“Oh dear.” Muffin’s lined face pursed in sympathy. “That terribly?” Bit by bit, the story of Father Andrew and his manipulations came spilling out. She told Muffin everything that had happened, up to this evening with his request for her to steal the tithe and break Lord Royce from the king’s favor once and for all. The moon grew high in the skies and Leah began to shiver from the cold stream as she spoke, but she still continued to pour her heart out to Muffin. The fairy godmother never interrupted, just listened and clucked at the appropriate parts.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Leah said at one point, wiping at the tears on her face.
“There, there, dear,” Muffin said, stroking the top of Leah’s wet head. “Come out of the water and get dressed, and we’ll discuss it.”
Leah did as she was bid, pulling herself out of the stream and waiting for her tail to transform. Once it did, she slipped into the billowy chemise, the hem now torn and muddy. She felt like a child as she sat in the grass next to Muffin and tucked her legs under her, hands fussing with the wet, tangled strands of hair that covered her shoulders. “If you were in my position, Muffin, what would you do?”
“You mean, choose between saving your hide or his? I can’t decide that for you. That’s what you’re here to do.”
Leah frowned at her.
#
Royce realized that Leah was missing when he reached for her warm body and found nothing but empty bed beside him. He cracked an eye open, peering in the darkness for her form.
When he didn’t see her, he dressed and left the tent, scanning the rest of the campsite. Where could she have gone?
The night watchman gave him a curious look, but Royce waved him off. He’d noticed that she’d kept staring off into the distance, into the thick copse a short ways away that had a running stream through it. Did she know the villagers the next field over? Irritated that she’d gone and left in the middle of the night without warning, Royce headed in that direction. What could have possessed the woman – who normally seemed sane and level-headed for all her odd
silence – to trek off after dark by herself? He refused to allow worry to creep into his mind.
There were a dozen terrible things that could happen to a lone woman traveling after dark. He wouldn’t think about that. Hell, he cared for the wench – cared for her more than he’d cared for anything in a long time, and the thought of her falling prey to highway brigands drew a cold slice through his gut.
He strode through the dark, hand on the pommel of his sword in readiness. A small stream came into view some minutes later and he stopped at its banks, wondering if Leah had even come this way. He was chasing nothing more than a ghost in the darkness. Disheartened, he turned away from the stream and glanced around.
A light, feminine sigh drifted by on the wind and he froze in place, muscles tensing.
“Muffin,” the voice said, and the sound was sweet and soft, and just a touch melancholy.
“I don’t know what to do. Royce trusts me, and if I do this, I’ll lose that trust forever.” It felt as if ice-water poured through his veins. Slowly, Royce turned back to the stream.
The soft, feminine voice was coming just from down the stream a bit, and he stole back into the shadows of the nearby trees, careful to approach soundlessly. His fingers gripped his sword pommel with intensity, and he brushed aside the leaves, dreading what he would see there.
Leah sat on the riverbank nearby, hugging her knees to her chest, her hair wet, as she talked to another figure that he couldn’t see.
Talked.
The lying, deceiving bitch could talk the whole time.
Rage shuddered through him, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to crash through the underbrush and grab her by the arms and shake her, shake her until the answers he wanted spilled out.
Why? Why would she lie to him?
Instead, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to listen to her low, gentle voice as each deceitful word dripped out of those beautiful lips.
“He’s going to find out, Muffin.” Leah laid her cheek on her knee, her pale face gleaming wetly in the moonlight. She’d been crying. “And when he finds out, he’s not going to love me anymore.”
“Does he love you now?” The other voice asked.
“Not yet,” Leah said. “But… I love him.” Her words ended in a broken half-sob. “I never thought this would be so hard. What am I going to do if I can’t make him love me? I have to. It’s what I came here to do.”
So, the lying little wench had come here intent on seducing him? And now that her plan was failing, she was crying her eyes out to another? Disgust curled through Royce’s stomach, and he vowed that he’d never give her the satisfaction of hearing him admit his feelings. All tender feeling for her had vanished once she’d opened that sweet, lying mouth of hers.
