Chapter Nine (old)

Dear Readers:

I seem to be running into snags. First, I am not happy with Tourth's performance in this chapter, especially at the end. Second, I am finding the future plot line boring. The more I think about it the more I feel that it needs some work. So, as long as it has taken me to produce this chapter, I cannot promise another close on its heels.

I am hoping to get some major plot brainstorming done soon. Of course, that is with pregnancy hormones, nausea, and headaches cooperating. (Lately they have all been ganging up on me.) Then I shall be back with more chapters. Don't worry, I am not planning on changing much in the already posted chapters. Instead, I am planning on branching out and filling in more of the plot to come so that I know where to take the characters next. Please be patient with me.

Thanks for your patience so far.

~ Rachel

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Chapter Nine

Katraina hated rain. After three days of it, she felt like she would never feel dry again. The sharp growl of her stomach in protest of its lack of food didn’t help her attitude much either. Their provisions had spoiled two days ago because the waterproof sack leaked. There was only so much soggy bread one could manage to swallow before just the sight was nauseating. It also didn’t help that both Wren and Arthus didn’t seem to be bothered a bit by the moisture.

She glanced over at Arthus. Bent forward to shelter his face from the water dripping from his hood, he kept a steadying hand on Trader’s reins. She couldn’t help the strange flutter that appeared under her breastbone. Quickly she looked away. The only person who had ever called her Kat had been her brother, until Arthus. He seemed to like using the nickname and always with a strange half-grin in her direction. It was almost as though he knew how confused he was making her feel.

Every time he used it, she thought first of her brother, strong, capable, quiet, and creative Tourth. The image brought memories, which in turn brought a mixed-up feeling of homesickness. She didn’t even have a home to miss. Lornwyn hadn’t really been home since her parents died and Tourth left to earn a living. Then it had become even less of one when she had lost the house. Now, here she was on the road, traveling with two strangers, people she had only met less than a week ago, and leading them to her brother.

Wren adjusted in the saddle, moving her sword into a more comfortable position. Suddenly Katraina was very worried. What if Wren had been lying? What if she did intend to hurt Tourth? Katraina shifted uncomfortably. After all, she had only known Wren for a short time. Of course, within that time Wren and Arthus had saved her life at least twice between them, but still, she didn’t know them very well.

Katraina shook her head. No, she couldn’t keep getting on this track of thought. Wren had been nothing but kind to her since rescuing her from the mob. She had fed her, clothed her, and cut her hair. Katraina looked down at her shoes. Wren had bought her the best pair of shoes Katraina had ever owned in her whole life. Surely this wasn’t the behavior of a woman only out to get the location of a bounty.

“I see Rowan trees,” Arthus announced.

Katraina lifted her head to look in the direction Arthus pointed. Along the river-like trail, clusters of short trees clustered among the rocky countryside as though huddling together against the cold wetness of the rain. She felt like they shared her feelings about the water and wind that was picking up to tug at her cloak edges.

“The town should be just beyond the next bend,” Wren called back. Nudging Brone forward into a trot, she took the lead, splashing along through the mud. Katraina was forced to grab onto Wren’s waist to keep from falling off. The steady fall of Trader’s hooves behind them signaled that Arthus was following her lead.

The air had cleared between the two of them over the past few days. Katraina had noticed that Wren was trying to be less abrupt and Arthus was trying to learn how to take orders well. Katraina found herself breathing easier after a day. Growing up, her parents had never argued about anything. Father said it was so and it was. When the tension grew between Wren and Arthus, she had been nervous about being caught in the middle. It didn’t make her feel less anxious when she realized that the two of them were both excellent fighters. But, as Wren had pointed out, good fighters usually have long tempers and great self-control.

As the village came into view just when Wren had promised, Katraina found herself growing anxious. Half afraid to hope that her brother was here and could be found, she tightened her grip on Wren and leaned forward to see.

“Where are we going to start looking?” she asked.

“I usually begin at the village tavern. If I recall correctly Rowanlan’s tavern is also a inn so we should be able to sleep under a roof tonight.”

