Free The Stumpwork Robe (The Chronicles of Eirie 1) by Prue Batten Page B

Stairway.’
    Liam laughed. ‘My friend, you are so much a creature of the North, aren’t you?’ He turned back to Adelina. ‘Madame, you must make him a warming posset when you stop. Unfortunately I’ll not be able to share it with him for I must leave you now.’’
    ‘Really.’ Adelina’s allowed her voice to fill with a caustic note. ‘Then let’s not keep you. Thank you for delivering our friend safely and adieu.’
    The teeth of any lesser being would have been set right on edge but Liam ignored the barb. ‘Adieu to you also.’ He turned his eyes to Ana, black pools drawing the pawn away from the side of the white shah’s board. ‘Safe journey. I’ll see you anon.’ He clicked his tongue and his horse sprang into a canter as he turned off the highway and headed through the valley of North Tamerton.
    Adelina was aware of the rigid person beside her who followed the shape of horse and man until they were dots presently swallowed by the dark shadows of forested hills. She sighed and shook the reins again over Ajax’s back. ‘Kholi, shall we stop at Buckland? There’s a lovely tavern and they do an excellent roast.’
    ‘No!’ Ana piped up loudly before Kholi could reply. ‘No, please could we go further? I don’t want to be seen. Not yet. I must get away. Please.’
    ***
    I could see this day was going to be overly long so I resolved to teach Ana the rudiments of stumpwork as we journeyed, something to take her mind away from her tragedies and from thoughts of the unsettling Other she was patently attracted to. Kholi tied Mogu to the van and took to my bed to sleep and we swayed up the highway seeing nothing bar the exceptional beauty of the green valleys of Trevallyn. No man, nor wight, no beast nor bird bothered us. We were quite, quite peaceful. How I wish it had stayed that way forever.
    Ah well, if wishes were horses and such.

 
    Chapter Ten
     
     
    The Barrow Hills reminded Kholi of a woman’s breasts: soft mounds which in the light of the dusking afternoon displayed a subtle skin colour. He began to think of Adelina and resolved to invite her to his tent when they encamped. He was a man after all... with needs... and she was a nubile woman who had indicated she found him attractive. He smiled to himself as he gazed at the hills.
    But what about Ana? She is a gooseberry. But no, she could sleep in the van. A perfect solution. He mused on their absconding waif. She reminded him of how much he missed his sister, Lalita Khatoun. She was like Lalita in a myriad of ways; beautiful, impetuous, every mood flashing across her face for all to see and he could hardly miss the way she looked at Liam. By djinns but there is an attraction there . He smiled to himself again, comparing the powerful infatuation that rippled through his own mind. But back to Ana... there was still an underlying melancholia. Even now as she sat behind him on the camel to see what it was like, he could sense a part of her withdrawn and defensive.
    And Liam, he thought. A Faeran, no less. Adelina seemed fearful of him; she who had the courage of a war-queen. He moved his fingers in the sign of the horn, an automatic action because one should be cautious of an Other, whether in the Amritsands or not. His horn hand unfolded. But this Other, he seemed such an engaging fellow.
     
    Bare moors climbed steadily higher until they opened out into the marsh-ridden territory of the Great Lakes. The occasional red-leafed tree lit up the slopes of the hills like a ruby in the cleavage of some magnificent chest. In autumn, the bright fire of that blood-red hue would have made an afrit proud; they were after all sprites of flame in the Raj. Scattered across the hills in curious little dun-coloured heaps were tumbled towers of some ancient defensive sort. Weathered and broken, they were decrepit remnants of a different time when aggression and incursion reigned.
    ‘They remind me of my Pa’s shatranj set,' Ana said and he felt her turn to