“I think I will be content with ten,” he chuckled, looking up at her again. Nick noticed that his eyes were missing the glare of the sun and he had Claire and the brim of her hat to thank for that. “Five boys, five girls. The eldest being a boy. No, the first five children should all be boys. That way, they can look after their little sisters and scare away any unworthy suitor.” And it would definitely make his work a lot easier.
Wait. Nicholas closed his eyes and sighed. This was all pretend, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t have the ten children with Claire and he definitely wouldn’t need to protect daughters from unworthy, ambitious men. “Don’t worry if they outnumber us,” he added. “We can hire a nanny and a governess to help us out. They’ll know what to do to naughty little boys.”
“You know, I never would have guessed that about you and your work. And I’m glad you want to work so many hours to provide, it’s a wonderful reason to go, but…Nick, do not forget to actually enjoy that which you are working for. Else what is the point in having it? Or find something else that makes you happy, gives you reason to get up in the morning. What I mean to say is- I’m proud of you for your business, but remember to spend time doing what you do have a passion for, Nicholas. Whether it be your family, spending your day riding alone, or that red head you’ll be flirting with at my party. I’m not trying to steal you away, I promise, but simply remind you to be happy with something or someone in this world. I’m afraid you’ll wake up one day with regret if work, something you do not enjoy, is all you have lived for.”
“Claire,” he let her name roll out of his tongue with a smile on his face. “I was just teasing you. Of course I will not be flirting with other women at your party. I hardly know my wife, why should I go running off chasing skirts of mysterious women when there is one here I haven’t figured out? I may not look like it, Claire, but I am a faithful man. I promised, with London as the witness, to be only yours. I intent to keep that promise… Promise” He raised his right hand and placed over his heart as a gesture of his sincerity, which he knew deep down to be false.
Then Claire gasped softly and gently shook him by the shoulder. ”Nick, will look at that! You have good luck coming your way.”
He followed her eyes to where the butterfly perched on his knee. The slow fluttering of the creature’s wings enthralled him. The patterns of its wings were an intricate design by nature. Reluctantly, he pulled his attention away from the butterfly and then back to Claire.
“Let’s wager then, to test my luck.” He sat up, supporting his side with an arm while the butterfly flew away. “I bet you will not be able to make a flat stone bounce on the river. Name your price if I am wrong.”
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“It’s only within a short period that they will be thankful,“ said a voice in her head – the voice of a friend who had already gone ahead into the next life. “The questions will start soon. Answers will be demanded from you, Ysabel. What are you going to tell them?” Words spoken to her when she was younger and cared less about the world, at a time when she thought herself invincible and capable of ridding the world of its evils.
The woman knelt on the snow, surrendering what little food she had to the snow. She clutched at her stomach, catching her breath. With her head bowed, fine strands of her shoulder length coppery hair spilled from the fur lining of the hood. Her shoulder burned as if slowly being burnt and eaten at the same time. This must be how Rannor felt, minus the ugly wound and awful smell. If she started to see hallucinations, Ysabel wouldn’t be surprised. Still the challenge of not being found out was present. What she had to do to keep her secret was to act as if she was fine, which was farther from the truth than Cannor to Castermere. She shouldn’t have pushed it. Ysabel should have healed Rannor slowly, leaching the Warg’s poisonous essence from the older man’s body in regular intervals. That way she would have given her body to enough time to fight off the small doses before taking in more. However, like his brothers, Ysabel was afraid that Rannor was going to die within the hour.
Voices filled with emotions came from where she left Rannor, Gilly and Derrin. The other men must have gathered around her patient, but she was too busy heaving the contents of her stomach to the ground to be truly certain. She even failed to realize that the gray overcast had already cleared giving way to the glittering stars. It was only when a shadow fell over her that she looked up from the ground.
Turning her head slightly, she chanced a glance at the person who decided to join her. Perhaps he was the most curious of the group, already about to ask questions. Standing a little to her right was the blonde who had earlier expressed his doubt. Despite her condition, she couldn’t help but grace him with a lopsided I-told-you-so grin.
Feeling more confident that her stomach was done throwing away its contents, she wiped her lips with the rough exterior of her cloak then got up to her feet. The moment she did, her perspective went weird, the ground tilted and she instinctively grasped his arm for support. She went still for a few seconds, waiting out the wave of dizziness, until she thought she already found her balance. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting him go.
Ysabel stood only a few inches shorter than the man. He looked different from his comrades, his coloring was definitely different. She wondered if he was a half-blood, possibly a product of a passionate night shared between a lonely soldier and a whore. She waited for him to say something, but somebody else beat him into it.
Footsteps were muffled by the snow, but Greymount’s presence was fairly hard to miss. “What did you give him?” he demanded.
Ysabel tugged at the hood of her cloak, under the pretense that she was cold, willing the shadows to hide her face and the paleness of her skin. “Medicine,” she answered. “All the ingredients were from your supply. You should be smart enough to figure out which, but I shall not reveal the formulation. Why else should you lot keep your promise to help me get to Cannor safely?”
The woman knelt on the snow, surrendering what little food she had to the snow. She clutched at her stomach, catching her breath. With her head bowed, fine strands of her shoulder length coppery hair spilled from the fur lining of the hood. Her shoulder burned as if slowly being burnt and eaten at the same time. This must be how Rannor felt, minus the ugly wound and awful smell. If she started to see hallucinations, Ysabel wouldn’t be surprised. Still the challenge of not being found out was present. What she had to do to keep her secret was to act as if she was fine, which was farther from the truth than Cannor to Castermere. She shouldn’t have pushed it. Ysabel should have healed Rannor slowly, leaching the Warg’s poisonous essence from the older man’s body in regular intervals. That way she would have given her body to enough time to fight off the small doses before taking in more. However, like his brothers, Ysabel was afraid that Rannor was going to die within the hour.
