Part 21 (2/2)
Shuffling a handful of acorns in his palm, Ulrich turned and slid a shoulder against the tree trunk. A sigh and he tossed the acorns to the ground. ”I am not Rhiana's blood father. The child was... queer-gotten. Unsure parentage. Doesn't matter; I loved her as my own.
”You have embarked on a harrowing quest, rife with evil that wishes you dead, for a child not of your blood?”
”Yes!”
Flinching at his emphatic outburst, Gossamyr twisted the tip of her staff in the ground. The acorn dug into her palm. ”Impressive.”
”Think you?”
”I don't know I could risk my life for something not my own. My father, Faery-they mean so much to me. That is because they are a part of me, my very blood.”
”It may surprise you the things a man will do for someone he loves.”
”Will you tell me who your daughter's father is?”
Ulrich stared off toward the gate where the tired travelers filed through. ”When I lived in St. Renan, there was rumor a madman stalked the forest that edged the sea. He wandered the night naked, moaning and shouting insanities. All were cautious when pa.s.sing through the wood, and never would any broach the forest after nightfall. Lydia was late from market one eve-but a se'nnight after we had wed. She arrived home well after moonrise, frantic and shaking. The madman had violated her.”
Gossamyr sucked in a breath.
”Rhiana could be mine, but she is-was-pale of hair. Dragon p.i.s.s, it was stark red sprouting unnaturally wild like a witch's broom from her scalp.” Ulrich tilted his head to look at Gossamyr. ”Lydia never did take to the child. So distant she kept, almost as if she feared to touch the poor thing. I could not fault her; she had suffered for that child. Mayhap that was why I was drawn immediately to her. I fell madly for her wide green eyes. Such a gem, she was, and so innocent of her coming to this wicked world. Do you believe a man can love a child not his own?”
”Such a man would have to be selfless, honed of impeccable integrity. If you say that you can, then I suppose I believe you.”
”Such trust I've gained in so little time from you, Faery Not.” Hooking an arm about the tree trunk, he swung forward, dipping his head to peer up into her face. ”Not so quick to brush me off now. Must be the Disenchantment. It has made you more susceptible to we mortals.”
Gossamyr touched her throat. She had abandoned the wimple somewhere along the way. ”Do I yet sparkle?”
He stroked two fingers across her brow and pushed back a loose strand of hair over her shoulder. ”Not so much. Actually...” He tilted up her chin. ”I don't see the pattern at all. That bath in the stream must have washed it away. Nice.”
His breath swept her cheek and Gossamyr blinked open her eyes to look upon his face. He smiled. ”You are difficult to resist, you know that?”
”Resist how?”
”From kissing.”
”But, your wife...”
”Never again to be mine. Condemn me naught, I still love her. Or maybe it was but the child I truly loved. Indeed, it was difficult atimes to withstand Lydia's blatant refusal to love Rhiana. Ah! Mon Dieu, it has been but a week! And yet, already I look to my fancies. You can steal the marriage from the man, but you cannot take away his desire.”
Desire, Gossamyr knew. Desire, she had felt under Ulrich's scrutiny. But to know now that he was married and had a child...
”What will you do if you can bring back your daughter? It has been very long; she will not remember you.”
He twisted, resting his back against the flaking birch trunk near where she stood. ”I had not thought of that. Rhiana will have forgotten the father a two-year-old once knew. As Lydia forgot when she took another husband. But I have not had the years to forget. No one deserves to die so cruel a death. Dragon fire.” He shuddered.
Gossamyr slid her hand into his. They stood there, looking into one another's eyes-close, but for the mortal propriety.
Yes, you do forget, she thought. You forget a promise to never love again, the feel of your lover's embrace and the power of his kiss. You forget. And you desire.
THIRTEEN.
The twosome stood twenty paces from the large wooden doors. Great cuts hewn into the weathered pine gave Gossamyr to wonder who had tried to hack their way inside. The road, rutted and muddied from the procession, sucked at Fancy's hooves. An ominous calm fell over her. Mere wood and mud to welcome her to so great a city? This mortal kingdom be not so frightening!
”As much as I know I am being led to Paris-and must proceed-I don't particularly care to pa.s.s through these gates.”
”Why your reluctance?” she asked Ulrich.
”Do you know how many people die in this city? Every day?”
Gossamyr shrugged. She pressed the staff to her cheek. Smoke littered the air with a heavy odor.
”How many die in Faery a day?” Ulrich asked.
”Not many. One or two every season.”
”Well, it is many here in Paris. Plague-like proportions.”
”Ah.”
”So you understand?”
”No.” So there were dead people-oh. ”Sorry, Ulrich. Do the souls a.s.sault you from all angles?”
He tugged his cloak up over his face and gave a yank to bring Fancy around.
”Will that help?” she wondered.
”Pray that it will, but likely not. Now, mount Fancy.”
Gossamyr bristled as Ulrich shoved her up onto the mule's back. ”What are you-unhand me!”
”Time to follow my plan, Faery Not. We will find safe pa.s.sage through the gates if we appear a couple. You must humble yourself and give me that staff.”
She gripped the staff as Ulrich struggled with it. ”This is mine, soul shepherd.”
”Please, fair lady, step down from your proud pedestal for but the time it takes us to pa.s.s through the gates.”
Two guards stood at either side of the gate, fully armed, pikes longer than her staff in hand. They did not question but she could feel their eyes behind the metal bourquinettes taking in all. ”Very well.” She released the staff. ”But you guard that-”
”Yes, yes, with my life. As if I've not already a life-threatening task with this bedeviled horn riding my back. You've the wimple?”
”I think I left it by the stream.”
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