The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Wallia slumped back into the carriage.

"What's going on?" asked the Countess, her round face poking out from under the blanket she was supposed to be hiding underneath.

"Get back under there, it isn't safe," he ordered, flinging it back over her as she opened her mouth to argue. Listening to the Countess whinge was the last thing he needed after what he had just seen.

That was a face he never thought he'd see again. How long had it been? Ten years... no, nearly fifteen now. As long as that. She must now be as old as he was when he married her. He frowned. Well, perhaps a trifle younger.

He had recognised her instantly. There was no doubt about that. The years had not been entirely kind to her. Her figure had thickened out around the waist, and her hair had dulled from fiery copper to a soft auburn. But it was her, he was sure about it. He would know that face anywhere.

His Ruby. Here, in the city, and dressed in rags. Well, not quite rags, he thought, frowning. But she looked so plain. Like a servant. Or the wife of a shopkeeper. And with all those red-headed children. Had there been a boy? There hadn't been time to look properly.

He pursed his lips. There'd been a time when he'd dreamed of having a boy off of her. A legitimate heir to take his seat on the King's Council after he had gone. A flame-haired boy who would lead a regiment and bring glory to the Wallia name. A brother to join Jain in the nursery. Of course, she wasn't called Jain back then. Pearl, that's what he'd called her. His two, glorious gems: Ruby and Pearl.

Until she buggered off in the middle of the night, taking her name book with her.

He scrunched up his hand into a tight fist, wanting to slam into into the carriage door, but he held himself back, bringing it to his lips instead, where he dug his teeth into his knuckles until he could taste blood.

"My lord?" said the squire, staring at him with alarm.

"Get out."

"What?"

Hilton's vole-like wife tutted. He didn't know which of them was the intended recipient of such extreme ire. He ignored her. That was always the best course of action.

Wallia groaned. "Climb onto the roof and help Hilton."

The lad's mouth fell open.

"You're his squire aren't you? Go up top and get this carriage moving before this pathetic excuse for a rabble spook the horses."

The boy sat there looking gormless. Six years in Hilton's household and he still acted like a farmer. Not that Hilton was much better, for all his knighthood and medals, he was an utter yokel. He should have taken the boy on at Havenot Castle.

And he would of, if Lady Wallia, that is, he corrected himself, the current Lady Wallia wouldn't have taken to her bed on an even more permanent basis than usual if she found out he had brought the son of his mistress into her household. Well, if the subject of a week long dalliance with the daughter of one of his tenants could be termed a mistress. He hadn't even known that there was a child until the boy was too old to get rid of without scandal. Either way, he was sure Lady Wallia wouldn't appreciate the difference. And at the time, he still believed the woman was capable of giving him the son, the legitimate son, that is, he so needed.

Hilton had suggested adopting the lad. It wasn't a bad idea, except he'd proposed it in front of Lady Wallia at dinner. The dear Lady had knocked over her wine glass in her desperation to escape the table, and sent her attendants into a flap for weeks. Or at least, that's what his steward reported. Wallia hadn't stayed around to find out. He'd travelled to court the following morning, and stayed there for six months.