Voices filled with emotions came from where she left Rannor, Gilly and Derrin. The other men must have gathered around her patient, but she was too busy heaving the contents of her stomach to the ground to be truly certain. She even failed to realize that the gray overcast had already cleared giving way to the glittering stars. It was only when a shadow fell over her that she looked up from the ground.
Turning her head slightly, she chanced a glance at the person who decided to join her. Perhaps he was the most curious of the group, already about to ask questions. Standing a little to her right was the blonde who had earlier expressed his doubt. Despite her condition, she couldn’t help but grace him with a lopsided I-told-you-so grin.
Feeling more confident that her stomach was done throwing away its contents, she wiped her lips with the rough exterior of her cloak then got up to her feet. The moment she did, her perspective went weird, the ground tilted and she instinctively grasped his arm for support. She went still for a few seconds, waiting out the wave of dizziness, until she thought she already found her balance. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, letting him go.
Ysabel stood only a few inches shorter than the man. He looked different from his comrades, his coloring was definitely different. She wondered if he was a half-blood, possibly a product of a passionate night shared between a lonely soldier and a whore. She waited for him to say something, but somebody else beat him into it.
Footsteps were muffled by the snow, but Greymount’s presence was fairly hard to miss. “What did you give him?” he demanded.
Ysabel tugged at the hood of her cloak, under the pretense that she was cold, willing the shadows to hide her face and the paleness of her skin. “Medicine,” she answered. “All the ingredients were from your supply. You should be smart enough to figure out which, but I shall not reveal the formulation. Why else should you lot keep your promise to help me get to Cannor safely?”
Lol. I don't even watch that show. :D
I haven't heard of it, but I read a similar book last year. It's called The River of No Return and it's also about people who can jump back and forth into time. The settings of most of the story is Victorian London.
I haven't heard of it, but I read a similar book last year. It's called The River of No Return and it's also about people who can jump back and forth into time. The settings of most of the story is Victorian London.
“Masks,” he said very slowly, chewing on a very juicy grape. His eyes softened, focusing somewhere beyond Claire’s face and to a faraway memory of a young James entering the ballroom of his very first masquerade. His cover was a young graduate from Eton named Benjamin Black Keaton. He remembered it so well, how terrified he was and how close he was to throwing up on his shoes. Looking back, he realized how much he had grown in the trade he dedicated his life to. He was no longer the jumpy boy pretending to be a man, but was a man still pretending to be another man.
A ghost of a grin touched his face. “I like it,” he confessed then his lips twisted into a grin. “That way you won’t know if it is I who is flirting with the closest red head. Oh, yes. I do believe I will be better by then.” A short pause followed his words, but it was unlike the one before. As if Claire hadn’t pushed him into voicing his thoughts about Matthew and treason, Nick had a dreamy expression of a boy who had just seen his crush. “And do keep doing what you are doing with my hair.” Because it felt good, better even, than when he was lying on Caroline’s bed, listening to her endless chatter about the latest gossip in the pub.
“Then, when the doctor permits you to ride, we can go together if you would like. Tell me about yourself, Nicholas. I know you enjoy work…are you in it just for the money, or do you honestly have a passion for it?” she added at the same time she fed him. “I’ve spoken enough to last an entire day. I want to hear you.”
Funny how the events that usually led to marriage was mixed-up considering what happened to them. It was generally accepted that a gentleman would call on to the house of the lady he intended to court. The time they spent together would allow them to get to know each other, which would eventually lead them to the decision whether or not they would marry. Most of the time, they did marry. With Claire and Nick, on the other hand, everything started with the marriage, leaving the couple to pick up the pieces from there. They were husband and wife, but they barely knew each other.
“Me?” What should he tell her? “I enjoy riding at breakneck speed, but the crowded city will not let me ride as fast as I would have wanted. I like horses. Nightshade is my favorite and I miss riding on horseback to Hyde. I believe we have promised each other a match when I get better?“
“Now, if you are asking about business,” he sighed a deep heavy sigh. “I cannot possibly express how much relieved I am to be forced into vacation by this injury. If I can redo that night, I would still trace the steps that led me to that gunpoint if only to have a few days to myself. So to answer your question, no. No, I don’t enjoy working and I don’t have the passion for it.” Nick caught the hand that was stroking his hair and kissed her palm. “Money is a good motivation though. I am working for the money that will provide for me and my future family. How many children do you want?” He blurted the last question before he could stop the thoughts from spilling into his mouth. Blood rushed to his face. He let go of her hand then looked away.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
A ghost of a grin touched his face. “I like it,” he confessed then his lips twisted into a grin. “That way you won’t know if it is I who is flirting with the closest red head. Oh, yes. I do believe I will be better by then.” A short pause followed his words, but it was unlike the one before. As if Claire hadn’t pushed him into voicing his thoughts about Matthew and treason, Nick had a dreamy expression of a boy who had just seen his crush. “And do keep doing what you are doing with my hair.” Because it felt good, better even, than when he was lying on Caroline’s bed, listening to her endless chatter about the latest gossip in the pub.
“Then, when the doctor permits you to ride, we can go together if you would like. Tell me about yourself, Nicholas. I know you enjoy work…are you in it just for the money, or do you honestly have a passion for it?” she added at the same time she fed him. “I’ve spoken enough to last an entire day. I want to hear you.”
