Allegra's Dream (Avador Book 4, a Books We Love Fantasy Romance) (6 page)

“First of all, the princess and I both think this is a good starting point, to let the leading families know she’s still alive. Just knowing that fact would serve as an effective rallying point for the people of Fomoria. But aside from that, we hope to encourage the people–starting with the leading families–to overthrow the war cabal. I don’t need to tell you, this is to Avador’s benefit, too. If hostilities resume between Elegia and Fomoria, we may well suffer, since we will no longer be able to trade with either country.”

The minister nodded. “That’s a good point, one I’m well aware of.” He frowned. “Still, I fear for your safety. You’re a good man to have. Don’t forget, I’m hoping you can succeed me in this position.”

“Donat, I see no reason to expect anything perilous to happen to me. No one will know who I am or my purpose for being in Fomoria. Just think of all the times I’ve been to that country in the past. I speak their language fluently. Princess Allegra has already given me the letters to distribute.” Convinced now of the plan’s feasibility, he spoke with more assurance. “It’ll take several days for me to journey to that country, deliver the messages, and return. Let me explain. Best for me to go to each individual village, closest to each leading family, and hand the missives over to a messenger there. Better that than to give one messenger all the letters. Less suspicious, don’t you see.”

Stroking his chin, the minister remained silent for long moments. When he spoke, Rowan released a pent-up breath. “Very well, then. I’ll expect your return within one nine-day, no more than that. Now, about the money. This department has a certain allowance for similar endeavors. How many letters to you have?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve!”

“Listen, I know from past experience that all the leading families are clustered in the northeastern part of the country, near the capital. That’s the only city in Fomoria.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Sorry, I’m only trying to show that it should present no difficulty that the princess’s letters reach their destination.”

The minister sighed. “I hope I’m not making a decision that I’ll later regret.” Silent moments passed as he stared out the window, then turned back to Rowan. “Surely one silver for each letter should be sufficient, and Fomoria accepts our coinage. Besides that, you’ll need money for hiring a horse and staying at inns along the way.” He opened one of his desk drawers and drew out a bag of coins. He tossed the bag to Rowan. “This should suffice for all necessary expenditures. That’s all. Good luck, and I hope to see you again very soon. Report here when you return.”

“Yes, and may I say ‘thank you’.”

Donat Fand smiled. “Yes, you may.”

After Rowan left the Hall of State, he headed for his apartment on Granno’s Way, a short walk. Working quickly, he packed the necessary clothes in his saddle bag and slipped his sword in his scabbard. Most important, the princess’s letters. He coughed as he packed, hoping he wasn’t getting a cold. He scooped a few extra coins from a dresser drawer and dropped them in his money bag, knowing it was a good idea to be prepared from any emergencies. Certain he had all he needed, he strode toward the city stable a few streets away. There, he hired a sturdy mare, capable of maintaining long distances. Thankful for the crisp spring air with no rain, he headed northeast for Maligigi, the capital of Fomoria.

He rode for hours, stopping to rest and feed his horse at an inn, where he ate a filling noontime meal. He continued on his journey, and as darkness fell, he sought another inn, both places he remembered from previous journeys.

His trip went on for several days, the temperature falling as he rode north, the forests thicker. He slowed the horse to a canter, then a walk, well aware the terrain could prove treacherous as he wove his way among the thickets of pine and birch trees, where scarcely any roads existed. He breathed deeply of the fragrant pine scent, the forest flowers that bloomed among the understory. Here and there, he connected with a road, but much of his riding took him through woods.

Not too long before I reach the capital, he mused, stopping to rest himself and the horse at another tavern. He set out again the following morning, grateful he would soon reach the capital and could leave the princess’s letters with the messengers who would deliver them.

The land became steeper, the forest darker, with a thick overhang of vines. Soon, he should be–

He heard a rustling in the bushes and a bear emerged, growling and showing sharp teeth. Neighing with terror, the horse lifted her forelegs and pawed them in the air. “No!” Rowan gasped, the blood pounding in his head. Despite his skill in the saddle, he couldn’t maintain his perch. The horse threw him to the ground. Stunned and hurting in every part of his body, the last thing he saw was the horse trotting off through the forest. He closed his eyes as darkness descended over him.

* * *

Morfran Gwernach walked along the brick walkway at the palace in Mag Bregha., swearing to himself, kicking at stones in his way. As one of the guards here, he resented his lowly position. Why had Medr Trahern been promoted as head guard, when they had both been employed at the same time? He smirked, thinking about when he was hired. He’d bribed one of the men who had hired him, telling him to ignore the years he’d spent in prison for robbery.

Four guards warded the palace, two by day and two by night. Hired by the Ministry of State, he and the other guards had been told only that a wealthy widow lived here. Also told that her life might be in danger–hence the reason for the guards–he questioned that explanation.

On this overcast day, he didn’t see any evidence that she was in danger. But wait a minute. What about that stranger who had stopped by less than one moonphase ago, a man who had asked him who lived in this palace? Why would the stranger want to know? Could the man have something to do with the danger that supposedly threatened the widow? He intended to find out all he could. If any stranger came by again, he’d tell him whatever he’d learned. He jingled the coins in his pocket, wishing he had more. He’d lost several silvers in a recent card game, so if anyone offered him money for information, he wouldn’t refuse the extra coins. Not on your life.

The story about the danger that threatened the widow didn’t make sense. He’d find out all he could about the woman who lived in this fancy place. She was very pretty, that much he knew. Ah, if only he were rich . . .

For some time now, he’d become friends with one of the maids at the palace, and he’d like to carry that friendship a bit farther. Even now, his loins tightened at the thought of getting into Doreen’s bed. He’d had enough experience in charming the girls. So the next time he saw–

“Doreen!” Talk about coincidences. He watched as she closed the heavy door behind her and strolled his way. “What are you doing here?”

