching head, then.”

“Ember.” Lukasz took up the conversation. “Jérôme discussed a tactic with me, and I think you should hear it.”

Ember looked at the French knight.

“Do you want to arrive at Count de La Marche’s estate as a noblewoman or a warrior?” Jérôme said, gesturing to the dress and then the pile of men’s clothes. “I leave the choice to you, but consider to whom the count will respond more warmly—a contingent of knights or his wife’s noble sister and her retinue.”

She looked at the two sets of clothing. Resigned, Ember reached for the dress.

Jérôme nodded his approval, but his expression wasn’t gloating—a good thing, for if he had watched her acquiescence with a snide smile, Ember would have wanted to don a pair of breeches just to spite the Frenchman.

“It’s the wiser course, Ember,” Lukasz told her. “You can dress here. We’ll take the clothes Jérôme brought for us and change in the stables. Then we’ll ready the horses and wait for you.”

He stood up, gesturing to Barrow and Kael. “Come on, then.”

“I haven’t finished my breakfast,” Kael said, pointing to a half-eaten wedge of cheese.

“Bring it with you.” The commander disappeared into the tunnel with Jérôme behind him, his arms full of clothing.

Muttering under his breath, Kael bound up the bread loaf and cheese in a cloth and went after them.

“What you wear doesn’t change who you are,” Barrow whispered in Ember’s ear. “Never forget that.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He kissed her lightly and left the table.

“Barrow,” Ember called after him. When he turned, she said, “I also haven’t forgotten what happened the last time I exchanged my warrior’s clothes for a dress.”

“Nor have I,” he said, smiling. “Would that our companions weren’t awaiting me, or I would give you more to remember.”

He disappeared into the tunnel, and Ember hugged the silk brocade to her body, letting the warmth of the memory she did have wash over her. After finishing her bread, Ember spread the gown on one of the pallets. She couldn’t deny that the dress was beautiful. Its deep green hue reminded her of the dark pines that covered Scottish hills.

Ember pulled off her rough wool dress and put it aside. The silk brocade was as pleasing to her hands as to her eye. The gown slid on easily. Its low, broad scooping neck revealed her chemise at the bodice and shoulders. Ember grimaced, knowing that the dingy pale cloth contrasted poorly with the fineness of the green silk, but there was nothing to be done about it.

The lacing for this gown was at Ember’s side rather than the back. She tightened the cords, tying them off when the silk wrapped her torso in a snug embrace.

Just as she couldn’t improve the state of her chemise, Ember had little luck tidying her hair. She pulled her fingers through its length until her auburn tresses were free of tangles and decided that was good enough.

The sound of a man’s cough drew her eyes to the tunnel opening. Jérôme stood watching her, a playful smile on his lips.

“I see there was a noblewoman hiding beneath the peasant dress,” he said. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Rather than reply, Ember belted on Silence and Sorrow, fastening a cloak over her dress so the weapons would be hidden.

Jérôme stepped aside to give her entry to the tunnel. “Your companions await. I must leave by the other door, but I’ll see you at the canal shortly.”

He bowed deeply when Ember brushed pass him, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge the gesture. Her patience with the arrogant knight had worn too thin, and she didn’t trust her tongue to be anything other than venomous.

When Ember reached the subterranean stables, the horses were saddled, bridled, and once again blindfolded.

Lukasz led their ascent, carrying the white-flamed torch that had burned ceaselessly since the commander had taken it up. When he reached the top of the staircase, the stone slab groaned its way open. They led the horses out into a city filled with the lavender-gray light that warned of dawn’s approach.

Returning the torch to its sconce, Lukasz spoke quiet words and swept his hand through the white fire. Ember blinked and the flames had returned to their normal colors. The Templar seal that hid their sanctuary closed, restoring the appearance of a solid wall.

“Jérôme awaits us at the canal on the other side of Saint-Sauveur,” Lukasz told them.

They retraced their steps along the narrow side passage, entering the streets of La Rochelle. A thin veil of mist hung over the canal. The other knights mounted, but Ember struggled to find a way to get her foot into the stirrup without pulling her skirts up to her waist.

“Let me help.” Barrow had swung out of his saddle and now was behind her. He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up, allowing her to slip her leg over the saddle with ease.

“Thank you,” she said, rearranging the bothersome skirts so they fell properly over her legs as she sat astride Caber.

Barrow smiled at her. “Of course, my lady.” His hand slid beneath her skirt. For a moment, he seemed to be making sure her foot was secure in the stirrup, but then his fingers were on her bare calf.

“I find it troubling,” he said in a low voice only for her, “to be so close and yet so rarely be able to touch you.”

“Yes.” Ember gripped the reins as Barrow’s hand moved slowly up her leg. “It is troubling…”

“Lady Morrow, are you ready?” Lukasz called to them.

Barrow laughed quietly, leaving Ember’s leg tingling when he returned to his horse.

Jérôme waited for them between the church and the waterway, holding the reins for not one but two mounts.

The first, a dark brown steed, stood quietly but cast annoyed glances at its equine companion, a filly who couldn’t seem to keep still. The filly whinnied when she saw other horses approaching and tossed her head so that Jérôme had to take a firmer hold of her reins.