Funny how the events that usually led to marriage was mixed-up considering what happened to them. It was generally accepted that a gentleman would call on to the house of the lady he intended to court. The time they spent together would allow them to get to know each other, which would eventually lead them to the decision whether or not they would marry. Most of the time, they did marry. With Claire and Nick, on the other hand, everything started with the marriage, leaving the couple to pick up the pieces from there. They were husband and wife, but they barely knew each other.
“Me?” What should he tell her? “I enjoy riding at breakneck speed, but the crowded city will not let me ride as fast as I would have wanted. I like horses. Nightshade is my favorite and I miss riding on horseback to Hyde. I believe we have promised each other a match when I get better?“
“Now, if you are asking about business,” he sighed a deep heavy sigh. “I cannot possibly express how much relieved I am to be forced into vacation by this injury. If I can redo that night, I would still trace the steps that led me to that gunpoint if only to have a few days to myself. So to answer your question, no. No, I don’t enjoy working and I don’t have the passion for it.” Nick caught the hand that was stroking his hair and kissed her palm. “Money is a good motivation though. I am working for the money that will provide for me and my future family. How many children do you want?” He blurted the last question before he could stop the thoughts from spilling into his mouth. Blood rushed to his face. He let go of her hand then looked away.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
The reaction of Cannor’s men, both the younger ones and their seniors, was not surprising. They looked at her with anger, frustration, and disbelief playing on their hard faces. She would have looked at her the same way had she been standing in their shoes. Behind them, the storm howled again. There was no way they could travel back to Cannor with the injured and hope that he would recover. No, with the way he looked, he would die sooner than their bonfire.
Ysabel watched the emotions played on the men’s faces. She noticed that their coloring and facial structures were diverse, hinting that these men had come from all over Andor and perhaps even beyond. But despite the diversity, that night, she guessed that they were all contemplating whether or not they should believe her. The silence didn’t stretch long. Somebody pushed his way through the wall of bodies to voice out his thoughts.
“How?” He demanded. ”No healer can stop that.”
Her response didn’t come right away. Instead, she allowed the others time to organize their thoughts and somehow form an opinion towards her. Of course she knew she could do it, she was not just any other healer. The process was painful and she knew just by looking at the exposed part of the injury that she would regret it later on.
Still, she raised an arrogant brow at the blonde man. “And how can you say for certain?” She challenged. He looked young, younger perhaps than most of the men, therefore he couldn’t be the one in charge. Ysabel turned her attention to the one who was still on horseback – the most arrogant looking of them all, the one whose voice sounded like he was used to barking demands and commands. “I am confident that I can help him.”
The man’s beard moved before she saw his mouth did. Andrel had never taken his hard eyes off Ysabel and now that she had the chance to look back into those black pools, she dared not to look away. “Are you a healer?”
“Yes, I am,” which was true.
The men exchanged glances. “He is dead,” Greymount spat. “Or will be in a few hours. The best we can do for Rannor is to ease his suffering. End it fast and painless rather than prolonging his agony and ours.”
“No!” she protested, taking a step towards the man in pain on the floor. “I can guarantee that he will live. All I ask in return is safe passage to Andor.” She knelt down beside Rannor, ignoring the smell that lingered in the cold air around them. “Please, give him a chance. I will guarantee his recovery. I will guarantee it with my life.” Ysabel almost bit her tongue after the words slipped past. What was she doing throwing such a promise?
Greymount’s expression didn’t change. He did not believe her, yet he lifted his eyes to meet with his brothers.
“He is dead anyway,” said Derrin with a shrug. “You said so yourself.”
Fraym grunted as he dismounted. “Prove yourself true, woman. If Rannor dies tonight, before the mountain calms down, I shall have your head.”
“And I shall have supplies before his condition becomes irreversible,” she answered, seemingly unconcerned about the threat.
Derrin was the one who fetched the medicinal supplies, carrying it over to her, who just stared at it, not really knowing what to do. The bag was crowded with jars and powders. She asked Derrin to identify each for her, then asked someone else to heat enough water to clean Rannor’s wound. The camp came to life around them. The elders gave out orders on who was going to be on watch, ate, and generally avoided bothering her, except for Greymount who hovered over her shoulder. She occasionally asked for assistance to hold Rannor’s down. Despite his corpselike skin coloring, he was still strong. She was witness to his strength when at one time he accidentally hit her on the jaw.
In the end, after she managed to clean Rannor’s wound, Ysabel made a hazy concoction which was mostly water and something else Derrin mentioned. By that time, Rannor was limp, his skin was clammy and his breathing very uneven.
“Help me,” she asked one of the orphans, whose name she hadn’t asked. “I need to get him to drink this.” He helped lift Rannor’s head and slowly, Ysabel fed the liquid to her patient. She touched his forehead as if checking for fever then braced herself. While the liquid mixture would not heal Rannor, Ysabel would do it. Slowly, she reached for the thread – a familiar connection that she had learned to establish with another living being when their skins were in contact. She tugged at it, testing the strength of the connection, then gently coaxed the damage to heal.
In Rannor’s case, she wouldn’t close the wound, but rid it of the poison that was slowly eating his flesh. However, as was the law of nature, nothing can be subtracted without anything to be added in return, or else the balance would tip. What she rid of Rannor, therefore, she absorbed to herself – the part which she didn’t enjoy.
Rannor’s breathing became a little more even and a little color came back to his face. Ysabel’s stomach lurched. She covered her mouth, waved at the one supporting Rannor’s head to also do the bandages, then ran to the mouth of the cave, fell on her knees and heaved the contents of her stomach on the snow.
Ysabel watched the emotions played on the men’s faces. She noticed that their coloring and facial structures were diverse, hinting that these men had come from all over Andor and perhaps even beyond. But despite the diversity, that night, she guessed that they were all contemplating whether or not they should believe her. The silence didn’t stretch long. Somebody pushed his way through the wall of bodies to voice out his thoughts.
