Gossamyr Part 19

She smiled at that description. "Avenall, why did you ask to court me?"

"Isn't that apparent?"

"Tell me."

"Because I favor you."

"But why? I am half-blooded. Is it I am so different?"

"A bit. I saw the mortal pa.s.sion in your heart when you witnessed the Dance."

She bristled. That had been many years earlier. She'd snuck out to witness the Dance, something s.h.i.+nn had forbidden, for her father forbid more than granted.

"You did?"

"You reached out and touched the Dancer's hair as he spun past you. I know you wanted to touch the mortal."

Surprised Avenall had stepped so perfectly into her thoughts, Gossamyr could but shrug and gaze into his delicious violet eyes.

"You don't care what others think of you," he said. "I watch when you stride through the Glamoursiege markets. You are strong and smart and beautiful. I admire you, Gossamyr. I always will, even after your father marries you to another man."

"Don't say things like that." For indeed, s.h.i.+nn had only days ago forbidden Avenall from courting her. His only excuse: he would not have a Rougethorn in the family. "Let's be in the moment tonight, please?"

"Can you feel it?" He took her hand and placed it over his chest.

Indeed, his heartbeats were strong and, when Gossamyr concentrated, she thought surely they did beat in synch with hers. But even more, the hardness of his body beneath her fingers intrigued. She slid her hand up to the part in his sheered silk s.h.i.+rt and drew a finger along his flesh.

The wind of his wings, spread wide and full, schussed her face with a sweet breeze. Heliotrope; his distinctive scent. Gossamyr closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations that stormed about her. Heartbeats increased. An urgency vibrated in her bones. She wanted him closer, next to her, inside her...

The weight of his hand sliding down her neck and parting her robe made her gasp.

"May I,"he whispered into her mouth "touch you?"

"Yes."

The air cooled her briefly as gentle, wide hands cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The touch making her buoyant, Gossamyr rose to her tiptoes. An unbidden mewl crossed her lips.

"They are so...large," he said with a smiling t.i.tter.

"They are?"Gossamyr laughed. "I had not thought them overlarge."

"Fee women have nothing compared to this,"he said as he smoothed and tickled and then bent to lave at her breast with his tongue. "They would hinder your flight, I imagine."

"Pity, I've not that worry. So that is the only reason you fancy me?"

"Don't be foolish, Gossamyr."

"I'm teasing."

And that was all she could say for the sensation of Avenall's mouth and

teeth and tongue working at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s drew a shudder to her bones.

Gossamyr tilted back her head, lifting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s higher. It was then she noticed the flutter of Avenall's wings behind him. The pellicle wings, normally translucent, had deepened to a rich violet. Most remarkable!

"Your wings," she said on a gasp. "They are gorgeous. Why have they changed color?"

"That, my sweet-" He lifted his violet gaze to hers. A smile could not be erased. "Is arousal."

"Oh. Oh! I've never before seen the like."

"Good. I should hate to discover you are overly familiar with male arousal."

"Gossamyr?"

Ah! Might she not simply enjoy this moment before all crowded in and became a battlefield?

"Ohhh... Gossamyr?"

Ulrich's voice sounded strange. Unsure.

Wading to sh.o.r.e, she looked for her abandoned gown. What appeared a mushy rock was actually a tangled heap of wet wool.

"You might want to get dressed, Gossamyr!"

"You've a naked woman behind that windmill?"

She stiffened at the sound of a gruff male voice. Not Ulrich's. A chill clamped to her spine. Instinct shot to the surface. A bravo? More likely a vicious Armagnac. She had not been too alert. Fool!

Scrambling to untangle the wet gown, Gossamyr cursed her need to linger in the stream. Her hair, heavy and dripping down her back, clung like deflated eels.

"She's...my mother actually. In the name of King Charles VII, I beg you do not go back there!"

The s.h.i.+ng of steel alerted Gossamyr like an arret to the gut. No staff to hand, for it sat in the windmill. Not even a dry piece of clothing! She managed to untangle the gown and worked to open the hem.