She swung her hips and thrust out her full breasts. “Lady who lives here needs medicine from the apothecary, said she has a headache. She asked me to go to the village and purchase medicine for her.”

Morfran glanced around and lowered his voice. “Say, what do you know about her?”

She shrugged. “A wealthy widow, is all I was told.” She snickered. “Her husband must have been buried in gold dust, for her to buy a place like this. One-hundred rooms just for her and a personal maid. Why, I can’t even count the number of cleaning women this palace has, all for one woman and a maid who live in just a few rooms.” She shook her head. “It don’t make no sense.”

“Nah, it don’t for me, neither. Just because she’s rich, why would she want such a palace?”

Doreen smirked. “Why should I care, as long as I get paid?”

He waited a few moments as the other guard strode by, looking both of them up and down. Making sure he was out of earshot, he spoke again. “How would you like to earn a bit more money?”

“Sure, but how?”

He moved closer. “Find out all you can about this widow. Listen in whenever she and her maid are together.” 

She stepped back. “You mean spy?”

“Shh,” he said, putting his finger to his mouth. “I wouldn’t call it that. Let’s just say you’re gettin’ to know more about this so-called wealthy widow.”

She frowned. “Morfran, I don’t like this idea. It sounds dishonest.”

“What’s dishonest about it? You’re not breakin’ no laws or cheatin’ no one.” He jingled the coins in his pocket. “I’d make it worth your while.”

“Let me think on it,” she said, turning and sauntering away.

He watched her swing her hips as she walked away, certain he had her in the palm of his hand. 

Chapter Eight

Moaning, Rowan forced himself to sit up. Slouched over, he held his head in his hands. He swallowed again and again. He had failed the princess and the Minister of State, but just as important, he had failed himself. How could he face the princess again? How could he return to the Minister of State, disgraced and doubtless losing his position there? And he’d wanted to advance there, obtain the job when Donat Fand retired. Not a chance, not now!

Complete darkness had fallen over the forest; he couldn’t even see his hand in front of him. Aching all over, he felt his bones from his neck to his shoulders, on to his ribs and legs, grateful nothing was broken. Also thankful for his money belt, he realized he’d have to buy another horse for the return trip to Avador. He thought back over the accident, aware that the mother bear was only protecting her cubs. Still, that was no consolation, he thought as he forced himself to stand.

The temperature had fallen, the night air cold and damp with a fog cloaking the forest. No point in going on, not when he couldn’t see anything. He was stuck here in the woods for the remainder of the night, desperately hoping the fog would lift by morning. A fit of coughing seized him as he paced back and forth on the hard ground, slapping his arms for warmth. Time and again, he berated himself for his plight. For one wild moment, he considered staying in Fomoria, never to return to Avador. Just as quickly, he rejected the thought. He’d never run away from a problem before, and he wouldn’t do it now. Talmora’s tits, how it hurt.

The long night stretched on, the temperature dropping further. Often it seemed as if the fog would lift, but then the haze would thicken again. Night sounds reverberated around him, rustling and clucking, the scream of a panther, the howl of a wolf. Continually pacing, he fingered the sword at his side, praying he’d have no need of it.

After an eternity of near unbearable waiting, the fog began to lift, and a hesitant sun lit the land. A semi-darkness still hung over the forest, but the sun burned most of the fog away. He coughed and rubbed his arms for warmth, anxious to get moving again. Plagued by thirst, he recalled a river that flowed nearby. Now that he could see a few feet in front of him, he made his slow way down a steep hill, hearing the rushing water in the distance. Gradually, the fog lifted, the air warmer.

Leaving the depths of the forest behind, he emerged out into a clearing, grassy and verdant with wildflowers. Sunk in misery, he dismissed the beauty of the forest. He looked toward the riverbank and–

“Thank you, Goddess, thank you!” His horse stood by the riverbank, placidly snacking on the grass. She turned and looked at him, as if to say, “Where have you been?” Then she turned back and continued her feeding.

A tide of joy consumed him, energizing him, erasing last night’s gloom.

First removing his boots and socks, he waded out into the water, wincing at the chill. He sat on a boulder and cupped water in his hands over and again to ease his thirst. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but he pushed that discomfort aside. He had a task to complete, one that would require much riding.

Standing on the cold hard ground, he waited for his feet to dry and rummaged through the saddle bag to check on the princess’s letters. She had addressed each letter to its intended recipient, adding the name of the nearest village. He knew Fomoria virtually as well as he knew his own country of Avador. A number of villages ringed the capital city of Maligigi, the only city in Fomoria. The rest of the country consisted of villages and forests.

He sat to slip on his socks and pull on his boots, then mounted the horse, relieved to be back in the saddle.

At the nearest village, he found a small stone building with a sign out in front, “Messenger Service.” He left the letter and a silver coin with the messenger boy and headed for the next village.

Over rolling hills and dense forests, he covered many miles the first few days, stopping at inns at midday and at night to rest and feed the horse and himself.

As he rode through the villages, images of Princess Allegra paraded in his mind’s eye. He recalled everything about her that endeared her to him, her soft voice, those exotic violet eyes, her womanly body that he longed to hold in his arms. He imagined kissing her, her body pressed to his. His heart beat faster, his body warming at the thought of holding her in his arms. No, such joy could never be his. She was a princess and would return to her own country if peace prevailed there. Most likely, she would marry the prince who also claimed the throne, if ever they found each other. And if he wanted to advance at the Ministry of State, he must marry one of his own countrywomen. Above all, the princess stood far above him. There could never be any love between them. How it hurt. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck him that he loved her, something he’d been fighting for a long time. But she had her own destiny, and he had his.