“How?” He demanded. ”No healer can stop that.”
Her response didn’t come right away. Instead, she allowed the others time to organize their thoughts and somehow form an opinion towards her. Of course she knew she could do it, she was not just any other healer. The process was painful and she knew just by looking at the exposed part of the injury that she would regret it later on.
Still, she raised an arrogant brow at the blonde man. “And how can you say for certain?” She challenged. He looked young, younger perhaps than most of the men, therefore he couldn’t be the one in charge. Ysabel turned her attention to the one who was still on horseback – the most arrogant looking of them all, the one whose voice sounded like he was used to barking demands and commands. “I am confident that I can help him.”
The man’s beard moved before she saw his mouth did. Andrel had never taken his hard eyes off Ysabel and now that she had the chance to look back into those black pools, she dared not to look away. “Are you a healer?”
“Yes, I am,” which was true.
The men exchanged glances. “He is dead,” Greymount spat. “Or will be in a few hours. The best we can do for Rannor is to ease his suffering. End it fast and painless rather than prolonging his agony and ours.”
“No!” she protested, taking a step towards the man in pain on the floor. “I can guarantee that he will live. All I ask in return is safe passage to Andor.” She knelt down beside Rannor, ignoring the smell that lingered in the cold air around them. “Please, give him a chance. I will guarantee his recovery. I will guarantee it with my life.” Ysabel almost bit her tongue after the words slipped past. What was she doing throwing such a promise?
Greymount’s expression didn’t change. He did not believe her, yet he lifted his eyes to meet with his brothers.
“He is dead anyway,” said Derrin with a shrug. “You said so yourself.”
Fraym grunted as he dismounted. “Prove yourself true, woman. If Rannor dies tonight, before the mountain calms down, I shall have your head.”
“And I shall have supplies before his condition becomes irreversible,” she answered, seemingly unconcerned about the threat.
Derrin was the one who fetched the medicinal supplies, carrying it over to her, who just stared at it, not really knowing what to do. The bag was crowded with jars and powders. She asked Derrin to identify each for her, then asked someone else to heat enough water to clean Rannor’s wound. The camp came to life around them. The elders gave out orders on who was going to be on watch, ate, and generally avoided bothering her, except for Greymount who hovered over her shoulder. She occasionally asked for assistance to hold Rannor’s down. Despite his corpselike skin coloring, he was still strong. She was witness to his strength when at one time he accidentally hit her on the jaw.
In the end, after she managed to clean Rannor’s wound, Ysabel made a hazy concoction which was mostly water and something else Derrin mentioned. By that time, Rannor was limp, his skin was clammy and his breathing very uneven.
“Help me,” she asked one of the orphans, whose name she hadn’t asked. “I need to get him to drink this.” He helped lift Rannor’s head and slowly, Ysabel fed the liquid to her patient. She touched his forehead as if checking for fever then braced herself. While the liquid mixture would not heal Rannor, Ysabel would do it. Slowly, she reached for the thread – a familiar connection that she had learned to establish with another living being when their skins were in contact. She tugged at it, testing the strength of the connection, then gently coaxed the damage to heal.
In Rannor’s case, she wouldn’t close the wound, but rid it of the poison that was slowly eating his flesh. However, as was the law of nature, nothing can be subtracted without anything to be added in return, or else the balance would tip. What she rid of Rannor, therefore, she absorbed to herself – the part which she didn’t enjoy.
Rannor’s breathing became a little more even and a little color came back to his face. Ysabel’s stomach lurched. She covered her mouth, waved at the one supporting Rannor’s head to also do the bandages, then ran to the mouth of the cave, fell on her knees and heaved the contents of her stomach on the snow.
“Nobody significant is around,” he drawled, smiling all the while as he watched his wife check if anybody was spying on them. She was concerned, but at the same time he could tell that she was enjoying herself. Nicholas didn’t care if anybody saw them wasting the good weather under a tree beside Thames. In the eyes of London, they were a married couple. Besides, they were not doing amorous activities in broad daylight, just lying around and being lazy for once.
”Besides, aren’t the roles supposed to be switched? How ill-mannered,” Claire commented, but she did reach for the grapes which only made face look more self-satisfied.
Nick feigned illness, allowing his eyes to go soft and his voice to be a bit raspy. He answered as Claire chewed on her grape, “I’m still sick, Claire. My head is throbbing and sharp pain stabs me from my side whenever I move.” Both of which were true, and also, he liked teasing her. His blue eyes dramatically closed as he sighed for additional effect. “But lying here, with my head on your lap, it makes me feel a little better. Now where’s my fruit?”
“I hope you choke on it,” she retorted. He opened his mouth but kept his eyes closed, yet even then he could hear the smile that was hiding in her voice. Nick was surprisingly happy to hear that tone in her voice. After the sitting beside her unable to do anything about her distress that morning, he felt relieved that she was smiling and laughing again. At least for a few hours his demons and hers – the ones he didn’t know of – were far away, hiding in the darkness that was in their future.
But then, she kept on rousing their demons. “I know it is treason, Nicholas. What Matthew is- was accused of. But why? Perhaps he did it not to be on the side of Russia, and not because he thought the queen was wrong to follow either. Perhaps he was just…trying to end it. Saves lives. I’m just saying how does anyone know he was doing wrong. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t his fault. What if Matthew committed treason because he was pressured into it? Felt there was no other choice?”
Nick fell silent for a few moments, the smile lingering on his features slowly faded and he opened his eyes and looked away from his wife. Thames was blue and peaceful. Not too many boats were sailing on its waters that afternoon, only one which had just left his line of vision.
