HEADING OFF
Henry felt his heart soar as he watched Amice mount her horse in the yard. He sometimes wondered at the fact that he felt so strongly about her after such a short time. The sight of her stepping lithely up into the saddle stirred his blood and also moved his heart. She had such strength of spirit and such grace.
He swung up onto the saddle and followed her into the yard.
The guards shouted down something as he rode through the gate. “We'll enjoy the visit!” he shouted up in French. He felt ludicrous for doing so, but he felt fairly sure whoever wanted him dead was watching them leave. He had to put on a show.
After that, they were riding down the cobbled street towards the town of Edinburgh. They headed for the shelter of the forest. There he stopped until Amice was beside him.
“Where should we go?”
“Well,” she frowned. “They'll expect us in Edinburgh. Probably also Queensferry.”
“Yes.” He nodded crisply. “Well, then. They expect us going east. We'll go west.”
She nodded. In the distance, the sound of a hunting horn drifted out through the trees.
“Let's go.”
They nodded. Turning left, keeping within the cover of the tree line, they went. The forest around them was broad-leafed, the trees bare and the ground thick underfoot with the brown of fallen leaves. They rustled through them as they followed the path, the only sound the clop and crinkle of the horse's hoof-beats on the path.
He followed her into the woodlands.
After half an hour of riding, they left the path and came to a road. He frowned. “This goes west.”
Amice blinked. “It looks like it.”
He shrugged, feeling a little silly. “Well, then. We'll follow it.”
They rode into the village. It was a cluster of thatch-roofed houses, the outsides painted with lime-wash, crisp white crossed with pitch-dark beams. Smoke drifted up lazily from chimneys. Somewhere, sheep called and a dog howled. It was a peaceful, agrarian place. Henry felt himself finally start to relax.
“Oh, look!” Amice said in French. “A market place.”
He nodded. They were riding down the one street in the village, heading towards the church. Opposite the church was the central green, where booths and stalls had been set up. He heard a piper and the laughter of children and smiled at Amice, who nodded back.
“We seem to be in time for all the markets,” he said with a laugh.
“Shall we go?”
“Why not?” Henry agreed, feeling reckless with his relief. “Besides anything else, we might find out some information. Like where we are and how to find the road back to your home.”
Amice stared at him. “You mean...” she paused.
“Well, I can't expect you to get back alone now, can I?”
She laughed. “Henry! I...” she shook her head, and he was surprised to see tears on her lashes.
“What?” he said gently.
“When you said we should go to Queensferry, I thought you meant to leave me there alone!” she sobbed. She was smiling through her tears, though, and Henry shook his head. He was shocked.
“Amice!” he said crossly. “How could you think I would do that? No wonder you were cross!”
He could understand it now, that argument they'd had. In the terror of the almost-assassination, he had pushed it to the back of his mind. Now it was too obvious. She had thought he'd wanted rid of her, and that was why she'd suddenly gone silent. He had mistaken her aloofness for disinterest.
She was laughing, too. “I don't know how!” she said, looking at him with a sad smile. “I guess I thought I couldn't possibly be so lucky as to have you accompany me all the way.”
Henry chuckled. “You dear, daft woman.”
She roared with mirth. “Oh, Henry. Only you could call me daft and make me laugh about it.”
He made a face. “Thank you. Now, shall we go to the market?”
“Yes!”
They dismounted and led their horses behind them across the green. It was a small market, just a cluster of trestles with sheepskins, harnesses, and well-forged metalwork. Somewhere someone roasted apples and the scent caught both of their noses. Henry raised a brow and Amice shrugged.
“Why not?” she said in French. Henry nodded back.
“Let's go and find something to eat.”
As they walked and talked, he noticed people looking at them oddly. He guessed why. Not only were they conspicuous in their clothing, but they were speaking some strange foreign tongue. He saw not only suspicion on people's faces, but active fear.
Where there is fear, soon there will be hostility.