“Well, I must go,” the other voice said, perking his attention. “I’ve a certain someone to meet up with, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Baron Rutledge
, he thought immediately. Pretty Leah was nothing more than a spy sent by his worst enemy to get him to let his guard down. Worst of all, he’d fallen for it. No doubt she was behind the string of unlucky happenings at the castle. He thought of Lady Matilda’s outraged claims, of her showing the money found in Leah’s sewing basket. He’d assumed it was the ranting of a jealous woman intent on destroying her rival. But now the pieces fell into place with a clarity that was startling and disheartening.
On the shore, Leah nodded her understanding to her companion, but made no move to get up. “I’ll head back to camp in a minute. I need to compose myself. I’ll wake Royce for sure if he hears me crying.”
Too late for that
, Royce thought, the irony slashing into his soul. He felt cold inside, numb. Leah had shown her true colors and completely blindsided him. He melted back into the shadows and headed back to camp, his heart hardened against the soft weeping in the distance.
He would not fall prey to her wiles again.
#
Royce was treating her oddly, Leah decided the next morning. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but the coolness was there just the same. He wouldn’t look at her when she dressed – quite the change from the affectionate morning caresses she normally woke up to.
When she gave him a concerned look and touched his arm, he shrugged her away and stepped aside to buckle his sword. “Just thinking about the day, Leah. Don’t pay attention to me.” How could she not?
Frustrated, Leah finished dressing on her own – no mean task given that her dress laced up on the sides, which made it difficult to reach. She braided her hair like everything was normal, and ate the breakfast that one of the soldiers provided to her, all the while her mind racing. Had Royce noticed her leaving the tent last night? Had he overheard her conversation with Father Andrew?
Surely not… she was still here and still cursed to be a mermaid.
It was a long ride that day, made worse by muscles stiff from the day before and Royce’s silence. When she put her arms around him, she could have sworn that he stiffened, and she had to blink back tears.
But I love you,
she wanted to whisper against his skin.
But of course, she could say nothing, only stew in miserable silence. She thought of the too-short time that she had left. Less than a week. She’d failed in her goal; Royce didn’t love her
– right now he could barely tolerate her. She didn’t know why.
The calm murmur of the guardsmen escalated a few hours later, when Leah was weary and slumped against Royce’s back. She sat up when a half-cheer erupted from the men and the talk became livelier. With her arms encircling Royce’s waist, she could feel him tense as he caught sight of whatever the men did, and Leah sat upright, straining to catch a glimpse over Royce’s broad shoulders.
Her eyes could barely make out the flutter of a colorful banner in the distance. The flash of red caught her eye, then disappeared as Royce turned his head. “Leah,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Stay still.”
They must be at the tourney. Soon, they’d see the king, and soon she’d have to steal from Royce and ruin his life. Her last week with him was to be spent in misery, watching him as his life was destroyed when the tithe was stolen and Northcliffe taken from him.
She couldn’t do it.
She might want to save herself, but not as his expense. Leah began to turn over a rebellious plan in her mind. If she could see the tithe before-hand, perhaps she could pass off an imposter tithe to the priest.
And then maybe she’d be able to leave this interlude with her scruples intact, if not her heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Leah peeked outside the small tent and stared at the goings-on around her with a mixture of longing and fear.
The tourney was a huge muddle of people – loud, shouting, boisterous, and all excited to be there. A sea of tents nestled in the grassy meadows at the base of an imposing castle perched atop a nearby hill.
As soon as they’d arrived the men had begun to set up camp, erecting new, colorful tents embossed with Royce’s colors and made of fine, elegant materials. Leah remembered that someone had told her that Royce had made his fortune doing tourneys. That would explain the ease and delight that shone on the men’s faces as they prepared the camp. Royce’s tent was the largest one, meant to be both receiving area and living quarters, and was a far cry from their small traveling tent. These were festive, expensive encampments that spoke volumes of the prestige and wealth of the owner.
Their camp was set up in the midst of everything, much to Leah’s dismay. Royce had disappeared not long after they’d arrived, leaving Leah to linger about the camp, feeling uncomfortable and unwanted as she watched his men erect the last of the tents. They’d ignored her.