One thing he learned that afternoon was that Claire was better informed than other women of her status with regards to politics. First, she knew the country which was England’s enemy. Surprising as it was, most ladies had no idea and didn’t care to learn about that piece of information. Second, she might have had an idea on the background of the mentioned war to be thinking that their queen might be wrong in her decision. Thinking her as a well-informed woman was far better than thinking that she might have it in her heart to sympathize with someone who thought that their queen was wrong. She was sympathizing with Matthew, wasn’t she? Was he really one of the men she slept with? Because, if she was not, then why couldn’t she let the topic go. And if that was true, then what she confessed the day before was all lie. Why would she lie to him?
Finally ending his silence, Nick sighed. He spoke without looking at her, “Treason is treason no matter what his reason may be. Because of him, a number of our countrymen are dying every day. Our military prowess is doubted by the world and most of all we look silly. All of these because our plans and tactics are being compromised, supply routes are cut by the enemy, and they anticipate our every move.”
What else did she believe to be a reason that could justify causing unnecessary casualties of British men – their countrymen? Nick turned to look at his wife, his guards were up and every trace of the man who took pleasure in teasing her was gone. “There is always a choice, Claire, but sometimes it is easier to believe that there is none. It’s just a shame that he died before the authorities learned anything useful from him. ”
And then he added. “Now, if you open your mouth again to speak of Matthew Hawthorne, I will kiss you on the lips right here where you are sitting, right now in broad daylight, with Thames and all the random passers by as witnesses.”
”Besides, aren’t the roles supposed to be switched? How ill-mannered,” Claire commented, but she did reach for the grapes which only made face look more self-satisfied.
Nick feigned illness, allowing his eyes to go soft and his voice to be a bit raspy. He answered as Claire chewed on her grape, “I’m still sick, Claire. My head is throbbing and sharp pain stabs me from my side whenever I move.” Both of which were true, and also, he liked teasing her. His blue eyes dramatically closed as he sighed for additional effect. “But lying here, with my head on your lap, it makes me feel a little better. Now where’s my fruit?”
“I hope you choke on it,” she retorted. He opened his mouth but kept his eyes closed, yet even then he could hear the smile that was hiding in her voice. Nick was surprisingly happy to hear that tone in her voice. After the sitting beside her unable to do anything about her distress that morning, he felt relieved that she was smiling and laughing again. At least for a few hours his demons and hers – the ones he didn’t know of – were far away, hiding in the darkness that was in their future.
But then, she kept on rousing their demons. “I know it is treason, Nicholas. What Matthew is- was accused of. But why? Perhaps he did it not to be on the side of Russia, and not because he thought the queen was wrong to follow either. Perhaps he was just…trying to end it. Saves lives. I’m just saying how does anyone know he was doing wrong. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t his fault. What if Matthew committed treason because he was pressured into it? Felt there was no other choice?”
Nick fell silent for a few moments, the smile lingering on his features slowly faded and he opened his eyes and looked away from his wife. Thames was blue and peaceful. Not too many boats were sailing on its waters that afternoon, only one which had just left his line of vision.
One thing he learned that afternoon was that Claire was better informed than other women of her status with regards to politics. First, she knew the country which was England’s enemy. Surprising as it was, most ladies had no idea and didn’t care to learn about that piece of information. Second, she might have had an idea on the background of the mentioned war to be thinking that their queen might be wrong in her decision. Thinking her as a well-informed woman was far better than thinking that she might have it in her heart to sympathize with someone who thought that their queen was wrong. She was sympathizing with Matthew, wasn’t she? Was he really one of the men she slept with? Because, if she was not, then why couldn’t she let the topic go. And if that was true, then what she confessed the day before was all lie. Why would she lie to him?
Finally ending his silence, Nick sighed. He spoke without looking at her, “Treason is treason no matter what his reason may be. Because of him, a number of our countrymen are dying every day. Our military prowess is doubted by the world and most of all we look silly. All of these because our plans and tactics are being compromised, supply routes are cut by the enemy, and they anticipate our every move.”
What else did she believe to be a reason that could justify causing unnecessary casualties of British men – their countrymen? Nick turned to look at his wife, his guards were up and every trace of the man who took pleasure in teasing her was gone. “There is always a choice, Claire, but sometimes it is easier to believe that there is none. It’s just a shame that he died before the authorities learned anything useful from him. ”
And then he added. “Now, if you open your mouth again to speak of Matthew Hawthorne, I will kiss you on the lips right here where you are sitting, right now in broad daylight, with Thames and all the random passers by as witnesses.”
Ysabel pointing to the source of light seemed only a confirmation of what most of the men might have already guessed. There were very few fools to march the frozen paths to Cannor anyway. Fraym was the first to arrive to the site, overtaking Olivere. Following Fraym was Andrel, who had kept his mouth shut throughout the whole trip.
Fraym was met by the putrid scent of rotting flesh. His perpetual frown deepened as he wrinkled his nose, assessing the situation from atop his mount. Gilly, Howan, Roran and then his dark eyes narrowed when he found Rannor making agonized sounds on the floor. A dead Warg was at the mouth of the cave, but what made him curious was the fact that the beast had been gutted. “What happened here?” it was not him, but Andrel who demanded answers. Andrel was a year younger than Fraym and Greymount, sporting a neatly trimmed dark beard that covered half his face. He was a bear of a man with booming voice and authority written all over his face.
The other four came shortly after, muttering comments about the smell. Olivere dismounted, pulling their female captive down with him. She heard the other four do the same. “There are supposed to be five of them, Fraym,” Olivere raised. He then turned to Ysabel. “What did you say happened to the other one?”