"This should prove interesting," another voice said. Not the gruff voice.

Nor, again, Ulrich's. But male. How many were there? "You take him, I'll get the mother."

"I don't think so!"

One of the men let out a yelp of pain. Gossamyr cringed, hoping upon hopes it was not Ulrich.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" The gruff one. Another slash of steel sliced the air. A metal clang-armor?-and a groan akin to having the air punched out of one's lungs.

"I'm coming!" Gossamyr yelled as she shrugged her arms into the sodden sleeves. The water soaked into the wool and hampered the ease of dress. "I think."

A glance to her braies found the amphi-leather merely a pile of dust. The last raiment of Faery had left her body; the Enchantment had gone. She spun, the gown settling about her knees, her bare legs not finding purchase in the slick gra.s.s. The braided hip belt lay there, reduced to fine dust in the shape of a leather strap. But the weapons and her sigil remained solid-stone and wood traveled easily from one world to the next. She gripped an arret in each hand and began to spin them.

In her peripheral view she saw a body land the ground. The man tumbled backward, his legs flipping over his head. Steel flashed and a dark leather-capped head shook off the fall and glanced her way.

"Got it under control," Ulrich rea.s.sured. He dashed forward, but his feet slipped on the rain-slick ground and he went down as his aggressor swung. Fortunately Ulrich's head was sailing toward the ground.

A huge barrel of a man rumbled around the water mill, sliding into Gossamyr's view. He growled like a bear and charged. Sword down and at his side, the bear heading toward her looked ready to pounce rather than slash. And he did.

The arret connected with his forehead, bringing him down in a soggy slap of flesh. Gossamyr marched up to him and yanked the obsidian tip from his skull. Not much blood. He was still- A meaty hand lashed out, catching her ankle and knocking her off balance. The sodden wool twisted between her legs, making a quick jump to her feet impossible. Pinned by the shoulders, Gossamyr's head submerged in the stream. She felt ma.s.sive hands grope her neck and then - As the bubbling of water in her ears dissipated, the sound was replaced by a gurgle of death. A final gasp of life spewed across her face. Gossamyr looked into the dismayed eyes of her attacker and watched his dark eyeb.a.l.l.s roll upward. She shoved at him but his lifeless body remained, dead weight forcing out her own precious breath.

"Be right back!" Ulrich called. Having taken out her attacker, he now raced toward the mill and with a powerful grunt, delivered a blow to an unseen a.s.sailant.

Her breath fast leaving due to the oxen that lay on top of her, Gossamyr noticed the stream of blood ripple from his skull where the sword had cleaved it apart. She pushed but could not lever the giant from her body. She groped for a hold, but slick gra.s.s lined the sh.o.r.e and her fingers slid and slipped. Her heavy head splashed into the water and she gulped in water and strands of her loosed hair.

Of a sudden she could breathe and it was possible to lift to her elbows. Leaning in to the s.p.a.ce where the oxen had been slain was Ulrich's dazzling smile. "Did I not remark you would need me sooner or later? Looks like it was anon."

She couldn't prevent a smile. The man continued to surprise.

He offered a hand, and Gossamyr clamped hers into it.

"Armagnacs?" she asked, standing and shaking out the heavy wool gown.

"Mayhap. Any man with a sword and a growl is fair game, remember that."

"I won't forget."

Bending to grab the last few arrets, she thought what to do with the applewood crest. She could not abandon it. It was her banner on the field of battle. Clasping it to her chest she strode from the stream, fighting the wet wool with kicks and stomps.

Ulrich followed her to the mill. "So you don't fight naked, eh?"

She turned to deliver a scathing remark, common-but unexpected- relief tamed her tongue. "It is not in my repertoire, no."

"Pity, I would have given a lifetime's coin to see that."

"Ulrich, I wager a lifetime of your coin would not see a family of peasants through one prosperous winter."

"You may have a point there." He tapped one of two dead men on the skull with the tip of the sword he'd heisted during the fight. "You think they were after the alicorn?"

