Thief (13 page)

Chapter Eleven

“Peas don’t work as good as oyster shells,” Ebyn complained the following morning as the bean he’d slung into the hearth with the larger sling Caden had made him on the beach bounced back into the room. “Guess I’ll have to use the little one Gemma gave me.”

“And pick up the peas where you missed,” Gemma reminded him from near the window where she worked on one of Sorcha’s new dresses in the sunlight filtering through the pale hide covering.

“Aye, there’s a limit to the peas we allow for such practice,” Sorcha chimed in. She stirred the bitter medicinal tea on the table in front of her, working up the will to drink it.

Ebyn had worked his way into everyone’s heart, including that of the man sitting across the table from her. The lad was eager to please and so afraid of more rejection. It was horrid enough feeling abandoned by her parents as a child captive, but at least hers hadn’t sold her like livestock.

“Aye, now that’s better,” Caden approved as Ebyn fitted a pea into the little patch sling Gemma had fashioned for him. It had been only right that Gemma offered the Cymri lodging after he’d remained with Sorcha and Ebyn, rather than turn him out into the night. “Always choose your stone to match your sling, laddie. You wouldn’t heave a boulder with an eye patch, would you?”

While the menfolk were gathering fuel for the fire earlier, Gemma had told Sorcha how, upon arriving home from the tavern last night, she had found Caden sleeping on the floor beside Sorcha’s cot, his big hand covering hers. Of course, he awoke with a start as Gemma bolted the door behind her. A bit sheepish, he’d mumbled something about Sorcha having nightmares and wondering if she needed another cup of the medicinal tea.

But Sorcha had slept through the night without further incident and awakened with the dawn to find Gemma on her own cot on the opposite wall, Ebyn in the loft space they’d made for him, and Caden wrapped in his cloak by the hearth.

And now the Cymri let his breakfast of gruel and honey cake settle before he set off for Din Guardi. Though he seemed in no hurry to go.

Suddenly Caden’s study of Ebyn’s target practice turned toward her, catching Sorcha in her own contemplation. He pointed to her cup. “Best finish that, lest your head renew its anguish.”

The worst of it was over, the healing woman be thanked, but a soreness lingered. That and a bit of a daze. Instead of fighting him, Sorcha took another tiny sip of the bitter medicinal tea. It was a weaker brew, just in case the terrible anguish flared up again. At least Sorcha had all day to gather her wits for her last night at the tavern. Tomorrow, she, too, would be in Din Guardi … in the princess’s service.

“You are a curious man, Caden of Lothian,” she thought aloud. A quickening in his gaze triggered wariness in Sorcha. Had he lied about his homeland?

“And how’s that, milady?”

She let the doubt go. With his fair hair and rugged, square-jawed features, Caden reminded her a bit of her father Wulfram. A man’s man, built for war and the hunt, yet possessed of a gentleness he reserved for those closest to him.

“You have all the appearance of a hardened warrior, the light-footedness of a dancer, the charm of a prince, the patience of a father with the lad …” Sorcha remembered the way he’d stroked her head and cradled her until the horrors of the past had gone away. “And the gentle hand of a nurse.” She boldly searched his gaze. “What other secrets do you hide, I wonder?”

The man’s relaxed warmth disappeared as though an iron visor had fallen over it.

“I’m a sinner, a selfish oaf, far from prince
or
father material,” he replied stonily. “I am no more than a messenger from your mother to you. If you wish to return to Trebold, I will take you there. Beyond that, you need know nothing more of me, milady.”

The reply smacked of rebuke, but Sorcha didn’t feel like taking issue with it.

“It’s too late for me to go home now,” she replied wearily. “Bernicia
is
the only home I know. More important, I’ve given my oath.” The path of least resistance held more sway at the moment.

“If your Cynric is as kind and understanding as you say, he’d understand,” Caden countered.

“But the insult and shame to my father’s dearest friend would still stand. Battles are fought over less. Even we
thieves
”
—
Sorcha pointed to the purse she’d tossed at him last night, now tied to his belt and heavier with most of Gemma’s take from the tavern
—
“have some sense of honor.”

Gemma snickered over her handiwork as Sorcha continued. “And I will see you paid back in full, if you choose to remain in Din Guardi long enough.”

For now, the cot beckoned her with the loudest voice. No more medicine for her. Just rest.

“You may deduct a night’s lodging and breakfast from that debt,” he said, returning to a more amiable disposition. “And if no is your final answer, then I’ve no more business here except the attendance of my lord Modred and the princess.”

Caden rose to his feet and, to Sorcha’s astonishment, caught her hand up to his lips. “
Unless …”
The word stroked her ear like silk. “You have a change of heart before the Lothian party leaves after the wedding. I can only hope.”

He was flirting. The man flipped humors as easily as a coin. Worse, an annoying giddiness scrambled the reply on the tip of her tongue, so that she had to concentrate to sort it out.

“For whose sake, I wonder?” she drawled, taking up his game. Not that she was in the least interested in the Cymri. Her place was with her adopted people, helping the children. With Cynric as the Lady Elford. A lady with her own estate and more to come.

Wasn’t it? Sorcha groaned at the rearing doubt. Between Caden’s game and the medicinal tea, she was thinking in circles.

“For your mother’s sake, why else?”

Confound the man. May he trod through every manner of dung between here and Din Guardi’s keep!

“Your regard for my
mother
is admirable,” she shot back with words stiff as her back. “Perhaps I shall draft a letter before—”

A knock at the door cut Sorcha off. As she made to get up, Caden motioned for her and Gemma to remain seated. “I’m on my way out. I’ll see to it.”

Irked beyond her ken, Sorcha followed Caden’s long strides toward the entrance.
Better yet, may he fall face-first behind an oxcart,
she thought as he slid back the bolt.
And may the ox have a belly full of green apples.

