The Rose at Twilight by Amanda Scott Page A

Meistr knows you be not accustomed to looking after yourself, m’lady, and he did say we are to help you as much as you do let us—Ian and me—even though you be not accustomed to menservants in and out, like most folks be at home. He did say, in sooth, that you do be accustomed to bathing with only other womenfolk about.” His expression showed his doubt at such an unusual inclination for privacy.
    She smiled wanly. “I was raised in a royal household, Tom, or as near as makes no difference. I was fostered at Middleham, the home of our late king when he was yet Duke of Gloucester and Lord of the North. Things were different there. But perchance your master will find a village woman to accompany me to London.”
    He shook his head. “Many in the village do be sick, mistress, and he will allow none to go with us, for fear they will carry the sweat south.”
    Ian added, “Like as not, a village wooman’d no be able tae keep up wi’ us, mistress. The Welshman rides swift.”
    “But I have been ill,” she reminded him.
    “Aye, but ye’re a bonny guid horsewooman, as we saw for ourselves, mistress. A village wooman—”
    “Oh, take yourselves off,” Alys snapped, exasperated, “but mind, you tell your precious master that if he thinks he will force me to ride breakneck to the Tudor’s waiting arms, he had best think again, for if he tries it, I shall make it a point to expire on the way, if only for the pleasure of knowing my death will displease the usurper.” When both young men stared unhappily back at her, making no move to obey her command, she glared at them. “Go! Tell him!”
    “Methinks,” Tom said cautiously, “that we shall tell him you are well nigh ready to depart, m’lady. I have no wish to measure my length upon the ground, and I have no doubt that if I were to speak so rudely to the meistr , that would be my fate.”
    She looked at Ian.
    His face, even in the gloomy light of the tent, appeared to have turned nearly the same bright red as his hair, but he said staunchly, “If ye do wish such a message taken to him, mistress, I will do yer bidding, though I have a mither and father at home in Pitlochery who will sairely miss their only son.”
    She had been ready to tell him that she certainly wanted him to bear her message, but his mournful tone and the heavy sigh that accompanied his words made her bite her lip instead. She knew she was close to tears and had no wish for them to linger. “I would not endanger you, Ian. I will tell him myself.”
    Relieved, they left her to dress herself, and that was an ordeal, for her traveling dress laced up the back. It seemed as if wherever she turned, her desperate need for Jonet was there to aggrieve her. Twenty minutes later, when Ian called to her to ask if she needed assistance, she replied tearfully and without the least thought for modesty, “Indeed, I do. I cannot manage these cursed laces. Come and see if you can do them up for me.”
    He came at once and attended to the problem, making no comment about her tearstained face, and turning afterward to tie up the sumpter packs she had not yet bound. Swinging several of these to his shoulders at once, he stepped toward the entrance.
    Alys said gravely, “I do not deserve such kindness from you, Ian, but I thank you for it.”
    He smiled over his shoulder at her. “You were kind tae me, mistress. I dinna hold it tae your account that the master had me flogged. I didna do m’ duty, and he might ha’ been a deal the harsher. I willna fail him again, nor will I forget yer kindness or that o’ Mistress Hawkins.”
    When the tent flap fell into place behind him, Alys stood for a moment, staring at it. She had begun to think she might simply slip away during the commotion that always accompanied preparation for a journey. Believing she had only to get to the river where, especially under cover of the fog, she could count on finding one of her old hiding places, she had briefly hoped that such a plan