"What else?"

"Well, you were naked."

"Will I ever live that down?"

"Not if I can prevent it, my Naked Faery Not. Not if I can prevent it."

ELEVEN.

They pa.s.sed a tree bare of leaf and vigor; as well, the body hanging from a st.u.r.dy branch by a frayed stretch of olive hosen had been drained of life and reduced to bone.

Not Faery, Gossamyr thought horribly. Not the same. Though she had heard tales skulls were found in the marsh roots. She liked to twist and twine her way through the roots spun about the upsweep of the Spiral forest, and occasionally descended close enough to peruse the gloomy marsh waters-but had never seen a ripple of danger.

She followed Ulrich as he led her and Fancy past a makes.h.i.+ft table of boards where three men played what Ulrich explained was called hoca and swilled dark beer as they waited to pa.s.s through the gates to Paris. The men who had attacked at the water mill had not been part of a larger raid; these people would remain, to their boon, unaware of that trouble.

Her wool gown had dried half through. Upon Ulrich's insistence she put up her hair so as not to draw undue attention, twisting it in a chignon loosely at the back of her head. Ulrich had suggested the applewood sigil as a means to secure it. Without a hip belt to secure her arrets, the weapons were kept to hand in a coil. Feeling completely without origin in the odd-fitting gown, Gossamyr drew in a breath. This was it. The city lay just beyond those gates.

"Might as well get comfortable," Ulrich said as he tossed the reins over Fancy's back. The mule did never wander far, so long as a patch of clover enticed. "I think the gatekeepers take joy in making everyone wait. Pity, for the Armagnacs take advantage of our delay. It may have been a boon they attacked us instead of these people. There are children here."

"Why put people in such danger? The gatekeepers are admitting the provisions before the children!"

"One cart loaded with flour sacks be far more valuable than a mere child. 'Tis the d.a.m.ned English. Think they run the town, they do. 'Course, now I think of it...they do."

Ulrich removed his cape and, with a scruff of his hand through his hair, gave a mighty shake of his head, then sought a comfortable nest on the compacted gra.s.s. He lay back, tucking the saddlebag beneath his neck for a pillow, stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "Think I deserve some rest after our skirmish. You mind watching Fancy?"

"Not at all."

A cursory check of the surroundings counted six men, two women-one with babe to breast-two children no higher than Gossamyr's elbow, and a goat rounding the batch. The cartsmen who manned the convoy busied themselves with counting, while a reed of a man, bespectacled and wielding quill and paper, followed and marked down figures that were called to him.

Gossamyr did not sense danger. But when, since arriving in the Otherside, had she actually beat danger to the notice? How these people sat about-in wait of attack-with such calm stunned. Had they become accustomed to the violence it seemed a mere interruption to a game of stones?

She squatted near Ulrich's head and studied his ease. So quickly he dismissed the danger after nearly being killed himself. He tilted his head to see her behind him. The effect was strangely enthralling, those celestial eyes beaming up at her.

"You intend to sit right there?" he wondered.

She shrugged. "I thought to."

"Then-" he lifted his head and gestured with his hand "-would you mind? I could use a soft pillow."

She realized he wanted to lay his head on her lap. Gossamyr scanned the travelers sitting about, playing stones, drinking and dozing. None paid her or Ulrich any mind.

Ulrich still waited her decision. He ruffled his hand through his hair. "I've not the lice if that be what you dread."

"I did not think as much." Though, now he mentioned it... "Very well."

She seated herself against a sheep-size rock, her spine melding to the warm curved stone, and stretched out her legs. Ulrich laid his head on her thighs and closed his eyes. Wriggling into a comfortable position, the saddlebag splayed across his stomach, he let out a satisfied groan.

"Your head is heavy."

"Your legs are bony," he murmured. "Wake me when the provisions have pa.s.sed inspection."

Stunningly, the man drifted to a low snore within a few blinks. Sure he faked it, Gossamyr leaned over his face and studied his eyelids, smooth and motionless. Real sleep?