He followed Amice to the apple trader, hand on the hilt of his short stabbing sword.
The trader looked at him and said something incomprehensible. He looked at Amice.
She raised a brow and smiled at the stallholder. They had a brisk conversation Henry couldn't follow, and then she smiled at the man again, presumably thanked him, and turned to Henry with their apples, skewered on sticks.
“Thank you,” he said in French. Amice shot him a warning glance and he kept silent, taking a bite of the rich, juicy baked fruit.
“Mm.” His face covered in sticky juices, the sweetness of its pulp and the rich tasting spices flooding his mouth, he grinned at her. She walked with him into the trees.
“He asked me what was the matter with you,” Amice explained, in between bites of the apple. “I said you were French. He didn't take that very well. Said they don't like foreigners around here. The only way he accepted you was because I said you were a friend of my brother's, a sailor. And that...” she stopped in her narrative, her face red.
“And what?” he asked, dabbing at his mouth with a spare handkerchief.
“And...I'm sorry, Henry. I said we're married.”
He felt warmth suffuse his heart.
“What?” she asked. She looked amused but also a little worried.
“Why did you think I'd be cross?” he asked, smiling.
“Well...” she paused, clearly considering her answer. Then she looked up at him. “Well I didn't want you to think that I was...well...suggesting it.”
He laughed. “My dear, how could you worry about that?” When she smiled, he laughed again. “Well, all concerns aside, I think for the short term it will save our skins. We will use that pretense.”
“Oh.” Amice blinked. “Very well.”
Henry frowned. Wasn't she glad he'd thought it was a good idea? “It's a great idea,” he said.
“Thanks, Henry.” She nodded.
He frowned. He looked down into her face. Adorably, her mouth was ringed with charcoal from the blistered apple-skin. He reached into his pocket for the handkerchief and gently wiped it off.
She looked into his eyes and as she reached up to his hand he cupped her face. He kissed her.
Her lips were sweet from their repast, and she tasted spicy and exciting. He held her close, enjoying the delicious taste of her and the warm safe haven of her mouth. She held him against her and the whole world seemed to take a step back, the only reality being the sweet taste of her and the warmth of her presence.
He heard footsteps and broke the kiss, eyes briefly unfocused.
“Only a shepherd.” He sighed in relief as the man walked along the grass at the woodlands' margin, crook in hand, flock following across the green field.
Amice sighed. “Good.”
He looked at her and kissed her briefly again, unable to resist. They went to join the market.
At the metalworker, Henry considered buying another knife. He had lost the one he usually wore strapped to his leg. He inspected them. Passed her a small one.
“Would you consider taking one?” he asked in French. He saw the stallholder eye them and felt nervous. The only thing worse than being thought a dangerous newcomer was when the person thinking it was behind a desk full of knives.
“No,” Amice said, soft but firm. “Henry, no. I wouldn't know how to use one! If someone attacks me, I'm dead. I'm not about to learn how to take life.”
Henry raised a brow. “My dear, I would feel better if...”
“No,” Amice said firmly. “I'm sorry, but I don't carry weapons and I shan't start.”
Henry nodded and laid aside the knife. He bought the longer one for himself. Amice did the talking. He saw the man look at them and his face lit up, then he commented, and he laughed. Amice laughed too and said something back. Henry watched, bemused.
“What did he say?” he asked when they walked off.
“He said,” she said and grinned, “that we were such a dear married couple. We even argue.”
Henry roared with laughter and drew her under his arm. He kissed her hair. “I like that. Well! One thing I can say is that, I like this disguise. It means I can kiss you and no one can tell me off.”
“Henry!” Amice said, shocked. She looked up at him with a big grin and started to laugh.
“What?” he said, shrugging.
“You are the dearest, most incorrigible...Oh! Henry.”
He laughed and hugged her close. Together they walked back across the field. By the time they returned to their horses they had acquired a knife, baked apples, a bag of chestnuts and a cheese. They were doing well and, to all intents and purposes, they were married.