The Rose and the Thorn

CHAPTER 7

Gwen sat rocking on the edge of the bed, her face in her hand, crying.

Why now? Why did he have to come back now?

It hurt to cry. It hurt to do anything, but the shuddering was especially painful. Two of her ribs were cracked, and they ached whenever she took a breath. Closing her eyes brought images of Avon-her hair dyed crimson, eyes open but not seeing as they stared at the rafters of The Hideous Head. That was the last thing her friend ever saw-that and Stane’s ugly face.

For Gwen, she had been convinced that the porch steps and the beautiful balustrades would be her last sight. They were painted white just like the fancy house in the Gentry Quarter. Just like she had always wanted. She had lain in the street, staring at the porch railings while he kicked her. She couldn’t scream anymore-he had kicked out all the air. She expected to die. A whole year after leaving the Head, after thinking she might have escaped Avon’s fate, it had happened again.

It would always happen.

The girls had done so well. Better than Gwen had ever thought possible. Medford House was the reality she dreamed of, a sanctuary for women like her. They had grown strong over the past year. Medford House had a prized reputation and men came from as far away as Westfield and East March. Over the last few months the clientele had shifted. While they still drew dockworkers and merchants, new faces-men with swords or those dressed in silks and fur-had recently visited. The nobility had discovered Medford House and had liked it enough to return. Names were never given-not real ones. They called themselves Todd the Tinker or Bill the Baker, except the baker arrived in a coach and wore a fur mantle … and the tinker dressed in velvet and silk. Patrons using false monikers is what gave Gwen the idea of changing the girls’ names.

She’d always hoped that the women who worked the House would eventually leave it. That they would find new, better lives, but how could they if their names followed them? How could Jollin, Mae, or even Etta settle down somewhere if everyone knew what they had been? All the girls had picked pretty, exotic, or cute names. Jasmine, Daisy, Olive-Mae had wanted to be called Lily-of-the-Valley, but they had talked her into going with just Lily. The only two who had kept their real names were Rose and Gwen. It just seemed silly to Rose to change her name to a different flower, and Gwen could never imagine leaving Medford House.

“They’ve left the Head,” Abby, now known as Tulip, said. “All three went around to the alley. Royce looked awfully mad. He beat up the fence.”

Gwen brought her good hand to her lips, trying to hold in a sob.

“Do you need anything?” Tulip asked.

With her head down so that the scarf hid her eyes, Gwen shook her head. Tulip lingered, and Gwen heard the faint close of her door and the creak of the steps.

Why now?

Every day since Royce and Hadrian had left, Gwen had looked for their return. In the evening she sat on the porch swing, staring down the length of Wayward Street, imagining she could see Royce riding up or perhaps just walking with that cloak of his rippling in the breeze. She had always known there was no guarantee he would return.

In all the time he had lain on her bed, she never once looked at his palm. The idea felt deceitful, indecent. She was there to help, not rifle his pockets.

Gwen’s entire life had been leading to that single event. Her mother had known. She had dragged her daughter on the road west, then died along the way, but she had made Gwen promise to finish the trip and make Medford her home. She never said why. Gwen might have never completed the journey if not for the mysterious man, in whose eyes she had seen so much and yet understood so little. All she knew was that she needed to save a man who would come in the night, dressed in his own blood. After so many years of waiting, of not knowing if it was true or if the choices she had made had changed her future, Royce had arrived. She had saved him just as foretold. After so long, she finally had the key to the riddle, but she refused to open his palm to look for answers.

After the men had been cleaned and the doctor had finished his work, Royce had lain unconscious, wrapped in white linens. He had looked so serene. She had touched his hand, soft and so unlike other men. Royce Melborn was, in a word, elegant. Her only hint to his identity was the brand on his shoulder, a dark M.

“How is Hadrian?” Those were the first words out of his mouth when Royce finally woke. He had no concern for himself. This, she knew, was a good man.

“He’s fine.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that such a simple answer wouldn’t do. She added, “A doctor tended to his wounds and he’s sleeping quietly.”

“It was you on the street.” His expression shifted from recognition to confusion. “Who are you? Why did you help us?”

In all of her imaginings of that moment, she had always expected him to know who she was and why he was there-he was supposed to be the one with all the answers, filling in the blanks for her. In that instant she realized this man hadn’t a clue, and Gwen smiled at the thought of actually telling him, I’m the daughter of a fortune-teller, and I’ve traveled across four nations to make Medford my home just to be here when you arrived so that I could save your life. But that wasn’t the time; the man was barely alive.

“My name is Gwen DeLancy. I run this brothel. I helped because you needed me.”

This didn’t alleviate his confusion, but he didn’t inquire further. He was still exhausted, still in pain.

