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Rhain lowered his head as the woman passed by his table. Even so, he noticed her greeting. It was difficult not to notice her. When he first came to the inn two days ago, he almost lost his protective hood.
She’d been standing at the counter, arranging cups. He’d opened the door and the sunlight had hit her. He only had a profile of her, but it was enough to stun him and his men had slammed into him before they’d stumbled around him. She was absolutely exquisite. The pale perfection of her skin, the thick eyelashes. The room’s light wasn’t bright enough to see the exact color of her hair, but it was close to chestnut and waved luxuriously down her back. Then she lifted the tray and he could see the curves of her body, the graceful way she moved. In this hovel of a tavern was someone who belonged in a king’s bed.
And he should know, having grown with wealth and privilege, knowing the King himself, he knew the quality of the woman. But that wasn’t all that surprised him.
It was the wide berth of patrons around her. The inn was crowded at that time of day and a beautiful woman should have been pressed against, or been fighting, some of the more inebriated customers. If nothing else, if she was some wife, or sister, there would have been some camaraderie, some familiarity with her. Instead, she was ignored...
No, in a crowded inn, she was ostracized, the berth continued though she was done arranging the goblets, had lifted the tray and was turning to serve them. Everyone’s back was to her. As the door behind him closed, she hoisted the tray and then he saw what he had not from the profile of her left side.
As she turned to feed the customers behind her, he saw her right profile. Then he understood why, while in a crowded bar, she was left alone. Scarred beyond any repair. Old and healed burns from what he could tell. She had suffered some time in her past and suffered greatly.
He watched her. It was as if that moment had locked something inside him. She made him...curious. He didn’t know what side of her compelled him more. It wasn’t just her physical differences, it was her personality. Wary with the innkeeper, friendly with regulars. Defiant as if she insisted on showing her scars to travelers like him.
So he watched her while he sat in the back of the inn and drank poor ale, but waited for food that should never have been produced in such a hovel.
The innkeeper was a giant oaf of a man, whose unctuous manner grated on Rhain. Though he’d seen enough cruelty in the world, the innkeeper taunting the woman angered him. More than once he found himself reaching for his dagger to throw. A disquieting impulse, since he’d been able to shrug off such behavior before.
Yet he came back since he and his men enjoyed food he’d never expected to taste here. The cuts of meat in the stew were poor and often the vegetables were not fresh. But instead of grease and gristle, herbs and flavors had been added. Fine, arduous sifting of flour had been done to the rolls, which also had a sprinkling of herbs, making them both light and delicious.
It was a tiny village with no information. Completely useless to him for his business. No one would expect for him to be here and his men could be dry and fed well. More to the point, none of them protested when he said they would stay a few days.
And that was before he ate the cake which was light, but dense with honey that dripped and glossed over the top. He might be a giant oaf of an innkeeper, but the man’s cooking was unmatched.
Two sacks set on the table in front of him. It was the woman who delivered them, one hand perfect, the other gnarled with scars. Ravaged from fire like the entire right side of her face, neck and no doubt, by the way she moved, her body as well. One side exquisite, the other disfigured.
Slowly, he tilted his head up so as not to dislodge his hood, but enough to meet her eyes, which were a color he could not guess—green, grey or brown. He couldn’t determine their exact color, but they were clear, straightforward with intelligence, wariness and just a bit of pride. The fire had tilted down the corner of her right eye, and marred just a hair of her full lips. Her nose was left perfect, but her cheek and ear were deeply grooved.
This was the first time he had dared look at her fully. He of all people knew what it was like to be stared at. Compelling though she was, he tried not to keep watching this woman. Still...
Her voice was melodious, and cultured, with a hint of French, her teeth white and even. It was just as conflicting as the rest of her and this inn. A hovel of an inn, sumptuous fare, a woman both beautiful and disfigured. A voice that should be filled with laughter instead of sorrow.
It was the sorrow he heard. His hands almost shook as he grabbed silver coins from his pouch and set them on the table. Too many, perhaps, but he didn’t dare check or she’d noticed his momentary weakness. He didn’t let anyone see his weakness.
‘I’ll require fifty by tomorrow morning.’
A slight flutter of those hands like he surprised her. ‘Twenty-five can be done by morning, another twenty-five by afternoon. The ovens are too small for fifty.’
‘I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and I require fifty. I’ll pay you double.’
She darted a glance before she slid the money off the table with her perfect hand. Her movements were graceful, but more importantly, they were silent. She acted like she didn’t want anyone to know she was pocketing such money.
He dared to look at her again, although it gave her an opportunity to see his own features. No one could see him now. It wasn’t for his safety, but for his men’s. For that he wouldn’t appease her curiosity though he recognized it since he felt the same about her.
