Once Upon a Castle - Jill Gregory [121]
Tressalara winced as she lifted the water bucket from the river. Years of riding and fencing had kept her strong and supple, but every muscle in her body groaned with fatigue. So much for the idyllic country life, she thought, grimacing again. It was still better than sitting quietly in the solar, trying to learn embroidery—but not by much.
By Saint Ethelred’s eyes, she would be glad when Cador returned to camp and her punishment ended. The women were working her to the bone! Dawn to dusk she was at their beck and call without a moment’s respite. Fetch this, chop that, clean this one, empty that one, fill yet another. By nightfall she would gulp down her portion of stew, stoke the campfires, and then drop wearily onto her bedroll at the foot of Cador’s camp bed and fall immediately asleep.
Only to toss and turn and dream of the highlander. At times they were nightmares, where his light eyes changed to dark, his golden hair to black as he suddenly turned into Lector. Those dreams left her shaken. Did they mean that he was as untrustworthy as the usurper—a greedy, ambitious man who wanted the throne for himself? Or was that only the product of her unspoken fears?
Once, though, she had dreamed that Cador remained himself, and that had been more frightening; for in that dream they had been standing on the riverbank in the moonlight, and he had looked deep into her eyes, caressing her cheek lightly with a lover’s touch, pulling her to him and pressing his hot mouth to hers. Tressalara had awakened with a pounding heart, both relieved and devastated to find his bed still empty.
She had used the opportunity of her punishment to pick up gossip and learn more of the enmity between Cador and Lector. Two years before, Lector had led a party of raiders across the border in Kildore. Cador’s elder brother and his pregnant wife had been killed, but not in the fighting. They had refused to reveal whatever information Lector had sought and were executed for it.
Tressalara, only fourteen at the time, had not known of the raid. Nor had her late father, who had been ill with a lung fever. But the king should have discovered Lector’s perfidy later, when he recovered his health. More proof, she thought sadly, of how her father had turned away from the duties of a ruler in his quest for spiritual answers.
That phase of his life had begun with her mother’s untimely death while delivering a stillborn son. That had been the start of his withdrawal. It was all very well to be unworldly, the princess thought sadly, but not when one was responsible for the welfare of worldly subjects.
She wished now that she had paid more attention to affairs of state, rather than her horses and fencing lessons. But then, she reminded herself, she would be Lector’s bride now and not a free woman plotting his overthrow. Or dreaming of the outlaw known as Cador of Kildore.
A flush of pink tinged her skin and set her blood tingling. Saints, but she wished he would return!
Sunset turned the sky above the trees to a canopy of flame as Cador and Brand returned to the rebel camp. Though he had intended to be away a day or two at most, almost five had passed. The sentry greeted them with word that all was well.
“A hundred more men from the north have rallied to our cause, bringing arms and goods. More are due to arrive tomorrow.”
“Excellent news, for Lector has brought in foreign mercenaries.”
He rode down the wide central area between the tents and makeshift shelters. The scene was peaceful, the place orderly. A fat boar roasted over the main fire, and vast kettles of snowroot and wild verris cooked nearby.
Cador’s sharp gaze went toward his tent, set off a little from the others. He was disappointed to see that no one was about. Until that moment he hadn’t acknowledged that he was eager to see the disguised princess and learn how she had fared in his absence. He hadn’t intended to be away so long, and she was a young woman used to silks and satins and many servants,