Page 27 of Raven's Rise
Someone wanted to know where he was, and was willing to pay people to find him.Alric. It had to be. Rafe betrayed Alric, nearly killed him, and despite an awkward confrontation and apology on Rafe’s part, it was very likely that Alric wanted a more thorough accounting for Rafe’s actions. Hence the paid henchmen sent to dog Rafe’s trail.
Sometimes, Rafe got a message from an innkeeper that a man stopped by looking for him, and wanted to talk. Rafe left quickly whenever that happened, not believing that “talk” was all they wanted. Every so often, Rafe had actually seen one of those pursuers at a distance, allowing him plenty of time and space to slip away. He followed the tourney circuit because a wanderer had no home, and no place where he was vulnerable. Rafe could pick up and move on at any moment. He needed nothing other than his sword and his horse, Philon. He could run forever.
Or could he? Someday, he’d miss the signs. He’d be caught unaware, and whoever was following him would catch him.
“Not today,” he muttered aloud. He’d keep his eyes and ears open, deal with the pursuer, slip away…
“Damn.” That was the difference. This time he couldn’t slip away, because he had to see Angelet all the way to her destination.
He’d have to deal with this particular shadow in another way.
They halted for a midday meal, drawing off from the line of carriages and carts to a little clearing just off the track. Everyone seemed content to linger, since adjusting to the constant jarring motion of riding a horse or in a wagon was unpleasant.
Angelet had barely spoken to him all morning, undoubtedly regretting whatever impulse had led her to kiss him. Understandable. Angelet was a lady, and a lady had no business dallying with a mere soldier like Rafe. It had been loneliness and pity that had driven her, and it was Rafe who turned her kiss into something more. No wonder the lady kept Bethany by her side all day.
At the moment, the two women sat on a green grassy slope, eating the last of their meal, which was largely bread and cheese. Rafe approached, offering a friendly greeting. “Happy to get out of the carriage for a while?”
“By the saints, a carriage is a weapon,” Bethany moaned.
“It must be borne,” Angelet said, with more equanimity. “At least we got to rest for a bit.”
“Are you still hungry?” he asked. “Do you need anything else?”
“Before we leave, I should refill my flask from the stream,” Angelet said, patting the newly sprouted, long grasses around her. “Where is it? Did I leave it in the carriage?”
“I’ll fetch it, my lady,” Bethany said, sounding much less cranky than usual. The meal must have soothed her temper.
“No need,” Rafe said, gesturing for the maid to stay seated. “I’ll make myself useful.”
He left the women to relax, and walked to Angelet’s carriage. Laurence, who was leaning against the back of it, nodded when Rafe approached. Rafe had insisted that the carriage holding the chest never be unattended.
Rafe opened the door and saw the flask Angelet used for water. It was made of horn, with a cork stopper and a leather strap, a much finer product than the waterskins most people carried. He was just about to snag it by the strap when he saw something else lying there, half hidden on the cushioned bench. It was a velvet pouch, barely the size of his palm.
He’d seen it before. Last night, when Angelet had gone into her room, she’d moved directly to her bed and picked up the same tiny pouch, clutching it as though fearing it would be stolen. And now it was still close by, though Angelet tried to hide it from view while she was gone from the carriage.
Rafe picked it up, curious what Angelet would conceal like this. He opened the drawstring and shook out a tiny silver box. It was etched with a pattern of a curling vine, looping over and over around the box. He thumbed the catch, lifting the lid to reveal the contents.
Inside was a lock of hair, a curl of light brown about two inches long. One end was carefully stitched together to prevent the hair from scattering. Rafe was puzzled, until he saw the inside of the lid, where an H was inscribed.
Angelet had mentioned her husband’s name once when they had been talking at Dryton Manor. Hubert.
Rafe snapped the lid shut and jammed the little box back into the pouch. He yanked the drawstring shut and replaced the pouch where it had been before, then walked away with the flask.
Lord, he was a churl. Here he’d been flirting with Angelet, even offering to seduce her, while she clung to a memento of her long-deceased husband. She must still be in love with him. And she was going to a nunnery. Whatever her physical response to Rafe, which had been real enough, she still harbored strong feelings for another, keeping a secret token of her love with her every day. He wanted to curse himself. Even after he’d vowed to try to live better, to be better, he still fell into the trap of his own self-indulgence. He saw Angelet and wanted her, and he didn’t even stop to think how she felt or if she wanted anything from him.
He filled the flask and gave it to Angelet, keeping his usual flirtatious remarks to himself. She looked at him with curiosity in those big, pale green eyes, but said nothing.
Chapter 10
Over the next few days, they continued along the road, the whole cortège inching northward to Angelet’s inevitable fate. So far, they’d been fortunate to reach an inn, or in one case the home of a local lord, before dark. The weather had been dry and mild, too, which meant that travel was safer, faster, and much less muddy than it might be.
She ought to be praying for thanks, thinking holy, sanctified thoughts, or pleading with the saints to intercede for her when it came to keeping her from sin.
Instead, she felt more and more drawn to earthly distractions. From the safety of her carriage, she often tracked Rafe’s movements, noting how perfect his body was, how well formed from years of fighting and training. What that body would look like stripped bare…
Angelet quickly looked down at the ground. Lord, what waswrongwith her? She could hardly glance at Rafe without thinking distinctly carnal thoughts. It didn’t help at all that the man was gorgeous. Those blue eyes were so deceptively soulful, so sad and sweet. Then he’d smile and she knew there wasn’t anything sweet about him. Sir Rafe lived for the moment, and he sought only pleasure. Such a man could not be trusted.
However, though Rafe was still attentive to Angelet, he hadn’t crossed any line since the night she kissed him. Indeed, his flirtatious behavior vanished almost completely. He didn’t seem like the man she’d kissed that first evening. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Was it some devilish departure from her usual visions, where instead of heavenly sights, she experienced a powerful illusion of a more worldly nature?
