Page 3 of The Wise Daughter
Aaron held perfectly still behind thick shrubs and trees and waited.
With the sun below the horizon, the world was washed in that strange mix of light and shadow that turned everything an ill-defined grey.
His nose itched from wet stone and thick ivy, but he resisted the urge to sneeze.
No one had seen him find footholds among the jutting stones outside his window and escape down the three stories from his study to the ground, and he needed to ensure it stayed that way.
More hiding! he cursed, but this variety of concealment was necessary tonight.
No one, especially not Carver, could know he was venturing out like this.
It would only arouse suspicion. Besides which, if word escaped of his nighttime watches, the thieves would be put on their guard, sabotaging his entire purpose, and Carver would once again complain and make him feel guilty for going against his father’s wishes.
No, he could not be discovered. There were too many advantages to this freedom of anonymity.
As quietly as he could, he crouched his way through the greenery, past the formal, manicured gardens to the rougher side of the castle where servants tended hens and a patchwork of vegetable gardens.
Close to the kitchens, there was always much coming and going with servants.
Or at least, that is what he remembered as a young lad.
He hadn’t been out this way in years, but if he were a thief, he would have chosen an exit from the castle where he might be able to lose himself among other servants rather than risk being seen alone on a less frequented path.
He didn’t recognize a single person he saw.
A woman with crinkly curls carried eggs inside.
A balding man with a heavy brow was bringing in a crate of onions.
One young man carried a ladder toward the stables while a very young maid balanced a large wicker basket full of linens on her hip.
Everyone seemed focused on their work, though a few servants paused to give orders or exchange complaints.
Aaron was beginning to think his efforts were wasted when a newcomer caught his attention.
Dressed for labor in plain, brown trousers and a dark brown coat with a tear down the sleeve, a short, pudgy man slunk out from a copse of overgrown trees and strode along the path that led to the castle’s back iron gate.
From there, it was a short distance to the main road.
Whether he was one of the employed staff, Aaron couldn’t say, but the man looked over his shoulder multiple times, holding a bulging satchel to his side.
Aaron waited to see if anyone else noticed this newcomer. No one did. Servants continued rushing in and out. Were they always so busy at this hour?
Aaron’s heart thudded as he slipped from his hiding place, wishing for something plainer than his dark traveling cloak, and attempted a casual but brisk pace after the pudgy man. There were no trees or shrubs on the path to conceal him now.
The evening air was heavy with moisture, weighing his hair and seeping into his lungs, salty with hints of earth and dried leaves. With the thief checking over his shoulder every other minute, it was only a matter of time before he noticed Aaron who was still following at a fair distance back.
The man slipped down a small dirt path to the side carved deep with ruts from wagons and carts of farmers who wanted to bypass the village’s main roads.
Aaron might have missed it had he not been watching carefully.
When they reached the outskirts of the village where the forest grew thicker, the man looked back again, saw Aaron, and ran.
Aaron leapt into a sprint. “Stop, sir! A word with you!” He tried to keep his tone civil in case he had misunderstood the man’s strange behavior, but the man kept running.
Past a shabby inn and a small stone bridge to the edge of the river and trees, Aaron gave chase. Cradling the satchel gave the pudgy man an awkward gait, but Aaron, who was in excellent health, had nothing to slow his progress. His muscles twitched the closer he drew.
A brawl was coming.
As his hands reflexively pulled into fists, he realized his mistake.
He still wore his signet ring, the tell-tale sign of who he was.
If the thief saw it or managed to pull it off, Aaron would be in even greater trouble.
Stupid, he cursed, then impulsively threw the ring behind him.
He would rather lose it to some villager than ensure this thief find it on his person.
With luck, he could find it later. He didn’t like it, but it was a risk he would have to take.
With nothing else holding him back, he was upon the man in seconds, knocking him to the ground.
“Why are you running, sir? That’s highly suspicious behavior.”
The man grunted and grappled with Aaron in the wet grass, dropping the package with a metallic clank. “Off me, you brute!”
“Not until I have a word with you.” Aaron eyed the satchel, keeping his hands gripped around the man’s struggling arms. Aaron would never be able to reach for the satchel while scuffling like this on earth which was turning muddier the closer they edged to the riverbank. “Tell me what’s in that satchel.”
“Who are you to order me about, the duke?” the man sneered, then grunted as he shoved Aaron, giving no indication that he understood how precisely he guessed.
Before Aaron knew what was happening, the man’s elbow connected with his jaw. Aaron flinched but sensed the man’s foot in motion next. Aaron swerved so the kick only brushed against his thigh.
Aaron determined not to strike the man back unless he had to or until he knew for certain that the man was a thief.
Aaron endured three more hits, one to his face and two to his stomach as he tried to pin the man’s arms to the ground.
He would have succeeded were it not for the pair of hands that grabbed his shoulders from behind and yanked him off.
In one swift spin, Aaron pulled out of the newcomer’s grip and assessed his height and size, which were similar to his own.
