Trapped at the Altar

Ari approached the horse slowly, talking softly to him, the halter concealed behind her back. He could lead her a merry dance through the hills if he chose to be difficult, but she knew he was hungry and scared and in need of familiarity.

“Here, boy.” She held out an apple on her flat palm. “It’s quite safe now.” He let her approach within a few feet, and then he tossed his head and retreated a few yards, still watching her warily, his eyes rolling.

Ari sighed. It could be a long morning, and she was very hungry. She took a bite out of the bruised windfall and watched her horse, who watched her back. “It’s good,” she said, holding it out on her palm again. This time, Sphinx approached with a dancing step, head high on his arched neck. He came close enough to snatch the apple from her hand and then retreated, but this time not so far.

Ari took a bite out of the second apple, watching him now out of the corner of her eye. Then she turned and walked casually back towards the yard, whistling softly to herself. She could sense Sphinx move behind her, tentative steps in her wake, and she nodded in silent satisfaction. He was following her home to safety, and soon she would be able to slip the halter over his head.

? ? ?

Ivor had Turk secured in the corral by the time Ari and her horse came into the yard. “What are you intending to do with those vermin from last night?” Ari inquired, releasing Sphinx into the enclosure.

“Send them on their way, once Tilly has patched them up. They’re no use to us, and I don’t think we need to involve what passes for the law in these parts, do you?” He bit into a windfall, leaning back against the rough railing of the corral.

“No,” she agreed. “Can I have a bite? Sphinx ate all mine.”

Amiably, Ivor held out the apple, and she took a bite, spitting a pip to the ground at her feet. “Are we safe here for the day?”

“Why not? We didn’t break the law . . . we didn’t attack innocent travelers in their beds. No one knows who we are.”

“I doubt that’s true,” Ari said, leaning in for another bite. “When the Daunts leave the valley, the whole countryside knows. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “maybe the news didn’t reach this far across the Levels.”

“Probably not.” Ivor tossed the apple core into the enclosure. “Otherwise, I doubt we’d have been attacked. We’re finished here for the moment, and I’m famished. Let’s see if anyone’s getting breakfast.”

“Tilly’s still busy with the wounded.”

“Well, you’re not unversed in kitchen arts, are you, ma’am?” he asked with a mockingly raised eyebrow.

“No,” Ari conceded. “But Tilly is better at feeding the five thousand.”

“We are hardly that.” He ushered her ahead of him back to the cottage. Tilly was still bandaging and applying poultices, and Ariadne accepted that cooking breakfast for their small band had fallen to her hand.

It was a strange day. It felt for the most part as if they were the only people on earth; not another soul appeared in the village, and the innkeeper and his wife had vanished into the ether. There were provisions aplenty, ample supplies of wine, beer, and brandy, and an impromptu holiday atmosphere invaded the group. Their enemies dispersed as well as they could, carrying off those who could not walk under their own steam. The village remained deserted, and the Fallow Deer became a campsite for a party of travelers taking respite from their journey.

Ivor was prepared to let them rest, the horses in particular. They would perform better if they’d been given time to recover from the shocks of the precious night. But he was still anxious to be on the road again. They had many miles to cover before the bad weather set in.

It was early evening when the sounds of a scuffle came from the backyard. Ivor was on his feet immediately, a half-eaten chicken drumstick in his hand. Abe came in, hauling the inn’s lad by his shirt collar. “Found this one lurking behind the barn.” He pushed the boy into room.

Ariadne looked closely at the pale, shivering child. “He’s hungry and scared, Ivor.” She pulled a thigh from the roast chicken and held it out to him. “It’s all right, no one’s going to hurt you.”

The boy took it tentatively, his gaze never leaving Ivor, who stood looking down at him, frowning. “Where are your master and mistress?” Ivor demanded.

The lad shook his head, biting into the flesh of the chicken. “Don’t know, sir. I swear, sir, I didn’t know they was goin’ to tell ’em you was here. They never told me nothin’, sir. I swear it.”

Ivor set down his drumstick. “Who are them?”

“Baxter’s folk, sir. When rich folks stay at the inn, master lets ’em know.” The boy wiped his greasy mouth with the back of his hand and looked hungrily at the carcass on the table.

“I see.” Ivor picked up his drumstick and took another bite. “And who did your master say was here?”

The lad shook his head vigorously. “Don’t rightly know, sir. Don’t think master or missus knows, neither. Just as how there’s trunks and packages and good horses and whatnot . . . so bound to be some good pickin’s, like.”

“And do you know who we are?” Ariadne asked, slicing into a loaf of bread, offering the boy a piece on the point of the knife.

He shook his head, eyes wide, before hesitantly taking the bread from the knife. But there was something in his look that alerted Ari. She moved quickly, the bread knife touching the boy’s throat. “Come now,” she said persuasively. “You do know, don’t you?”

The lad looked terrified once again. He swallowed against the tip of the knife and said, “Reckon you be Daunt, ma’am.”

Ari nodded and withdrew the knife, using it to slice another piece from the loaf. “Are you sure your master and mistress didn’t know that?”

He gave a vigorous nod. “Oh, aye, ma’am. If they’d ’ave known, they’d never ’ave tried to take you.”

Ari nodded and glanced at Ivor, who merely shrugged and said to Abe, “We’ll keep him here until we leave in the morning. Feed him and keep a watch over him.” He drained his ale tankard. “I’m for my bed. We leave at daybreak. Ariadne . . .” He put an arm around her shoulders and directed her to the stairs.

Ari offered no resistance. The bed was still a tumbled mass of covers from the morning’s emergency departure. She started to straighten them, but Ivor, pulling off his boots against the boot jack, said, “Just get into it, Ari. We’re both exhausted, and this God damned journey has only just begun. We must be up before daybreak.”

Ari looked at him with a ruefully raised eyebrow. “May we not play a little?”

“No, we may not,” he declared, half laughing despite his preoccupation with the day’s events. “Take your clothes off and get under the covers.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” Ariadne removed her clothes, garment by garment, watching him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. He was trying to ignore her but not very successfully, she noted with satisfaction as she tossed her shift onto the chest with the rest of her clothes and stood for a moment naked in the candlelight beside the bed.

His body was aroused, and he turned abruptly from the bed. “Get in, Ariadne, now.”

She twitched aside the covers and put one knee on the bed, looking at him over her shoulder, her gray eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you sure we couldn’t help each other to go to sleep? We don’t have to be too energetic.”