She spent her time peeking out of the tent and watching the crowd. The men outnumbered the women two to one. The few women that she’d seen strolling the grounds were always accompanied and they dressed in gowns that would have put Lady Matilda’s finery to
shame. Anyone that saw Leah would immediately guess that she had no status, thanks to her lack of adornment. Royce was doing himself no favors by bringing her with him, Leah realized. She wasn’t going to help amend the status of his low birth with her presence.
The sun went down and Royce did not return, and the revelry outside of the tent continued. Leah’s nerves frayed more with every passing second. With a throng such as this, she’d never be able to steal away to ease her aching legs. She was well and truly trapped in the tent. Despairing, Leah fell into an exhausted slumber.
She woke the next morning, disoriented. Birds were singing, and the grounds were strangely quiet for a change. Unease prickled through her skin, until she heard the low roar of a crowd in the distance. The jousting games must have started. Royce hadn’t returned to her last night. She stared at the empty tent around her, wondering if she’d be left alone until the tourney was over.
She lay back in the bed and drifted back into a lazy, depressed slumber. When her eyes drifted open again, she gasped at the sight of Royce standing over her, a hard look on his face.
There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept. “Get dressed.” Leah sat up in the bed, watching as he moved to the far side of the tent and began to change his shirt. When she made no move toward her own clothing, he turned and gave her another cold look. “I said, get dressed. If you don’t wish to, I’d be more than happy to return you without the charity of the clothing that I’ve gifted you.” Uneasy, Leah left the bed and quickly dressed in a clean chemise, ignoring the wrinkles, and laced a gown over it. Once that was done, she barely had time to do more than run her fingers through her hair when he grabbed her by the arm. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time.” She noticed as he dragged her out of the tent that he’d dressed in a tunic so fine that she’d not
seen it before. It was in the colors of his banner – blue and black – and small dragons were embroidered around the edges of his sleeves. The fabric looked to be very soft and very expensive. He’d dressed up for whoever they were going to see. Leah smoothed her hair again, worried. Was he taking her to see the king? Why would he do that?
Stumbling over her skirts and her throbbing legs, Leah had to trot to keep up with Royce’s bruisingly fast pace. As he drove them through the crowd, Leah flushed with embarrassment, noting the curious looks that people gave them. She didn’t have time to think too much about it, though, because they parted through the sea of tents, and she noticed that a few of Royce’s men had lined up behind them, as if a protective guard. What was going on?
He stopped abruptly and she nearly crashed into his back. She stumbled to the side, dizzy with pain, and noticed that they stood in front of a portly man with a graying goatee and close-cropped hair. He was short, shorter than Leah, and his round face was florid. His tunics were rich, even if they weren’t clean. Thick gold necklaces ringed his neck.
Royce thrust Leah in front of the man, and she fell to her knees at his feet. Dizzy, a flood of pain shot through her abused legs, and she barely had time to sit up and push the hair out of her face when the man began to sputter.
“What is the meaning of this, FitzWarren?” The man had a thick, blustery voice, and it slurred slightly. He was drunk, if the cup in his hand was any indicator of the situation. Wine sloshed over the edge as he staggered to his feet, splashing Leah’s face. How humiliating. “How dare you show your face in my camp after taking Northcliffe from me?” The man’s words were like a splash of cold water against Leah’s insides.
Oh
no
.
Lord Rutledge.
Leah looked up from the veil of hair covering her face. The expression on Royce’s face was nearly unreadable. He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixated on the small, dirty man that sputtered and sloshed his wine as he stepped in front of Leah.
“Answer me, FitzWarren. What is the meaning of this? Who is this wench?” Silence fell over the small group, and after a long moment, Royce spoke. “You can cease your playacting, Rutledge. I’ve found out your spy, and I’ve come to return her to you.” The coldness in Royce’s voice made Leah want to cry. She remembered his voice, warm with laughter, teasing her, flirting with her. Not this stony, emotionless hatred that made her want to lie down and give up.