Part 12 (1/2)

Fayth stood, staring sadly at the young girl. ”I'm sorry, my lady. I only meant to help-”

”Leave off!” she cried, hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Fayth needed no more prompting and sprinted out of the garden. She made it to the stable, fear and anxiety twisting her gut into knots. But it seemed Lady Anne alerted no one. Fayth was allowed to leave Dornock unmolested.

When Fayth was a good distance from the castle, she stopped, looking back. It irritated her she'd wasted time trying to rescue the silly girl from Ridley. The girl didn't want to be rescued. Fayth sighed and spurred Bear forward, toward Liddesdale. She wouldn't be making any more charitable stops after that fiasco. Let them learn the hard way. Fayth only wanted to find Mona.

What if Mona was on some mysterious quest, as Ridley claimed? As unlikely as it seemed, she had released Sir Patrick from the dungeons and escaped with him. If Fayth traveled all the way to Musgrave lands, only to find out Mona had never even gone there, she might never find her stepmother. But if Mona were chasing after the Blood Stone, then it was possible someone in Liddesdale had seen her. People came from all over the west and middle marches for market day. It was a nest of reivers so corrupt and violent the area warranted its own personal keeper, apart from the west and middle march wardens, to handle the lawlessness: the Keeper of Liddesdale. Fayth had heard he did little to curb the criminal activities and, in fact, partook in them more often than not. And though Mona and Sir Patrick would likely be lying low, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves, there was an excellent chance someone there had seen them anyway-perhaps even spoken with them.

The very idea that she might be close to finding Mona made Fayth impatient and she urged Bear to a gallop. Tired and hungry, Fayth rode into the village with a handful of other travelers. Stalls extended past the village's main street, fanning out with merchants displaying their wares. Fayth dismounted, leading Bear past a woman shoving candles in her face and a man waving a bolt of canvas.

Fayth patted Red Alex's coins. Had there been more, she would have bought the soap now being held enticingly out to her by a little boy. There was only enough for food and perhaps a bed in someone's stable. Once she traded the horse for a pony, the difference might purchase her a few luxuries.

A group of men stood near a fence housing a dozen goats. They eyed Bear appraisingly and her, suspiciously. Reivers. Likely wondering how such a young lad came by a horse like Bear and calculating how easy it would be to s.n.a.t.c.h him. She'd best guard her mount well else she'd be on foot.

The villagers went about their business, trying, with little success, to steer clear of the outlaws that swarmed the village. They came to sell their plunder and spend the proceeds on a hot meal, some gaming, and a bit of pleasure. And because of them there was never a shortage of gossip. Even now, as Fayth pa.s.sed stall after stall, Lord Wharton's name was on everyone's lips. Rumor had it the warden of the English West March was urging the English clans to raid the Scots, and promising to turn a blind eye to their warden's protests. Borderers needed no encouragement to plunder each other's lands. An open invitation, free of reprisal, was a thing of dreams. But he was also offering money to certain treacherous Scots clans to raid their neighbors.

With so much information being bandied about, Fayth was optimistic about discovering intelligence on Mona and Sir Patrick. The thought put a spring into her step. Fayth longed to hear her stepmother's soothing voice, feel her comforting touch. She alone loved Fayth with no reservation, never asking her to change, never reproaching or disapproving. Mona had never been ashamed of Fayth.

Warmed by thoughts of a reunion with her stepmother, Fayth stopped at a stall where a man sold cheese that he claimed came from the King of France's own larder.

”Royal cheese,” he cried, seeing he'd caught Fayth's eye.

She joined him at the stall. ”How much?”

Bear poked over her shoulder, snuffling the man's goods, then snorting with something strangely close to derision.

”Royal cheese doesna come cheap.”

Fayth inspected the half dozen rounds of cheese critically. ”How did you manage to lift the French king's cheese?”

”Think you the king guards it himself?” The man scowled. ”Go away, unless you're buying something.”

”How much cheese will this get me?” She held two pence in her palm.

The man cut her off a large hunk.

Fayth dusted the filth off it and asked, ”Where might I go to trade a horse?” The covetous stares directed at Bear made her anxious to sell him quickly.

”The Dragon's Lair.” He pointed to an alehouse down the street. The sign over the door was painted with a green dragon breathing fire.

He grabbed her sleeve, pulling her close, and lowering his voice. ”For two s.h.i.+llings, I've a bone from Saint Francis's thumb-will keep you safe.” He opened his hand, revealing a gleaming finger joint.

Fayth shook her head, disgusted, and crossed the street. She considered what to do with Bear while she was in the alehouse. There was probably a stable nearby for boarding beasts but she didn't have enough coin to spare for such luxuries, yet she couldn't just leave him outside, unguarded.

Bear nudged the back of her head, picking at her hat with his lips as if urging her to get on with business. Fayth put her hand on the horse's nose and approached the alehouse. A young girl stood outside the Dragon's Lair. Her mother sold bread, her arms full of a basket overflowing with rolls and loaves and sticky buns. Fayth's stomach growled and she took a bite of her cheese.

Fayth offered the girl a penny.

She took it, gazing up at her benefactor.