She glanced at the three men inside the cave trying to guess what was going on in their heads. They had seen her come to the mouth of their temporary camp and then run away. The other three behind her and Olivere started towards their brothers. “The biggest one died.” She turned her attention back to Olivere. Make it good, she thought, considering the next words that would come out of her mouth. “I believe he was dead before the signal was deployed. I left and ran ahead hoping to come into contact with whoever was coming to the rescue so that I can lead them here.”
Greymount crouched beside Roran and asked, “Do you know what you are doing, boy?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and instead nudged the younger man aside with a command. “Move!” He felt for a pulse on Rannor’s neck, while the others hovered nearby, fighting against the stench that was coming from the victim’s body.
“He was bitten by a Warg,” Gilly informed. “There were three of them and we managed to kill one.”
Fraym, still sitting atop his horse, snorted. “Did you mean to brag your accomplishment, boy? Greymount, how bad is it?”
Greymount shook his head. “Not good. He will not make it back to Cannor,” he admitted with a sigh.
“I can help,” Ysabel volunteered before she could stop herself. Damn her compassion. Many had warned her against her being soft, but she had walked out on them once.
A number of pair of eyes rested on her, questioning and doubting the woman who turned out from nowhere. She cleared her throat. “I was trained as a healer,” she lied. “I can help him if you will let me. Show me what you brought with you.” She was cursing herself even as she spoke. Of course she was not going to reveal her secret to these people, but he needed to help the one in pain. Besides, if she showed them good then they might be more inclined to believe her lie about running ahead to look for help.
Fraym was met by the putrid scent of rotting flesh. His perpetual frown deepened as he wrinkled his nose, assessing the situation from atop his mount. Gilly, Howan, Roran and then his dark eyes narrowed when he found Rannor making agonized sounds on the floor. A dead Warg was at the mouth of the cave, but what made him curious was the fact that the beast had been gutted. “What happened here?” it was not him, but Andrel who demanded answers. Andrel was a year younger than Fraym and Greymount, sporting a neatly trimmed dark beard that covered half his face. He was a bear of a man with booming voice and authority written all over his face.
The other four came shortly after, muttering comments about the smell. Olivere dismounted, pulling their female captive down with him. She heard the other four do the same. “There are supposed to be five of them, Fraym,” Olivere raised. He then turned to Ysabel. “What did you say happened to the other one?”
She glanced at the three men inside the cave trying to guess what was going on in their heads. They had seen her come to the mouth of their temporary camp and then run away. The other three behind her and Olivere started towards their brothers. “The biggest one died.” She turned her attention back to Olivere. Make it good, she thought, considering the next words that would come out of her mouth. “I believe he was dead before the signal was deployed. I left and ran ahead hoping to come into contact with whoever was coming to the rescue so that I can lead them here.”
Greymount crouched beside Roran and asked, “Do you know what you are doing, boy?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and instead nudged the younger man aside with a command. “Move!” He felt for a pulse on Rannor’s neck, while the others hovered nearby, fighting against the stench that was coming from the victim’s body.
“He was bitten by a Warg,” Gilly informed. “There were three of them and we managed to kill one.”
Fraym, still sitting atop his horse, snorted. “Did you mean to brag your accomplishment, boy? Greymount, how bad is it?”
Greymount shook his head. “Not good. He will not make it back to Cannor,” he admitted with a sigh.
“I can help,” Ysabel volunteered before she could stop herself. Damn her compassion. Many had warned her against her being soft, but she had walked out on them once.
A number of pair of eyes rested on her, questioning and doubting the woman who turned out from nowhere. She cleared her throat. “I was trained as a healer,” she lied. “I can help him if you will let me. Show me what you brought with you.” She was cursing herself even as she spoke. Of course she was not going to reveal her secret to these people, but he needed to help the one in pain. Besides, if she showed them good then they might be more inclined to believe her lie about running ahead to look for help.
Hyde Park would have been perfect except that a number of people frequented the park and Nicholas was not really in the mood to socialize. On the outside, he might look like his charming old self, but really, the man was still suffering from the effects of his excessive drinking the night before. Therefore, they chose to spend the afternoon watching the river Thames. Although the place was not to themselves, he believed that they had more privacy than what they would get in Hyde Park.
The ride to Thames was uneventful. The couple sat on opposite seats in the carriage, discussing menial topics and mostly dwelling in the silence of each other’s company. Silence which he thought was more abundant at home, in his room, but Mr. Bennett or perhaps Timothy would be conducting a search in every bedroom under the pretense that he seemed to have lost an important notebook in the house. They had done this routine before. Of course, Claire need not know so it was Nick’s duty to stall even if the noise and the brightness of the day was torture to his sensitive senses.
When the carriage stopped, Nick was the first to step out of the carriage, helping Claire when it was her turn. He might be already walking around, but he was still very careful not to overexert himself just as the doctor advised.
“It’s the perfect weather for you to finally be walking,” Claire commented as she was stepping down the carriage. “Oh, Nick did you grab a blanket to sit on? I can’t believe I forgot one, I don’t know where my mind is.”
“I did,” he nodded, but then gestured for the servant to setup their spot under the shade of an oak tree, where the slope was gentle and the grass was a healthy shade of green. He took the basket from Claire and passed it on to the same person laying down the blanket for them. They waited in silence while their picnic spot was being arranged, and sat only after Nick dismissed his staff.
Having not yet consumed any solid food for the day, Nicholas was hungry. Just by looking at the food that Cook prepared for them made his stomach grumble in protest. He grinned sheepishly and stuffed a quarter of a sandwich in his mouth. It was chicken and the dressing was very deliciously made. He nodded in approval, swallowing slowly, as he watched the peaceful Thames. Good thing his stomach did not reject it. He was already on his fifth slice when Claire spoke.
