Chapter 44: Against Better Judgment

[Primus].

How did she find a space in my heart? I must be crazy, catching feelings for a woman like her.

And to make things worse, she seems to be completely oblivious to her effect on me. When she touches me I can't see straight, and when she walks across the room, I can't remember how to breathe.

But she also drives me absolutely insane. She must be the most confusing person to ever walk the face of this planet. Of all the girls to have a crush on, why did I have to pick the self-destructive batty one?

"Why didn't you tell me you can't sing?" I shout as we run from the third tavern in Green Hollow that evening. "I thought you said you could sing."

"I said I could sing poorly," she enunciates that last word slowly, as she mounts the horse behind me, adjusting my lute so we fit snugly together before galloping away from this godforsaken town. "Poorly not well. You never listen."

Prickling at her criticism, I look over my shoulder and grumble "I thought you were being humble!"

She snorts. "When am I ever humble?"

All the damn time. Like when you say you aren't beautiful.

"But that wasn't poorly," I remark, exasperated. "That was criminally bad. I will never be able to show my face there again."

I can't hear what she is saying in the wind, but I catch the meaning well enough. Some variation of her usual epitaph about bards being nothing but trouble.

We've been on the road for two weeks, avoiding the authorities as best as we can. So far it has been smooth sailing, mostly, except for the fact that she keeps wandering off. Oh, and there is the part about us not being able to keep a stable engagement. However, her disguise is disturbingly effective--she makes a devastatingly handsome young man. Half the tavern wenches from here to Emerald Cove have tried to get her between the sheets.

She very diplomatically turns them all down.

"I'm sure a few of them would keep your secret," I assured her one evening after a particularly fetching young woman invited her to her room. "And you know, it might be fun."

She seemed nervous about the suggestion of being intimate with anyone. "I'd rather not lead anyone on," she said ruefully, "Bards have a bad enough reputation as it is. Besides, it's better if nobody knows the truth. But if you want to have a little fun," she wiggles her eyebrows at me, "I'll be fine an evening or two alone."

And just like every other time she has made that suggestion, I laugh it off and say something along the lines of "my heart is already taken by my lady love," as I look over at my lute and sigh. "The beautiful Carnelia."

I don't know why my lute is named Carnelia. It was the first name that came to mind.

"Carnelia," she wrapped her tongue around the sound. "What a weird name."

That night had been cold, colder than usual. We started in separate blankets but somehow, in our sleep, we ended up snuggled together next to the burning embers of what remained of our fire. Her hair smells like juniper berries and the fresh ocean breeze on a warm day. She smells like home, and I find myself suddenly homesick, missing Ridgewood Manor.

Unfortunately, until my father dies, it will not be safe there for me.

When we woke up the next morning, wrapped in each other's arms, it took a moment for us to fully realize where we were and who we were traveling with. She rolled into me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when our lips touched, I forgot everything else existed. She opened her mouth responsively, letting me sample her.

But then her eyes snapped open, and as her knee pressed into my groin with the speed and force of a raging bull, she bit my lip and pushed me away.

Two days later she still hasn't forgiven me. I'm not sure, but I think she set me up back there hoping the crowd would beat me up for her. She has a temper like a raging stallion and holds a grudge more tightly to her chest than a rogue cheating at cards. Her heart is closed and her mouth is always screaming.

She is the exact opposite of the type of young lady I was trained to love.

Which might be why she's the only one I want. If only we could stop arguing long enough for me to tell her. Not that she would care. She seems eager to be rid of me.

"How many more nights until we reach Keeper's Cove," she requests as she does every day, counting down how much longer this trip needs to last. We plan to travel to the next biggest Minstrel academy and trade out her identity there. From the cove she could sail out to any of the other continents, starting her life afresh with enough money to establish herself as a woman of means once we've cashed in some of my favors. It will put me at risk of discovery by my father, but I owe her for the situation I have put her in.

"Three more," I remind her. "But we should stop and rest soon. We haven't had a proper meal in days. And my sister's manor is not far." I point in the direction of the mountains. "Just a day's ride east of here. She'd tend to us with the utmost comfort."

Millicent rolls her eyes at me. "You make her sound like she is some kind of fine lady. Most sisters I know wouldn't be too keen on her brother showing up with some stray begging for food. What about her household? Her children? Doesn't she need to make sure they are cared for?" she scoffs. "I would hate to presume hospitality in hard times like these."

The famine that started in the south has been slowly creeping north. So far my family farms have been unaffected, but I haven't yet told her that I am Lord Ridgewood, heir to my father the Duke. "She won't mind," I try to assure her. "She's very generous of heart. And her husband is well off, a viscount no less."

She perks up at that news, likely considering what a hot bath and a warm meal would feel like after two weeks of riding rough. "One day more?" she confirms.

"Well, three," I raise my hand as I explain, "One day to ride there, one day to rest, and another to ride back to the coast."

Even when she is thinking she isn't entirely quiet. The soft sound of her humming vibrates my back and I smile at the familiar feeling. All of her little quirks are so endearing.

I'm going to miss her so much when she is gone. But she isn't safe with me. Eventually, the guard will find us if we stay together. We are far too conspicuous, even in our disguises.

"Fine," she finally responds after several minutes of thinking. "But what are we going to tell her about me?"

"That you are a fellow from Emerald Cove that needed assistance on your way to Keeper's Gate," I shrug. "Let her believe what she'd like from there.

"Do I still have to pretend to be a boy?"

"Do you have a better idea?" I mock. "If you show up as a woman, she probably will assume you are my new bride."

"Bride!" she coughs. "Not that again, Leon. I've already told you I don't want to pretend to be your wife."

"Would you consider being her for real then," I say in a joking way even though I mean every word. "Then you wouldn't need to pretend."

"Stop it," she slaps my back harder than necessary, pushing me forward. "I've already told you before that it isn't a funny joke."

The thing is, I'm not joking. If I married her, she'd be safe. They wouldn't be able to take her back to Master Jove, even if we were discovered. I would take her home and force my father to accept her. And then she could be Lady Ridgewood.

And I would love and honor her as she deserves. She'd be my match in every way. My partner and my mate.

"Besides," she adds, adjusting herself to give more distance between us, "It would be a terrible match. By the end of the first week, we'd more likely kill one another than consummate, and I'm pretty sure the marriage isn't binding until after consummation."

"We could always take care of that little detail right now," I suggest, turning my head and wiggling my eyebrows as I point my head towards an inviting copse of trees near a cool lake. "Take a little rest in the shade and..."

"You're disgusting!" she punches me again. "That is never going to happen. I hate you, and you hate me, remember? We are only traveling together for safety and convenience."

And that's that. No matter how much I might care for her, it is quite clear that she wants nothing to do with me except to take my money, get on a boat, and get as far away from me as she can from me and all the trouble I have caused her.

Yet against my better judgment, I still hold out hope that maybe I can change her mind. With our little stop, we have one more week together.

One week for me to convince her before I lose her forever.