Her expression was unreadable, almost as silent as the scraping of the coins on the table. On closer inspection, her face wasn’t badly scarred, the scars were softer, white and a light pink. But the deep gnarled grooves on her hand spoke of another story. She hadn’t been subjected to fire for a short time. Only prolonged exposure could cause that kind of damage.
Another coin hit into her hand, then to her pocket, and she left the rest. ‘It’s too much. This is more than double.’
Ah, she’d been counting as she took. Cultured voice and educated. Contrasts, and his curiosity was more than piqued. It was good he would be gone tomorrow. He hadn’t been curious about anything or anyone for many years. He didn’t have time to be curious now.
‘I just want the cakes done on time,’ he said.
She didn’t take the coins on the table. An honest tavern keep, too.
‘Take the rest for you.’ He wouldn’t raise his head, but he saw her shake her head.
‘Double will be enough,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to the innkeeper, but I have no doubt you’ll get your cakes.’
Pleasure coursed through him. Another emotion he didn’t have time for. But if a few coins would give him such delicious pleasure, albeit briefly, he’d take it. He hated coin at the same time he used it to his advantage. He’d use anything to his advantage. It was his nature and even more so now.
‘Thank you,’ he said as she walked away. He untied one of the sacks in front of him and released a cake. It was warm and the smell of butter and honey were extravagant in the musty, almost putrid smells of the tavern. It fit perfectly in his hand and he reveled in the color, and the springy texture of his first bite.
He knew the taste would be better out of the darkness of the tavern. For a man of his wealth and status, a man who made his money on his mercenary skills and diplomacy, he knew the art of patience. He could wait until he reached the lodging and his men, but he didn’t want to.
Cakes. Such a little pleasure to most, but to him all the more precious since a price went on his head.
Chapter Two (#u3a5d942b-c6bb-57e8-b9f0-957e822ed333)
‘It’s late. I’ll take first watch.’ Nicholas, Rhain’s second in command and oldest friend, finished his loaf of bread and brushed his hands against his legs.
‘No, it’s mine,’ Rhain said, finishing the last of the cakes. Two of his men didn’t want them. Fools, he thought them, but he already knew they would refuse, which was why he’d bought them. ‘You trained the men hard today, you’ll have no watch tonight.’
‘Any less than you?’
‘I had that break.’
‘Ah, yes, your leisurely trip to the inn.’
‘I had to wait until the cakes were finished.’ None of it was true, but Rhain knew Nicholas understood that. They carried a conversation that would be heard by the other men. His men he paid well for their loyalty for the last five years. A long time for mercenaries to stay together, even longer to keep loyal.
As far as he knew, they were still loyal and he’d trusted them up until two months ago.
Now because of his own actions in London, he could trust Nicholas because they fostered together at Edward’s court.
As for the rest of the men, and as was true with any mercenary, they could be bribed. Consequently, he trusted them up to a point. For now they travelled north to meet with King Edward’s men collected there. Then they would part ways. If he was killed before then, he trusted Nicholas to pay them well for their services. He didn’t expect them to mourn. They were not friends; he wanted no friends.
At first, he had tried to get rid of Nicholas, who joined him a year into his travels, but finally gave up. He allowed him some privilege into this life, but not everything. Trust, loyalty, friendship could only go so far since the life he lived was a lie. That was something he wouldn’t burden Nicholas with.
A lie and a quest. When he set out five years ago from his home in Wales, he burned with hatred and with a vengeance to set the past right. To find his father for answers.
He didn’t know who his father was. The irony was he hadn’t known who his true mother was until five years ago either. It had been a terrible and deadly secret. All his life, Rhain had thought himself the second son of William, Lord of Gwalchdu, and Ellen, his wife, and the younger brother of the current Lord of Gwalchdu, Teague.
It was a gifted life, wealthy, privileged and, as a second son, one without responsibilities. One he had always reveled in. It was his older brother Teague who had to make the difficult choices. When Rhain was born, their mother, Ellen, had died in childbirth and his father, William, had been killed only moments before.
So at the age of five Teague became Lord of Gwalchdu and a Welsh Marcher Lord. When Teague was betrayed by a Welsh prince, he went to the English King Edward and gave him his loyalty.
Rhain was too young to make such decisions, but he worshipped his older brother and never questioned his loyalty, which was always to his family and to Gwalchdu. Therefore, Rhain fostered with King Edward before he returned to Gwalchdu and his brother, who was being threatened by an enemy.