“Nicholas, may I ask you something?”
With his mouth full and another quarter of a slice on one hand, he turned to his wife and nodded. “This whole ordeal with Matthew and Lucy, it’s got me thinking. What if he was a spy? I know it’s silly to think about. But- but if he was, he did it for a reason, didn’t he? He must have believed he was doing right. So does that make him a bad person, just because he did what he thought was right and it made certain people angry? Hypothetically speaking
Nick swallowed his food and placed down the slice he was holding. Was she trying to justify Matthew’s deeds? He couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking by just watching her facial expression. She looked genuinely curious, but the question shouldn’t have formed in her head.
“If he was a spy,” Nicholas answered slowly, keeping his eyes on her, “He was in the wrong.”
It was that simple. He reached for a cup of fruit juice and took a tentative sip. Staring at the crafted design of the porcelain, he continued, “He was in the wrong, because selling information to Russia is treason. Nevertheless, I have no intentions of meddling with the military’s and the queen’s business. I have my own to take care of.” Nick paused then his eyes suddenly looked up to hers and smiled. “And also, I have you to take care of.” He placed the cup down then plucked a grape from the cluster and raised it to the level of her face. “Say ‘ah’ I’m sure you haven’t eaten lunch yet. Don’t think about the officers. We went out here to enjoy the sun and to keep your mind off Matthew and Lucy.”
When he thought she was going to take him up on his offer and open her mouth, Nick popped the fruit into his mouth and grinned like a schoolboy at her. “You want some?” he teased while still chewing. “Hmmm… That tastes brilliant. Where did they buy these?” he mused as he lowered himself until his head was on her lap. Looking up at Claire, he gestured to the grapes. “More, please.”
He was, after all, supposed to be just a businessman. He was to care very little to what the government was up to. He just said what he thought should be said in order for her to be comfortable around him. The success of a good spy lie in his ability to make the people around him feel at ease, enough for them to speak to him freely.
The ride to Thames was uneventful. The couple sat on opposite seats in the carriage, discussing menial topics and mostly dwelling in the silence of each other’s company. Silence which he thought was more abundant at home, in his room, but Mr. Bennett or perhaps Timothy would be conducting a search in every bedroom under the pretense that he seemed to have lost an important notebook in the house. They had done this routine before. Of course, Claire need not know so it was Nick’s duty to stall even if the noise and the brightness of the day was torture to his sensitive senses.
When the carriage stopped, Nick was the first to step out of the carriage, helping Claire when it was her turn. He might be already walking around, but he was still very careful not to overexert himself just as the doctor advised.
“It’s the perfect weather for you to finally be walking,” Claire commented as she was stepping down the carriage. “Oh, Nick did you grab a blanket to sit on? I can’t believe I forgot one, I don’t know where my mind is.”
“I did,” he nodded, but then gestured for the servant to setup their spot under the shade of an oak tree, where the slope was gentle and the grass was a healthy shade of green. He took the basket from Claire and passed it on to the same person laying down the blanket for them. They waited in silence while their picnic spot was being arranged, and sat only after Nick dismissed his staff.
Having not yet consumed any solid food for the day, Nicholas was hungry. Just by looking at the food that Cook prepared for them made his stomach grumble in protest. He grinned sheepishly and stuffed a quarter of a sandwich in his mouth. It was chicken and the dressing was very deliciously made. He nodded in approval, swallowing slowly, as he watched the peaceful Thames. Good thing his stomach did not reject it. He was already on his fifth slice when Claire spoke.
“Nicholas, may I ask you something?”
With his mouth full and another quarter of a slice on one hand, he turned to his wife and nodded. “This whole ordeal with Matthew and Lucy, it’s got me thinking. What if he was a spy? I know it’s silly to think about. But- but if he was, he did it for a reason, didn’t he? He must have believed he was doing right. So does that make him a bad person, just because he did what he thought was right and it made certain people angry? Hypothetically speaking
Nick swallowed his food and placed down the slice he was holding. Was she trying to justify Matthew’s deeds? He couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking by just watching her facial expression. She looked genuinely curious, but the question shouldn’t have formed in her head.
“If he was a spy,” Nicholas answered slowly, keeping his eyes on her, “He was in the wrong.”
It was that simple. He reached for a cup of fruit juice and took a tentative sip. Staring at the crafted design of the porcelain, he continued, “He was in the wrong, because selling information to Russia is treason. Nevertheless, I have no intentions of meddling with the military’s and the queen’s business. I have my own to take care of.” Nick paused then his eyes suddenly looked up to hers and smiled. “And also, I have you to take care of.” He placed the cup down then plucked a grape from the cluster and raised it to the level of her face. “Say ‘ah’ I’m sure you haven’t eaten lunch yet. Don’t think about the officers. We went out here to enjoy the sun and to keep your mind off Matthew and Lucy.”
When he thought she was going to take him up on his offer and open her mouth, Nick popped the fruit into his mouth and grinned like a schoolboy at her. “You want some?” he teased while still chewing. “Hmmm… That tastes brilliant. Where did they buy these?” he mused as he lowered himself until his head was on her lap. Looking up at Claire, he gestured to the grapes. “More, please.”
He was, after all, supposed to be just a businessman. He was to care very little to what the government was up to. He just said what he thought should be said in order for her to be comfortable around him. The success of a good spy lie in his ability to make the people around him feel at ease, enough for them to speak to him freely.