“You’re not alone?” Kael asked Jérôme.

The Frenchman shook his head. “I’ve simply brought the last of the provisions you need for your journey. Lord Hess, could I trouble you to leave your saddle?”

Barrow dismounted and came forward, leading his roan.

Jérôme nodded at the filly. “Her name is Tempête.”

“The storm.” Barrow looked the filly over. “Appropriate for a silver dapple.”

“Her coat is less cause for the name than her spirit,” Jérôme told him. “How do you like her?”

“She’s a beautiful filly,” Barrow answered. “Lithe. I imagine she’s a runner.”

“Her speed rivals the wind.” Jérôme glanced at Lukasz. “I was told you lost a fine stallion.”

Barrow’s shoulders tensed, but he nodded.

“Please accept this filly as a gift,” Jérôme said to Barrow. “A symbol of our alliance.”

Taking the reins of Barrow’s roan, Jérôme offered those of the high-spirited filly. Ember found it hard to take her eyes off the young horse. Though the sun had yet to rise, each time Tempête moved, her coat rippled like lightning flashing within the depths of a thunderhead.

“Your mount is serviceable,” Jérôme said to Barrow. “But a knight of Conatus needs a warrior’s steed. A companion. Though I must warn you, Tempête is as much a challenge as an offering. Perhaps you’re not up to the task?”

Barrow watched the skittish filly dance on the path. He accepted Tempête’s reins from Jérôme, and the silver steed eyed him as he approached. Her nostrils flared, and she gave a shrill whinny, warning the knight off.

“Lukasz regards your horsemanship to be the best he’s ever seen.” Jérôme observed Barrow’s slow movements as he drew nearer to the filly. “None of my Guard can master Tempête. She favors her own will over her rider’s wishes. Your commander suggested that you might succeed where others have failed.”

“That they tried to master her was likely the problem,” Barrow answered, though his eyes never left the horse.

Ember leaned over to Lukasz, whispering, “Is now the best time to give Barrow such an unpredictable mount?”

“He needs this,” Lukasz answered. “Our friend suffers greatly from the loss of Toshach. And despite Jérôme’s narrow mind toward those of your sex, I would prefer that he be in Barrow’s favor. Jérôme may be careless with his speech, but he is matchless with his sword.”

Tempête snorted and stamped the ground. Though Ember couldn’t make out his words, she could tell Barrow was quietly speaking to the filly. When he was standing close enough to touch her, he paused, standing completely still but murmuring all the while. Tempête reared, giving a shrill whinny. Her hooves trampled the ground a hair breadth from Barrow’s feet, but he didn’t move. She reared again, her neck snaking through the air.

Tempête pawed at the earth, but her squeal died in a low whinny of confusion as all her antics failed to provoke the tall knight standing before her. Bowing her head, she stretched her nose toward him. He remained still as Tempête blew into his face, shoulders, and chest. Her ears flicked in curiosity.

As she took in his scent, Barrow slowly reached up and laid his hand on Tempête’s neck.

“I think he’s the first man she hasn’t taken a bite out of,” Jérôme said to Lukasz.

The commander smiled. “When I told you of his skill, I wasn’t exaggerating.”

“I can see that,” Jérôme replied.

Tempête was bobbing her head with delight as Barrow scratched between her ears.

“A fine gift,” Barrow said without turning away from the horse. “I’m honored to accept.”

Lukasz clapped Jérôme on the shoulder. “Thank you for offering shelter and supplies. We were in dire need.”

“I wish you well on your journey,” Jérôme said, handing Lukasz a sealed letter. “Send word through my sister of your whereabouts. I will keep you informed as I continue to draw allies to our cause.”

The knights mounted their horses, with the exception of Barrow, who was still speaking quietly to Tempête.

“I would leave you with one last thought,” Jérôme said to Barrow. “You won’t like my words, Lord Hess. But I mean no offense.”

“Say on,” Barrow told him as he moved from standing in front of Tempête to her side, rubbing her neck and shoulders all the while.

“You should leave the lady with her sister.” Jérôme glanced at Ember. “In what’s to come, there’s no place for a maid who plays at swords because her father offered Conatus enough coin to take her. I know well how such arrangements work.”

“Thank you for the horse,” Barrow said, swinging into Tempête’s saddle. The filly reared, but Barrow kept his seat with ease. “As for the lady, she does not wield swords, and she’s saved my life twice. When you see her take the field—as one day you shall—you will beg her forgiveness for your hastily spoken words.”

Turning to Ember, Jérôme said, “I hope his faith in you is not misplaced.”

Biting back some choice words, Ember instead put her heels to Caber, and the stallion trotted away.

ALISTAIR KNEW HE
wasn’t as happy as he should be. He’d done everything that had been asked of him. Young as he was, Lord Mar and Lady Eira looked to Alistair for advice over that of any other member of the Circle. Not even Cian was treated with the esteem Alistair enjoyed.

His swift ascension had been noticed by his fellows in the Guard. Battle-seasoned knights bowed when he passed. They came to him in private, asking for his help in gaining favor from Lady Eira.

All around him, servants, scholars, craftsmen, and warriors acknowledged Alistair’s place of honor in the new order at Tearmunn.

But he took little joy in any of it.