Two against one. Aaron had taken on two men before in his younger days, having had a fair number of scrapes at school, but as the newcomer moved in, distracting Aaron, the pudgy man delivered another fierce blow to his side, giving the newcomer time to grab Aaron again in a secure hold against his chest. Aaron shot his elbow into the man’s face and kicked until the man grunted and let go, but a third and fourth man stepped out from behind trees, their faces covered with cloth, their clothes filthy with dirt.
Aaron breathed heavily. With men before him and behind, and a river to his left, his only option for escape was a field to his right.
He didn’t want to run. He didn’t like his odds, but he wanted to know who these men were and what they had taken.
With a quick lunge, he went for the satchel, but arms grabbed him before he could reach it.
One of the newcomers picked up the satchel and kicked Aaron. “What do we have here?” His voice was rough and guttural.
The pudgy man answered, “Just a common thief. He was trying to take my satchel.”
All four men erupted with laughter. Alcohol and smoke wafted off their breaths, making Aaron’s stomach lurch. He considered revealing his identity as the duke, but what would be the use in that? He was at their mercy.
He did his best to infuse his voice with authority, a skill he was still learning to master. “This is a mistake, sirs. The duke is growing wise to your games, but he might be lenient if you give yourselves up now and return what you’ve stolen.”
“Did you hear that, men? The duke might be lenient! Shall we prance back to the castle now or tomorrow afternoon when we can stay for tea?” The men’s laughter erupted anew.
Aaron used the time they spent mocking to memorize their eyes.
Dark brown, heavily set under thick brows, light brown that slightly bulged, greyish blue that held no distinction.
He never saw the eyes of the man who held him, but he tried to memorize their voices and laughs as they made taunts, storing away the information to root out these men once he escaped their hold.
The pudgy man mumbled something to one of the others and ran into the woods. The man who had addressed Aaron spoke again.
“You’re quite amusing, sir. Pity our little club don’t need a jester at the moment.” This earned more laughs. “See, we don’t want trouble, but we can’t have you making a big fuss over us either. We’ll just lighten your load and bruise you up enough to prevent you from following us.”
His foot connected with Aaron’s stomach. Arms tightened around him as another man patted his sides and relieved him of his leather coin pouch.
“That should teach you not to bother us again. If you do, you’ll get much worse than what we give you tonight. Oh, and next time you see the duke…” He looked conspiratorially at the others. “Give him our regards.”
The man who had spoken sneered and raised his fist. The last thing Aaron remembered thinking as he absorbed a horrendous blow to the side of his head was that Carver had been right.
Nora stepped outside the tawdry inn before anyone could see the tear slip down her cheek.
The peeling wood sign proclaiming The Ship and Crown creaked in the swaying wind.
Smells of roasted lamb and seasoned potatoes reached her but didn’t tempt her appetite.
She could hear too clearly the clanking glasses and laughter of men playing cards.
Her father had insisted they stop to eat, claiming he didn’t want to meet the duke on an empty stomach, but just as Nora had suspected, there was more that interested him there than food. No sooner had they entered, than he went to join the men in the back.
“Just a quick game,” he had said. “I’ll keep it friendly. You have nothing to fear. We have nothing left to lose and everything to gain.”
Nora refused to watch him break his promise to her yet again.
She rubbed her arms, grateful she still had her riding habit to keep her warm from the evening chill that was settling in.
She shouldn’t be out alone at night in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, but she felt safer in the fresh air than in the stifling inn where men could ogle her while her father nursed delusions of winning back their fortune.
No more self-pity!
She was going to carve out her own path as best she could.
As soon as the duke received them, she was going to drop to her knees and beg to be admitted as a servant.
She had already learned to work like a maid over the last month as she and her father lost their servants.
Maybe in time she could save a little money for a cottage of her own.
The evening air grew fragrant with honeysuckle and the promise of rain.
Shops were closed. Lights flickered in windows as people settled in for the evening.
No one was out but her. The rushing sounds of a river drew her to a stone arch bridge just a short ways down the road.
Framed on each side with bushes and ivy, the weathered stone seemed to grow from the earth like ancient roots.
Her mother’s words, spoken to her as a child, came to her mind.
A bridge, my little Honora, is a most enchanting place. When you stand in the middle, you stand between two worlds; the one where you’ve been and the one where you are going, your past and your future. When you stand in the middle, close your eyes and make a wish.
Those words, infused with wispy wonder, still carried sway in Nora’s memories. Despite the large number of years since her last earnest wish, Nora ached for her mother and decided to revive the childhood habit.
When she reached the middle of the bridge at its highest point, she ran her fingers lightly along the uneven stone, rough beneath her fingertips except where patches of moss grew.
There were a great many things she and her father desperately needed and a great many yearnings she felt were too sacred for anything but prayer.
So tonight, she would wish for something she didn’t need but had always wanted, the one thing she knew she stood no chance of ever finding.
This wish, the first in so many years, would be a small gift to herself, a miniscule moment of bliss that would mean nothing to anyone but her. Stretching both hands across the stone, she closed her eyes and wished.
And wished and wished until her chest ached.
When she opened her eyes, her heart nearly tumbled over the stone wall to the river below. Covered in shadow and mud was a man lying unconscious on the riverbank.