No problem. I'm happy to hear that you passed your test. Congratulations! :D
I'll post a reply tomorrow, because I need to go to sleep early and wake up early (earlier than usual) tomorrow. :/
I'll post a reply tomorrow, because I need to go to sleep early and wake up early (earlier than usual) tomorrow. :/
Olivere was the more experienced scout of the two. He was taller, broader, and believed himself to be wiser than Derrin. Although, in truth, Derrin was wiser for allowing his senior to believe whatever pleased him. With their fair skin, dark hair, and brown eyes, both men were generally believed to have come from one of Andor’s cities, although it was difficult to guess where exactly. Though not similar, they possessed the kind of face that was easily forgotten, no remarkable feature as a mole or a birthmark.
Derrin’s brown eyes were a shade lighter than Olivere’s though, and other than being the youngest in the search party, he also had the sharpest eyes. Looking into those brown eyes was like staring into a hawk’s. Therefore, when Olivere scouted ahead of the party, Derrin was handpicked to accompany him.
His shadow stretched on the red-tinted snow in front of him as slowed his pace to a mere gallop. The wind whistled in his ear and the snow started falling again. Soon it would be truly a challenge to locate the boys who fired the signal.
“Derrin? Any news?” Asked one of his brothers. As usual, none of them was willing to waste time in the middle of the desert of ice.
"If it was war out boys have warned us against, the Capital won't have listened."
Greymount added, ”When was the last time the King paid any attention to the Northern border? We've been forsaken for many years now. Horngul with not stay our allies when summer comes. The famine last harvest will happen again-"
But he was cut off by Fraym, who had urged his mount to move to where Derring stopped. ”Right now, we need to find our brothers and get them safe. If war is on the horizon, the King must be warned.”
Derrin maneuvered his horse so it turned sideways. “We found somebody hiding with this,” he said, patting the bag that was retrieved. “This belongs to one of us. It might not be war that our brothers warned us about, but that they are in need of assistance.”
“Rannor and his boys,” mused Greymount. “I would rather that we were roused by war.”
“Liar!” Fraym accused.
Another of the four snorted. “You would rather that we were not roused, Greymount. You’ve been slacking a lot lately, you’ve gone fat and lazy. If it was war that the boys warned us about, that round belly of yours will be the first to spill its contents on the snow.”
“Enough, enough. The two of you, this is not the time to be petty.”
As if on cue, all five heads turned to the sound of hooves on the snow. To Derrin’s delight, it was Olivere, with their guide. “She knows where the others are,” Derring explained.
Olivere shrugged. “She should. She is carrying with her our possessions.” He regarded Ysabel. “Tell us where to go and I might have second thoughts about selling you off as a slave to pay us for these that you have stolen.”
“You do not know whether I did or did not steal the provisions,” she countered coolly. “But I shall lead you to your unfortunate brothers before another one of them leaves us for good. Forward.”
The light from the flare diminished slowly until it was almost too dark to see again. Ysabel, thankful she somehow remembered the path she followed, managed to lead the other men to the rook where she met the owners of the items she stole. Light from the fire shone through the opening of the rook. It was visible even as a small dot up ahead. “There,” she pointed to Olivere, knowing that the man should have already seen it.
Without saying any more, the horses galloped towards the light.
Derrin’s brown eyes were a shade lighter than Olivere’s though, and other than being the youngest in the search party, he also had the sharpest eyes. Looking into those brown eyes was like staring into a hawk’s. Therefore, when Olivere scouted ahead of the party, Derrin was handpicked to accompany him.
His shadow stretched on the red-tinted snow in front of him as slowed his pace to a mere gallop. The wind whistled in his ear and the snow started falling again. Soon it would be truly a challenge to locate the boys who fired the signal.
“Derrin? Any news?” Asked one of his brothers. As usual, none of them was willing to waste time in the middle of the desert of ice.
"If it was war out boys have warned us against, the Capital won't have listened."
Greymount added, ”When was the last time the King paid any attention to the Northern border? We've been forsaken for many years now. Horngul with not stay our allies when summer comes. The famine last harvest will happen again-"
But he was cut off by Fraym, who had urged his mount to move to where Derring stopped. ”Right now, we need to find our brothers and get them safe. If war is on the horizon, the King must be warned.”
Derrin maneuvered his horse so it turned sideways. “We found somebody hiding with this,” he said, patting the bag that was retrieved. “This belongs to one of us. It might not be war that our brothers warned us about, but that they are in need of assistance.”
“Rannor and his boys,” mused Greymount. “I would rather that we were roused by war.”
“Liar!” Fraym accused.
Another of the four snorted. “You would rather that we were not roused, Greymount. You’ve been slacking a lot lately, you’ve gone fat and lazy. If it was war that the boys warned us about, that round belly of yours will be the first to spill its contents on the snow.”
“Enough, enough. The two of you, this is not the time to be petty.”
As if on cue, all five heads turned to the sound of hooves on the snow. To Derrin’s delight, it was Olivere, with their guide. “She knows where the others are,” Derring explained.
Olivere shrugged. “She should. She is carrying with her our possessions.” He regarded Ysabel. “Tell us where to go and I might have second thoughts about selling you off as a slave to pay us for these that you have stolen.”
“You do not know whether I did or did not steal the provisions,” she countered coolly. “But I shall lead you to your unfortunate brothers before another one of them leaves us for good. Forward.”
The light from the flare diminished slowly until it was almost too dark to see again. Ysabel, thankful she somehow remembered the path she followed, managed to lead the other men to the rook where she met the owners of the items she stole. Light from the fire shone through the opening of the rook. It was visible even as a small dot up ahead. “There,” she pointed to Olivere, knowing that the man should have already seen it.
Without saying any more, the horses galloped towards the light.
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