Katraina couldn’t keep the smile from her face. A night’s sleep in a real bed seemed like a long ago dream.

The tavern was readily apparent as they rode through the empty streets of the village. The largest building the row, its sprawling, enclosed yard wrapped around the back of the building and lead to the stables. A sullen looking stable boy emerged from beneath the shelter of the open doors to take Brone’s reins. As soon as they had dismounted, Wren gave the lad quick instructions as to how the horses were to be treated and tipped him some money.

“How are you holding up?” Arthus asked from beside Katraina. She jumped slightly.

“Okay, I guess. I am hoping he is here and we can find him soon. He needs to know that so many men are after him.”

Arthus nodded. “Come on. Let’s get inside. I am hungry for something other than soggy travel bread.”

The common room greeted them with a wave of dry heat. Katraina breathed deeply of the smells of ale and hot food.

“Ah, now that is what I have been dreaming of,” Arthus exclaimed softly, “A mug of ale and a hearty trencher of stew. Do we have enough money to purchase a meal here?”

Wren’s calm even voice responded too low for Katraina to catch, but she didn’t care. As her eyes scanned the occupants of the room, they lit upon a familiar set of shoulders beneath a shaggy-looking head of hair. Her breath caught in her throat. Surely it wasn’t him. It would be too easy if they managed to find him in the common room, out in the open, and vulnerable. The last thought brought all her doubts about Wren to the forefront of her mind. She glanced back at Wren, hoping that she hadn’t seen him yet. The hope died as she met Wren’s sharp gaze.

“Go see if it is,” she said.

Katraina hesitated.

“I won’t do anything, Katraina. Now go and see.”

Slowly, Katraina turned and began weaving her way through the crowded room toward the back wall.

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Wren had spotted Tourth the moment they entered the common room. It took Katraina a good minute to spot him, but there had been no doubt when she did. The hushed gasp and immediate tension in her shoulders would have given him away if Wren hadn’t known. Arthus picked up on the fact that something was going on that he wasn’t aware of. He turned to Wren to ask, but she stalled him with a raised hand as Katraina shot Wren a nervous look. She didn’t completely trust Wren yet and Wren understood.

It took some prodding, but Wren finally got her to move. She needed her to make a positive identification before Wren did anything. She followed Katraina across the room a good two paces behind, keeping Arthus at her back.

As they turned the corner and approached the table from the left, Wren could finally see Tourth’s face. It was definitely him. There were more worry lines about his mouth and a slightly weary slump to his shoulders, but she would never forget his direct grey eyes.

Those eyes lifted from the face of his companion at the table and rose to regard his sister’s face. A warm light, one that Wren knew too well, filled their depths as he recognized Katraina. He rose from the table in a swift, smooth movement only to pause when he glimpsed the two following in his sister’s wake.

Wren watched his instinctive move to the dagger hilt at his waist. He knew who she was and assumed he knew why she came. She carefully lifted her empty hands from her sides and spread the fingers slightly. As she met his gaze, she realized that he was going to be much harder to convince of her intentions than Katraina had been. His suspicious eyes took in her gesture and flickered to Arthus before returning to her face. Her openness momentarily confused him, but that wouldn’t last long. Without dropping his eye-lock on her face, he said something to his companion, who responded by rising from his seat and facing them as well, hand on his sword hilt.

“I suggest we speak outside,” Tourth suggested in a way that was clearly not optional.

“That sounds wise,” Wren agreed. Pointedly, she turned to Arthus and gestured back the way they had come. He looked surprised and stepped back to let her pass. Just because she was willing to expose her back to their companions did not mean he would. Letting him work it out with Tourth and his friend over who would bring up the rear, Wren navigated the maze of tables to the door and stepped back out into the rain.

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Tourth frowned. This didn’t make sense. Only hours before the tinker brought news of Kat’s capture at the hand of Roark and the demand that if Tourth didn’t turn himself over to Roark things worse than death would be done unto her. Yet, here she was. A bit soggy but otherwise healthier than when he had last seen her, appearing in the very tavern where he was planning her rescue. And, she is in the company of one of the best bounty hunters in the region and a veteran soldier. Tourth shook his head and frowned as he followed the soldier out the door into the blowing rain. There had to be an explanation for this, but try as he might, he couldn’t reason one that made any sense.

