Free A Man Betrayed by J. V. Jones

look. The woman's face held accusation. Her hand twisted the fabric .of
her dress.
    "I shouldn't
have left her there," Rovas said.
    "Doing things
you should not is quite a habit with you," retorted the woman.
    Jack tried to
grasp what was familiar in the woman's voice. She didn't sound like Rovas, she
sounded more like ... Melli! That was it. She had the same kind of voice as the
women at court. An accent like his own, but with the clipped and modulated
tones of a noblewoman. He wondered how a woman of the kingdoms had come to live
in the lap of the enemy.
    "I begged her
to ride at my back." said Rovas, "but she insisted I go alone."
    "It was a
close call?"
    "Not so close
that my horse couldn't have borne two." The woman's knuckles were white as
she grasped her skirts. "How many were there?"
    "A score
turned up at the coop. Six came after me and the boy." Rovas had
apparently lost his appetite; he dropped the half-eaten chicken leg on the
platter. "The last I saw of her, she was hiding in the gorse. It was
freezing out there, Magra. If the soldiers didn't find her, the frost certainly
did." He stood up and made his way to the fire.
    "Do you think
she will do anything foolish?" The woman looked quickly toward Jack.
    Rovas' eyes
followed her gaze. "I hope not. Someone else can do the job now."
    Jack saw the look
the two exchanged: it was loaded with silent messages. A conspirator's glance.
He was beginning to feel wary. He wanted to be back with Melli again, to be on
his way.
    The woman called
Magra poured herself a cup of steaming holk. She warmed her hands on its
curves. Turning toward Jack, she said, "So this is the murderer?"
    She looked at him
closely, even to the point of drawing a candle nearer. Jack felt uncomfortable
under her scrutiny, but made a point of meeting her gaze. After a moment she
spoke up. "You have a look about you, boy, that is familiar to me."
    Jack dreaded the
coming question. In his experience remarks like that always led to inquiries
about a person's family. He had no intention of sharing the shame of his
parentage with the aloof and self-possessed woman standing next to him. He was
saved the task of evasion by Rovas. "Come, Magra," he said. "Sit
down. You won't make your daughter come any faster by bothering the boy."
    The woman gave him
one final look. Despite the coldness of her eyes, Jack found himself feeling
sorry for her. She was worried about her daughter, and he was merely providing
a distraction. Sighing heavily, the woman lost a measure of her rigid poise;
instantly appearing older and smaller. Drawing close to the fire, she sat upon
a three-legged stool. Rovas crossed over to her and laid his huge hand upon her
shoulder. Magra drew away from the touch, and Rovas was left standing awkwardly
with his arm held out. He turned and rested his weight against the fireplace.
As he did so, the woman's hand flitted up for an instant in a tiny gesture of
reconciliation that went unseen. The two stayed that way for some time, the
candle burning down a notch, the fire blazing on.
    The door latch
broke the spell. It rattled, then lifted, and a girl stepped into the room. No,
once in the light, she was more than a girl. She was a woman. Jack looked on as
Rovas and Magra rushed over to her. Rovas reached her first, his arms reaching
out to envelop her in a bear hug. She was so slight, easily mistakable for a
young girl, but Jack saw that she was older than he, probably by three or four
years. She turned to her mother. There was a formality between the two women
that was absent between her and Rovas. Still, there was a moistness to the
mother's eyes. "I have been too long at the fire," she said when her
daughter noticed.
    "So,"
said Rovas, beaming brightly. "What kept you?" All three broke into
an uneasy laugh. To Jack, it was as if he were not in the room. He felt as if
he was intruding; these were not his friends, these were not his joys to share.
If anything, the arrival of the girl had made him angry.