Only after much adversity was it revealed that Sister Ffion, Ellen’s sister, was the one threatening his brother. Sister Ffion, who suffered from episodes of madness, of fervency, of seizures. Such illness she’d been fighting all her life with rumors that the Devil’s blood ran through her.
After being caught, Sister Ffion had died, but not before she revealed the terrible secret. That she was Rhain’s true mother. In her dying words, she did not say who his father was. Only telling him the clue was in a necklace she gave him.
And that was what he had been doing for the last five years: finding clues along the way. That his father, most likely, was the captain of the former Gwalchdu’s soldiers. That from a piece of needlework the necklace was not only links of silver, but that a large inlaid pendant had once belonged to it.
Thinking his father had taken the pendant, Rhain attempted to discover in which direction he’d travelled. When that trail went cold, he followed the jewelers who could make or sell such a necklace and pendant. Spain, France, further along Wales and London.
Along the way, he’d earned money and a reputation by his sword. He’d earned men, who followed him when his reputation increased. All the while, he asked questions. He wanted, needed answers. Why was Sister Ffion his mother; why did his father abandon her? Did his father know the Devil’s blood ran through her veins? And—the one question that plagued him, that drove him on—did his father suffer from seizures, too?
Simple questions. A golden life turned to rusting iron in one moment. A privileged carefree life. Where he had no worries on money, or family. Where because of his looks, because of his wealth, he had friends, he had women.
Now, he had no family. His brother wasn’t his brother, his mother was dead.
He was alone. Because of his Devil’s blood, he would remain alone.
His life had been forfeit since that fateful day when he realized his mother was Sister Ffion, a woman plagued by seizures. Though he’d never suffered a seizure, he was all too aware the blood flowed through his veins as well. That he was tainted.
As a result, there would be no wife for him, no children. No future. But he’d carved a life for himself, such that it was. Until London.
Only Nicholas knew what stupidity he had done in London two months back. Only Nicholas would ever know because he had been there when he denied Guy of Warstone his services and then in one rash act had killed him.
Now, Guy’s brother Reynold was after him. Rhain had a price on his head from one of the most powerful families in Europe. One reckless moment and he forfeited what was left of his life and jeopardized the lives of his men.
So that carefree man he was before was no more and the purposeful life he’d made for himself was also gone. All he could do now was to set things right by getting his men under the protection of Edward’s camp. As for Nicholas, who knew everything and most likely had a price on his head, too, he hoped he lived long enough to protect him as well.
This village was small, but was on the main road and would have travelers. He and his men took all the spare lodging and some of his men were in different accommodations. His priority was to Nicholas, but even now his enemy could be circling the village and setting a trap. He could stay here to protect, but it wouldn’t give them enough time for the advantage he liked to have.
Rhain stood. ‘I’m more restless than I thought. I’m going to walk the outer village first if you watch the men here. I’ll return shortly.’
Nicholas raised one brow, but nodded his head. There was no good reason to search this sleepy village. It would take more than one man to take down their mercenary troop, but it would take only a trained assassin to take down one man. His life might be meaningless, he might be plagued with the Devil’s own blood. But he would get his men to Edward’s camp and do one good deed before he died.
Chapter Three (#u3a5d942b-c6bb-57e8-b9f0-957e822ed333)
Helissent wrapped her shawl tightly against the cool breeze. It was spring and warm, but this time of night always brought a chill, which cut through her skin after the fires of the kitchens.
It was the one pain she welcomed in her day. In the beginning, those fires and her skin’s sensitivities had almost kept her away from the ovens. But she knew how to protect herself now and had got used to the sting because it brought her joy. Like now even though she was exhausted after completing half the cakes requested.
Cakes she’d made almost completely in the dark. She had to make all fifty of them before tomorrow, but Rudd was meticulous when it came to the kitchen supplies and that included the use of candles to see by. She couldn’t risk Rudd’s wrath with the use of too many candles. He only gave her a small allowance to operate the kitchen and the food she fed to the travelers in the inn. It was all she had, but it was a matter of pride that she made the best food around.
She knew these cakes, slathered in honey, were some of her best. She could stay up later, but she risked the ovens overheating. Best to have them cool. They’d be warm enough to heat to the right temperature when she rose.
She stumbled and righted herself. Exhaustion didn’t describe how tired her bones were. A full day’s work. Not to mention she was up early making the original twenty-five cakes this morning. She was exhausted and Rudd wasn’t letting up on her either. Since he arrived a few months ago, he’d worked her twice as hard as his parents had though they had been old and frail. She had done their work, plus hers in the end.
She’d also cared for them when both became bedridden. She’d do it all again for they had done much more for her. She missed them terribly. They’d taken her in and healed her when she had no one left.
