“Aeren is no—”
“Now just haul in your jib. Graeme believes the man wasn’t looking for no horse, neither. The fellow couldn’t even describe the horse other than it was big and white.
Right odd, Graeme said. For certain, he was no king’s man. This Kerotean is staying down to Grenatte, and he wants Graeme to let him know right off if there’s any word of the horse or the groom, but not tell anyone else that might be asking. Says the groom is tall, light-haired, about twenty and some years, fair in the face, but with a testy temper. The boy’s not quite right in the head, he says. Might be talkin‘ wild.“
“He’s lying. If I’d not seen Aeren’s hands or feet, perhaps, or noted his manner. Or if I’d not learned how intelligent he is, I might have believed it. But he’s no groom, and he’s not incompetent.” No groom practiced the kind of martial exercises Aeren had been doing that morning. The more I thought of the whole matter, the odder it was.
“It’s a mystery, for sure. Graeme says he plans to look into it. And after hearing all this and knowing this little trinket is involved”—Jaco tapped the bundle on his hand— “I don’t know but what we’d best get you out of it as quick as we may.”
“I’m not getting involved in anyone’s problems. I’m going to give Aeren the clothes and send him off to Montevial. Could I take the dagger back with me?” Seeing Aeren’s reaction to it might be interesting.
“Surely. But I think I’ll come along with it and get a look at your new friend myself.”
I hefted the bundle of clothes, Tim Fetterling’s gray cloak, and my bag of eggs and butter, while Jacopo found an unused knife sheath, bundled it with the knife, and grabbed his walking stick. We strolled in quiet companionship past the clay statues of the Twins, glaring from their unkempt shrine, across the fields, and up the trail into the woods. The shadows were already lengthening.
My breath stopped when I glimpsed the still form sprawled on the grass under the eaves of the forest. Stars of night, was he dead? I sped across the meadow and dropped to my knees beside the body, but I had scarcely noted that Aeren was only sleeping when I found myself face down with my arms pinned painfully behind my back, my nose in the dirt, and not a breath left in my lungs.
“A blight on your thick head,” I said, gasping. “It’s only me and a friend.”
At my first word, Aeren released me. By the time I had dragged myself to my knees and reassured myself that neither arms nor neck were broken, he stood ten paces away from me, taut, wary, and watching Jacopo limp across the meadow.
“Demons! The rascal didn’t hurt you?” said Jacopo, no longer leaning on the sturdy length of hickory, but gripping one end of it fiercely.
I crept across the grass and leaned my back against a tree, rubbing my shoulder and neck and brushing the leaves and dirt from my skirt. “Easy, Jaco. I’m fine. Just a second layer of bruises.”
“He’s been trained to fight,” said Jacopo, glowering at the young man. “No doubt of that. Quick and smooth. Strong, too, I’ll be bound. What’s he done to you, little girl?” Jacopo bent over to take a look at my neck.
“Ouch!” The old sailor was a ham-handed nursemaid.
Before Jacopo could apologize, Aeren grabbed his collar and shoved the old man away so forcefully that Jaco crashed into the dead lower branches of a pine tree. When the young man dropped to his knees beside me and reached for my neck, I flinched. To my surprise, his fingers brushed my skin quite gently. His brow was creased, as if he couldn’t understand how the marks had come about.
“I’ll live,” I said, trying to calm the situation before he got more agitated. “We startled you.”
His frown deepened, and he moved in closer, his bulk pressing me against the tree as he tugged at the tie that would loosen the gathered neck of my shift.
“Get away from me.” With an ungentle hand to his chest, I managed to squirm out from between him and the tree. But he removed my hand and moved closer again, yanking the cloth down to bare my throat. With a stiff forearm I knocked his hand aside, while with the other hand, I reached through my pocket, drew my knife, and pointed it at his belly. I knew where to hurt a man, and I knew how to talk to a brute, whether he spoke the same language or not. “Get. Away. From. Me.”
Face a deep scarlet, he let go of my clothes. Then, baring his teeth, he grabbed my forearm and twisted it until the knife dropped to the ground. For a moment I thought he might break my wrist or snatch up the weapon and turn it on me. But instead, he pushed me to the ground, stood up, and walked away.
Jacopo gave me a hand up, stood close by my shoulder, and raised his stick to Aeren’s back. “May the good god Jerrat drown you, you filthy devil—”
“Wait, Jaco.” No point in letting things get out of hand. I retrieved my dagger and sheathed it. “Aeren”—I repeated his name several times and waited until he turned around again to lay my hand on Jacopo’s shoulder—“this is my friend Jacopo from Dunfarrie. Jaco, this is… Lord Aeren of somewhere.” Jaco was busy mopping his forehead with a kerchief, and his grudging bow was less than gentlemanly.
Aeren ignored both Jacopo and my introduction. With a sour expression, he gestured to his stomach and his mouth and pointed to the cottage.
“I’ve better things to do, you wretched beast. Time to fend for yourself a bit.” I rummaged amid the eggs and butter in my pack and pulled out a well-bruised wild plum, left from my morning on Poacher’s Ridge. I threw the plum at Aeren. Hard.
He caught it in one hand, deftly enough to prevent the soft fruit from splattering on him. As he bit into it, one corner of his mouth twitched. Smug little bastard.
I tossed the clothes bundle at his feet. Once he had finished the plum and flipped the stem into the trees, he squatted down beside the pile and, one by one, lifted the items by the tip of one finger. He examined each carefully, then gave me such a look of scornful disbelief that, despite all my annoyance, I could do nothing but burst out laughing. It seemed like a century since I had laughed, and finding myself doing so at an unpleasant brute of a man who had come near throttling me twice within a week was strange indeed. Aeren flushed, snatched the bundle of clothes, and disappeared into the trees.
“If ever I’ve seen a spoiled lordling, it has to be this one,” I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. “Did you see his nose turn up? I’ve nursed him until I’m exhausted and full of splinters from sleeping on the floor, I’ve fed him half my food stocks, so that I’ll be doing well to have a meal next week, and here he sits in Anne’s old sheet and disdains something a hundred times better. I just don’t think he’s some common riverman, wrecked on the Snags.”
“Mmm. No half-wit groom, neither.” Jacopo fingered his own knife and did not laugh with me. “He’s a killer, Seri. I’ve seen no man with such moves who wasn’t, whether lowborn or high. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
I clasped my hands about my knees and leaned back against the tree. “On that we are in complete agreement.”
A short time later Aeren emerged from the woods dressed in Jacopo’s gifts. He picked at the rough cloth uncomfortably, like a small boy dressed in his first stiff-collared suit.
“I sympathize,” I said. “I can’t say I prefer kersey or russet to silk.”
“Do you think he understands what you say?” said Jacopo, as Aeren snatched my pack and rummaged through it, dropping it with an annoyed grunt when he found nothing of interest. Raking me with a glare, the young man strode across the field toward the cottage.
“Most likely not, but I’m less likely to take an ax to him if I say what I think.” If he had broken my eggs, I was going to kill him.