Big as the lord of the day, Caden swung open the door. “Good day—”

He broke off his greeting at the sight of the golden-haired woman standing there, garbed in rich clothing and flanked by an equally bedecked man. But then Tunwulf’s mistress was a striking woman.

Caden’s voice turned as cold as the air that rushed in. “—
milady
.”

Rhianon’s scream surely raked the rafters of every building along Water Street and brought Gemma and Ebyn to their feet. Tunwulf swept the hysterical woman off her feet and barreled past Caden and into the house. Rhianon had swooned to a whimpering low, but the moment she saw Caden again, she became undone.

“A ghost,” she shrieked. “By all that’s sacred, a ghost.” Sobbing, Rhianon clutched and burrowed into Tunwulf’s cloak. “Make it go away! Make it go away!”

“Come to your senses, woman!” Tunwulf gave her a rough shake. “This man is no more ghost than you or I.”

“’Tis true, Rhianon.”

Caden’s reply drew Sorcha’s attention away from the wailing woman. He knew her name?

Caden caught Rhianon’s face, forcing her to look at him. “I’m no more spirit than you. The flesh on my fingers is as warm as yours, dearest—”

Rhianon struggled to turn away from him. And no wonder, for this was an entirely different Caden than the charmer who’d opened the door.

“—
wife,
” he finished with a venomous sneer.

Wife
? The last remnant of the medicine’s effect cleared from Sorcha’s brain. How dare the villain flirt so with her when he was married, much less wed to the likes of this witch!

“Strange,” she scoffed. “I don’t recall your mentioning
marriage
in your earlier confession, Caden of Lothian.
If
that is even who you are.”

Her instincts had been right. He
had
been lying to her. And just when she had begun to warm to the man, perhaps even his mission.

“Stay clear of this, woman,” Caden warned without so much as a glance her way.

Sorcha fixed her hands upon her hips. “Well, that would be hard to do, considering
your
business is in
my
house.”

Gemma grasped her arm as though to rein her in. “Easy, lassie, lest you fire up that headache again.”

Oh, Sorcha was fired all right.

Tunwulf eased Rhianon onto the bench at the table, but she would not let go of him. “Close the door, little woman,” he snapped at Gemma as he tried prying Rhianon’s fingers from his shirt. “Easy, darling. I promise, no harm will come to you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Sorcha. “Have you
anything
to drink besides tea?”

How dare he address her like a servant in her own house! “Aye,” she declared, “and I’d fetch it, if I were asked properly.”

For a moment, they locked wills. Tunwulf finally condescended with a nod. “A Flemish red,
if
you would be so kind, milady.”

What Sorcha wanted to do was physically toss the lot of them out, but imagining such a pleasing prospect was the only satisfaction she had. Only the finest would do for the not-so-honorable Tunwulf and his
lady,
she grumbled in silence.

Although if ever an occasion called for a strong, full-bodied drink, this was it. Sorcha imported many fine wines for the taverns in Din Guardi. Her father had seen that she had discerning tastes.

“I’ll fetch the wine.” Gemma stepped between Sorcha and the door leading into the warehouse. “
You
pay attention,” she added lowly, ushering the wary Ebyn away with her.

Sorcha moved next to the hearth as though to warm herself and studied the gathering at her board. Rhianon sat across from Caden with her face buried in her arms, trembling like a wet dog on a cold night.

From love or fear?

As for Caden, if that was his name, he had eyes for none but the distressed creature. But such regard, no woman would desire. Especially not a wife. One that had taken up a tryst with another man.

Tunwulf was the only one who remained above the drama. “I remember you now,” he announced, draping a possessive arm over Rhianon’s shoulders. “The last I saw of you, your brother’s blade was pressed to your throat, and he showed little sign of mercy.”

In an effort to see everyone’s faces, Sorcha took up a towel and bucket of water and carried it to the table to wash the wooden cups she and Caden had used earlier. Neither man paid her any heed, for each now assessed the other like hounds circling a tasty bone. ’Twas tempting to douse them both.

“So you have eyes in the
back
,” Caden slapped him with the word, “of your head, eh, Tunwulf?”

Sorcha gasped as one of the copper-banded cups slipped from her hands back into the bucket. So Caden knew Tunwulf as well.

“As I recall, you were running from the fight as fast as your legs could take you,” Caden taunted. “I didn’t recognize you at first in all that finery.”

So they’d fought in some sort of border raid, and Tunwulf left Caden behind to die? The latter didn’t surprise Sorcha. Tunwulf thought only of himself.

“I—” Rhianon drew in a shaky breath, raising a red, tear-swollen face to Caden. “I thought you were d-dead.”

With a smirk, Caden opened his hands, palms up. “Surprise,
dearest
.”

Whatever could the Cymri have been thinking to marry a woman like that? Sorcha could slap him on that one principle alone.

By the time Gemma returned with the wine and it was served, the tension between the two men at the table was strung tight as a bow. If they were to dispense with one another, Sorcha would be all for it. She’d even provide the weapons.

“This is none of our matter,” Gemma whispered when Sorcha lingered at the head of the table. “Come help me with my sewing while our guests work out this interesting quagmire among themselves.”

Reluctant, Sorcha followed her companion to the window stool, where Ebyn had already retreated.

“So now what?” Tunwulf asked after draining the wine like the oaf that he was. He put the empty cup down like a gauntlet.

Rhianon saw the challenge too. “You … you do understand, Caden, that I … we
both,
” she emphasized, “thought you dead.”

Caden took a deep, labored breath, as if that action alone kept the coiled muscle of his body from exploding in a vengeance-starved rage.

Tunwulf slid his free hand under the table to where there was, no doubt, a dirk hidden in his boot.