Now they were gone and she had no one again. Except Rudd, and she desperately didn’t want him. She prayed it would be late enough when she returned and he’d be asleep. In four hours, she needed to make more cakes and she needed to rest.
Fifty cakes for double the money. It still gave her a thrill. It gave Rudd a thrill, too, if the lascivious gleam in his eyes and spittle in the corner of his mouth was anything to go by when she’d handed it to him after her shadow man had left. She hoped it appeased him at the least.
For one tempting moment, she’d thought to keep the money for herself. She’d do anything for that money. After all, her shadow man made the bargain with her and Rudd hadn’t seen her take the money. She could have given him half and taken the other portion. It wasn’t enough for her to get to another town, but it would have been a start.
But shadow man didn’t know she made the cakes and she couldn’t risk Rudd finding out. He was entirely too frightening now. His manner too familiar. But she knew his greed was great, consequently she’d given him all the money. If she could show him her worth was on her cooking, not on her living with him and being a servant, maybe he would leave her alone.
Her eyes burned now with the need to sleep. She was tired, but only a few steps more and she could rest.
‘Where have you been?’ Rudd said, low, soft as he stepped out of the dark side of her home.
She stopped suddenly and blinked. It was late, the village quiet. There was no need for him to be up.
‘Why are you here?’ she blurted out before thinking.
He scowled and the blunt slash of his lips turned cruel. ‘It isn’t any of your business why I’m here. But your being gone is mine, now isn’t it?’
A strange relief swept through her tired body. She was exhausted, not thinking clearly. Rudd’s parents worried for her when she came home late as she worked on a recipe. ‘Sorry, I was in the kitchens. I should have told—’
‘You think I don’t know where you’ve been or how you earn your money?’ Rudd held up his coin purse, though she knew he’d already hidden the coins given to her. ‘You think I’m a fool. No one makes this kind of coin off cakes.’
Rudd’s tone of voice was as sneering as ever, but what set her heart tripping was the choice of his words, the fact he held up the purse that she knew was mostly empty. Still she argued with him.
‘Of course it was for the cakes. I handed you the coins; I explained how that man requested fifty cakes by tomorrow morning. I had to make some tonight.’
‘Oh, I can smell the fires all over you.’ Rudd sniffed. ‘I know you were in the kitchens. But I don’t see any cakes. I just see you, walking home.’
Home was feet away. They were on the dark and quiet side of her home now. If she had reached the front, she’d be surrounded by the lights of other homes, of the inn.
‘It wasn’t nice of you walking home this late, and making us wait.’ Rudd took a step closer, his legs unsteady, but still upright. He had been drinking, but not enough to make him weak. Why would she care if drink made him weak?
But she did care. It was there in his suspicious words, in the fact he approached her on this side of the house where no one would see them. It was in the fact her heart tripped a bit more and the hairs on her neck prickled in warning.
‘I left the cakes in the kitchens to cool. Check if you don’t believe me. I have to make more in the morning.’ She gathered her shawl closer and moved to step around him. ‘I need to lie down and get some sleep now or else we’ll have to return the money. We’ll talk in the morning.’
A harsh chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Oh, you’ll lie down now...but it won’t be to sleep.’
From the other side of her home, two men emerged under the moon’s light. Two men she saw earlier at the tavern. The ones talking heatedly with Rudd, and giving her looks. Rudd looking smug. Too smug.
She pulled herself straighter, all tiredness gone. Her heart now hammering in her chest. The men blocked her way around to the door of her home; Rudd blocked the other way. The only way to escape was to run the way she’d come, but that only led to the kitchens, to more darkness and further away from any one to help her. If there was to be help.
‘What is this?’
‘You know what it is. You do take me for a fool. I have to admit I had doubts when you handed me those coins for your cakes. But then these two men showed me the error of my ways. Showed me what more could be earned by having one such as you.’
She eyed the men, who held menacingly still. As if they were simply waiting for her to run. And she wanted to, but with her skin tightening up around her leg, she wouldn’t get very far.
The only choice she had was to talk her way out of this. Perhaps appeal to their greed. ‘I received that for the cakes, Rudd. Cakes I won’t make again if you go through with this. I swear upon your parents—’
‘Don’t you mention my parents. Don’t you ever talk about my parents again!’
Anger, fear. The men watching her changed stance like they could feel the trap they’d laid tightening on her. She could feel it, too.
Confusion entered her fear now. This seemed too personal. This was Rudd, the son who never visited, who returned only after their death to claim everything. The son the innkeepers spoke of once, his mother’s voice breaking in the middle of the tale before the father told her the rest. He was an awful man, and hadn’t cared for them. Yet he was angry now.