“Who are you?” She had to ask. After waiting so long for this foretold meeting, she needed to know. He didn’t answer for a long time, only stared at her.

“Royce,” he finally said. The word had come out reluctantly, grudgingly, handed over only out of obligation.

She let him sleep again after that-she had enough; she had his name.

He was quiet after that first exchange. In the following few days, he asked only about Hadrian, and it wasn’t until she finally helped him walk into the other room to see his friend that he had started to relax.

“You don’t look like you should be walking yet,” Hadrian had said from his bed as Gwen helped Royce stagger into Etta’s room.

“He shouldn’t be,” Gwen replied.

“You all right?” Royce asked, his voice harsh and demanding.

Hadrian offered a lopsided smile. “Last thing I remember, you were knee-deep in a bloody puddle and I was trying to dig you out from under a dead horse in the pouring rain. And oh yes-I had just been shot with an arrow.” He looked around at Etta’s bedroom, which had an excess of lace and an abundance of flowers. “Yeah … I’d say I’m doing better.”

“Okay,” Royce said, and with Gwen’s help had turned to leave.

“You got up and came in here just for that?” Hadrian asked.

“I was bored,” Royce replied.

“He’s been worried to the point of not sleeping,” Gwen said.

Royce scowled. “I wanted to make certain these people weren’t … you know.”

“By Mar, Royce.” Hadrian shook his head, amazed. “They saved our lives. You can trust them.”

By the time Gwen had Royce back in bed, he was bleeding again, and she had to redress the wound in his side. Before they arrived, someone had done such a terrible job of stitching him that the doctor was forced to fix it. When she was done, he caught her hand.

“If you … if you’re up to something … if you’re trying to…” Royce hesitated, holding her, his arms weak and shaking. She could see him struggling. “Why did you really do it? Why’d you help us?”

“I told you.”

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t believe her.

Gwen smiled.

Royce smirked. “I don’t get it. Something’s not right, and trust me, I’m not the kind you want to cross. Understand?”

She nodded, still smiling.

“Well … good.” He let go of her. “And you should probably be careful, because just about the entire world is looking for us.”

Royce had never provided details, but Gwen understood the two were wanted and on the run. She was housing criminals, a hanging offense if she was caught.

Looking back on those months, Gwen saw them as the most intensely lived of her life. She was never more frightened and never so euphoric. She spent her days tracking gossip and trying to squelch any rumors about a man who had cried for help on Wayward Street the week of the big storm. Her nights had been spent feeding, cleaning, and dressing Royce, during which they held short-often cryptic-conversations she never fully understood. Weak as a kitten, he needed her for everything, and she could see it pained him more than his wounds.

At first he was quiet, but as the days passed they began to discuss such serious things as cooking, sewing, the snow that soon fell, and Wintertide.

“You probably celebrate the holiday with a feast and decorations,” Royce said. By then he was able to sit up and the two spoke in the light of the single candle. “Lots of family and friends, dancing and songs.”

Gwen noticed a twinge of sadness, even spite in his voice. She shook her head. “I’ve never celebrated Wintertide. My mother and I were always traveling, usually alone, and we never had money for any feasts. Since she died”-Gwen shrugged-“I’ve been struggling just to survive. It’s hard to celebrate when your choices are starving or being a slave.”

She remembered he appeared surprised, even suspicious. “You don’t look like you’re hurting for food.”

“No, not now. I finally decided I didn’t want to be a victim anymore. I got to the point where I was just tired of being afraid.”

He reached out then and for the first time touched her for no reason. He placed his hand on hers and gave a soft squeeze. The hint of malice she’d seen in his face had been replaced by sympathy-not pity, but understanding, a shared appreciation that nearly made her cry.

Until then she had always been the loyal daughter, the detested Calian immigrant, the whore. Even the girls, who knew most of her story, viewed her as either some sort of hero or opportunist, depending on their mood. In Royce’s eyes she could see the pain of struggling to survive reflected back. They were the same, two pieces of wood from different worlds but whose grain lined up, and it was then she knew she was falling in love.

That was the closest either had come to discussing themselves. Gwen had hoped he would volunteer more about himself, but he never did. From his and Hadrian’s comments she guessed the two were bandits, highwaymen perhaps-but who was she to judge after so many had judged her.

She never did tell him about her gift to tell the future by reading palms or how her saving Royce had been foretold years before. With the touch of his hand and that gentle squeeze, such things became trivial-part of a past that she preferred to let go. She had him finally, and it didn’t matter who he was or what he had done.

Snow fell outside while inside Royce and Hadrian convalesced. As they grew stronger, they came downstairs to sit with the rest around the fire. They had sung songs and told stories-at least Hadrian had. Royce made a habit of sitting quietly beside her-always beside her. And she couldn’t help noticing the glares he had given Dixon.