He winced against the cold downpour as he stepped beyond the meager shelter of the stoop. The others had gathered a short ways off in a huddle by the hitching post. Jassek, a third cousin on Tourth’s mother’s side, stood hunched against the icy water soaking through his woolen tunic. Tourth sympathized, but this was better than discussing whatever had brought them here where anyone could hear. He shivered against the stream of water coursing between his shoulder blades and approached the group.

The soldier had already raised his hood and was devoting his attention to helping Kat with hers. Tourth frowned at the way the man treated her, but now was not the time to address it. There was a more pressing issue at hand. He turned to Wren Romany.

“I didn’t kill Kale.”

She didn’t turn to look at him. Instead she continued to watch something in the road. “I know.” Rain plastered her hair to her head turning, it almost black in the dim afternoon light. Water dripped off the end of her nose as she finally met his gaze with dark brown eyes.

“Then why are you here?” he demanded.

“To offer assistance and warn you.”

“I don’t need to be told I have a price on my head. I know that.”

“We were followed. Roark is two days behind us, three at most. He travels with a band ten strong. You need our help.”

“So, you have led him here to me and now offer assistance in dealing with him.” And this is supposed to make me trust you?

“No. He would have come eventually.”

“Then did you bring her here into danger?” I gestured toward Katraina. “She was safe in the village. No one knew that she was my sister except the villagers.”

“Safe?” the soldier replied. “About to be burned at the stake for witchcraft is hardly my idea of safe.”

“Witchcraft?” Tourth frowned at the man. It didn’t make any sense.

“It was Bratch. I refused to accept his offer of marriage so he accused me of witchcraft.”

Ah, Bratch, the blacksmith’s son was always leering at Kat whenever Tourth wasn’t around. It made sense. Why hadn’t he thought of that risk when he left her? Closing his eyes, Tourth found he already knew the answer. He had been afraid and preoccupied with leaving. He had only planned on stopping to gather the tools of his new trade, assure Kat he would be fine, and disappear into the woods. Even now as he turned to meet his sister’s eyes, he could clearly see the fear in Kat’s face as she had begged him to take her with him. “They will not be looking for a man traveling with his sister,” she said. He didn’t deserve the forgiveness he now saw in Kat’s blue eyes, deep and loving like their mother’s.

“He was closing in before I stopped in the village, wasn’t he?” he asked.

“I feared going out for meeting him,” she admitted.

Stepping forward, he drew her into a hug. “I am sorry, Kat,” he whispered as she lay her wet head against his chest and hugged him back. “I should have stopped long enough to listen.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Wren Romany said, “but my estimate about Roark may have been too large.”

A tingle of warning jolted Tourth’s spine at the tone in her voice. He lifted his head and looked at her to find her frowning at the road in the distance.

“At least five horsemen are approaching the village along the road. I hope I am wrong, but they could easily be Roark and his men.”

“We can’t make it to my house without being seen,” Jassek observed.

“Then the stables would be best.” Wren led the way.

With an arm around Kat, Tourth followed Wren in the direction of the open stable doors. Jassek and the soldier followed with swords already drawn. As they stepped into the darkness, the sound of horses and swearing men reached their ears. But by the time the new arrivals came into view, everyone was out of sight.

“How did they keep up?” Kat whispered. “We traveled faster and on a more direct route.”

“They rode through the night.” The soldier turned to Wren. “He must really loath you now, first the bounty and now your escape. He hates women as a rule, but you are pushing into a whole new category.”

Shrugging slightly, Wren’s dark eyes never strayed from the men dismounting just beyond the open stable door. Tourth couldn’t help admiring her lack of fear. Here was an unusual woman. As she gripped the hilt of the throwing knife at her waist and waited in silence with every muscle and sense at the ready, he was thankful that she at least professed to be on his side and not Roark’s.

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Wren Romany - © 2006 Rachel Rossano