The Knave and the Maiden by Blythe Gifford

Author:Blythe Gifford [Gifford, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2004-06-12T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Dominica welcomed the rain when it came. Unending drops plopped on her head, slithered down her neck, and dripped off her nose. One sinful bite of rabbit and onion clung to her tongue, tempting her stomach to growl.

Every step was a penance.

“When I was on pilgrimage to Compostela, there was a rainstorm on the plain in Spain,” the Widow began. Thunder snarled, followed by the hush of falling rain. She sighed. “But it was not as bad as this.”

Sister huddled on Roucoud’s back, shoulders raised against the rain. Dominica heard her rattling cough over the thunder. She needs a fire and dry clothes, she thought, with a flash of anger at God. Must even the good be punished?

Garren walked ahead, alone. Rain slid off his curls as from a stone and he accepted it all as if it were natural, raising his face to catch the fresh drops from the sky. He can take joy even in the most miserable of God’s creations, she thought.

They rediscovered the beaten path after their meal. A sturdy bridge of flat stone slabs slick with rain carried them across the first river. Nothing guarded its edge and Innocent, sniffing for any scent not washed away, nearly slipped over the side.

But streams and rivers riddled the moor, each filled higher than the next. Finally, they came to a river with no bridge. A stone marker, cross-shaped, taller than the Physician, hunched near the road. They clustered around it.

“It says Tavistock,” Dominica said, grateful it was not a stone left by ancient spirits. “We must be on the right road for the monastery.”

Sister’s teeth chattered. “I have never been this way, but if we can get across this river, we may find dry beds there for the evening.”

Garren ran wet fingers through wetter hair. “Sister, I am glad your God does not require us to sleep in the rain as well as walk in it. I’ll carry each of you across on Roucoud’s back.”

“Take Sister first,” Dominica whispered, so she could not hear.

He nodded.

He mounted the horse behind Sister, his body engulfing hers. At the first step, Roucoud slipped on the rain slick moss. Dominica clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. Garren patted his flanks and soothed him, but Dominica let her breath go only when his hooves cleared the water on the other side.

He came back for Ralf, the Physician, the Widow, and Jackin and Gillian, who argued for five minutes that they should be able to go across together. Finally, only Dominica, Simon and the Miller brothers remained.

“Your turn,” Garren said.

She hurt for the weariness pressing on his shoulders. Tucking the top of her sack over, a final protection for her oilcloth-wrapped scroll, she picked up Innocent. She would be sure, she thought, to write of the rivers in her guide for pilgrims.

Glaring down from his seat on Roucoud’s back, Garren frowned. “Put the dog down.”

Innocent licked the rainwater from her cheeks. “He can’t swim across.”

“I’m not leaving him, but you can’t mount with your arms full of dog.

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