Dixon was quite literally the man of the House, a local carter with a strong back and a soft spot for Gwen. She had employed him to do the heavy lifting in the days when they built Medford House. Since then, Dixon remained as the unofficial guardian of the girls.

“Listen,” Royce told her, and then hesitated. He did that a lot, as if every sentence suffered a debate in his head. It had been two months after they had arrived and Royce and Gwen were in the bedroom. Outside, snow was falling again as Wintertide neared. “I … ah…” He faltered once more. “You didn’t have to help us. Shouldn’t have, really. Makes no sense. Dangerous and nothing in it for you. You spent money paying that doctor and more feeding us, not to mention all the time you … you … well, you know what you did. So anyway…” He sighed and shook his head. “This doesn’t come easy to me, but … I want to thank you, okay?”

She waited. Gwen thought he might kiss her then. She hoped he would-hoped he’d throw his arms around her, say he was in love and that he’d stay with her always, but he didn’t. Instead he announced he and Hadrian would be leaving at dawn.

It felt as if he were taking her heart with him that chilly morning when he and Hadrian had set out. She had kept her teeth tight together for fear she would say more than she should, or worse, start to cry. The prophecy had never promised anything for her. The fantasy of him being her destiny, of them living happily ever after was all Gwen’s doing, but still she had hoped, and she continued to hope as she watched them ride away, leaving two lines of tracks in the newly fallen snow.

She prayed he would be back.

But why now? Why now, when I can’t even see him?

She refused to let Royce see her battered. Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t really care, but if he did, then he would want to know who did it and like a fool he would want revenge. Men always wanted revenge. Royce would get himself killed trying to protect her, and she wouldn’t let that happen. Better that he thought she didn’t care about him. Better that he never found out the truth. Better that she kept him out of it or he would end up like Dixon-or worse.

Why now? And where is Rose?

Gwen heard the front door bang open and her heart fluttered. Loud voices came up though the floorboards but were too muffled to understand. She pushed to her feet. She was unsteady and groped for the bedpost and then the wall as she shuffled toward the door. Keeping herself upright with only one arm was a challenge; seeing clearly was another. Both eyes were swollen, her right entirely closed, and the crying hadn’t helped.

Reaching the hallway, she could hear better.

“…we don’t know. That’s all he said.” William the Carpenter’s voice.

“What about Rose?” Mae asked.

“Thought she might have returned.” A pause, then William continued. “The high constable has all his sheriffs out looking for her. Even hired on a whole bunch of new deputies.”

Jollin came up the steps, shocked to see Gwen in the hallway. “It’s okay-just Will.”

Gwen nodded and Jollin took her arm. Together they shuffled back to the bedroom.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Jollin pretended to be cross. “Doctor’s orders. Remember?”

“I should have never let her go,” Gwen said as Jollin laid her back on the mattress.

“How could you know? It was the castle. Were you going to say no to them? And it was just a surprise party.” Jollin pulled the blanket up, covering Gwen. “Rose is young and stupid. She’s probably whooping it up with some squire who bought her too much wine. Or maybe some baron took her away in a fancy carriage to his country estate for a few days. She’s probably making bags of money while we worry.”

“I should have realized. I just didn’t think it would be this soon, because Rose hadn’t…”

“Hadn’t what?”

“Fallen in love.”

Jollin clamped her palm over Gwen’s forehead. “You’re a little warm. I’m going to ask the doctor to come back.”

“I’m-” Gwen was going to say fine but realized how stupid that sounded. “I don’t have a fever. I’m not out of my head.” Gwen thought how she might explain that she had seen a glimpse of Rose’s future in her palm but didn’t think that would help. “I’m just worried.”

“We all are. And I’ll go across the street and borrow Grue’s strap to beat her senseless for doing this to us. I can’t believe she can be so insensitive. She has to know we’d be sick to death by now.” She reached up and fluffed Gwen’s pillow with a little too much effort.

“I think she’s in trouble,” Gwen said. “Serious trouble.”

Jollin nodded. “I think so too.” She paused. “Maybe we all are. And we don’t even have Dixon to protect us anymore.”

“Have you checked in on him?”

“I was about to head over to the doctor’s when I found you dancing in the hallway.”

“You call that dancing?”

“I didn’t say you were any good at it.”

This brought a reluctant smile to Gwen’s lips. “Thank you.”

Jollin gave her a kiss. “Dixon will be fine. He’s not nearly as bad as Royce and Hadrian were. No stitches even, just a few broken bones-like you-only he’s an ox. Just needs time to rest and when he wakes he’ll eat us into poverty he will.”

“I just wish I knew what happened to Rose.”