Page 19

N era shuffled into the room, carrying her usual basket of tonics and herbs. Had she timed her visit to distract Rufe from the sound of hooves in the courtyard, the shouted orders as Niam prepared to leave?

“Where is Bert?” Rufe asked.

A wrinkle appeared between Nera’s brows. “I’m afraid he’s left us. Niam wanted to speak to him more about his dealings with Whreyn, only to find the boy took a mule last night and never returned. I have guards searching for him.”

Rufe had hoped to question the boy himself about his dealings with Whreyn. “Will he be all right out there alone?”

“He knows the land and is an experienced rider. I try not to worry overly about him, but he’s young and…

” Nera trailed off, the concern clear in her scowl.

She bustled about, checking Rufe’s bandages.

“You’re healing nicely. A little more rest, and you’ll be good as new.

” Nera sat in the nearby chair, taking Rufe’s hand and meeting his gaze.

“Or, if you ignore my initial advice, at least keep the bandages clean, check for signs of infection, and use a poultice on your leg every evening.” She leaned in, pressing her li ps to Rufe’s forehead, then rose and exited the room, leaving her basket behind.

Was that a message?

He waited until he was sure she was gone—in case her words had been a test—to rise and dress in the clothing conveniently placed on a chair, and don a cloak. When had those gotten there? At least Nera appeared to understand that Rufe’s place was with her son.

Niam wasn’t a fighter; he was a negotiator. If the king must ride into battle, he needed his warrior with him.

Rufe dressed quickly and retrieved the weapons Draylon had left with him. He peered into the basket. Herbs, poultices, bandages. With his healer's training, Niam could help with the wrapping—if he didn’t send Rufe away. Well, he could try.

Rufe hid a limp as he exited the room. No one stopped him. The stairs were challenging to negotiate, but he’d endured worse. Resting a few moments at the bottom gave him the energy to seek out the stables. Only a few mounts remained. A stable lad paused in sweeping the floor.

“I need your best mule,” Rufe said, hoping he’d spoken the Delletinian words right.

The boy said nothing, merely shuffled to the back of the stable and returned a few minutes later with a coal-black mule, fully saddled. Whatever beasts they’d bred to produce the specimen must’ve been massive. Muscles bulged on the creature’s legs. Nera must have arranged this mount, too.

“Marcus,” the boy said, handing over the reins .

Rufe stroked the mule’s nose. “Marcus.” He gave the boy one of his daggers, as he didn’t have Delletinian currency.

He opened the mule’s packs to find cloth that must be a change of clothing, more bandages, cheese, dried fruit, and a waterskin.

Nera really had thought of everything. Either she intended for him to be with Niam, or she’d tired of Rufe and wanted him gone.

Rufe knew to mount from the left as his riding instructors once taught him, but his injuries might prevent him from doing so.

The boy led the mule to a low bench. Rufe sighed in relief, smiled at the boy, and climbed onto the bench and into the saddle. His leg throbbed, but he’d not desert Niam and, by extension, Draylon and Yarif.

Who knew? He might even ease Nera’s mind by locating the wayward Bert.

Rufe rode the mule around the barn several times, getting a feel for the animal. The mule responded to each of his unspoken commands. Someone had trained Marcus well.

Nera appeared near the paddock.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Rufe said. Surely, Niam’s mother would understand Rufe’s desire to go, especially after providing all he'd need for the journey.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She stepped aside, revealing several more packs that her skirts had hidden. The stable lad rushed forward, helping her affix the packs to Marcus’s back. “Safe travels, Captain Rufe. May the god or goddess of your choosing protect you.”

Rufe reached down a hand, which Nera took in a firm grasp .

“You’re good for my son, I think,” she said before releasing Rufe’s hand and backing away. “Hurry while the trail is still warm.” She pointed to a trio of mountains. “Ride toward the middle peak.”

With one last look at the keep, Rufe clicked his tongue, tightened his legs on Marcus’s sides, and urged the mule forward.

His heart hammered. Time to go find his man.