Chapter 11

ALYS FELT AS THOUGH she'd slept only moments when Selendrile shook her awake.

"What? What is it?" She was alert enough to know that she wasn't alert enough to cope if something had gone wrong. And something had gone wrong, or else why was Selendrile getting her up while it was still dark out?

Not that he seemed anxious or afraid, she realized as he pulled her up to a sitting position.

But then again, when had he ever?

Only slightly less groggy now, she asked, "Has something happened?"

By the way he paused to consider she could tell that nothing had, at least not in the sense she had meant.

"I broke the wheel," he said, "so that it would look as though the wood had been stressed then patched while Gower was making it."

"Yes," Alys said, for this was what they had decided earlier. "Fine. Good night."

He held on to her arm so that she couldn't lie back down. "It's almost dawn. And I brought these." He dropped a handful of rags onto her lap.

It took a moment for her to realize that what in the dim light looked like black patches was in fact blood. She flinched and his grip tightened. "I'm awake," she assured him. If she was going to claim to be injured, it only made sense to nave bandages that supported that claim. Still, she didn't ask where the blood had come from; and he didn't say. He just sat there looking at her.

The blood was still wet, though it had gone cold and sticky. Gingerly she draped one of the cloths over her head and around her chin, inwardly cringing at the touch of it against her cheek.

"Tighter," Selendrile advised. "You don't want it to sag, or they'll see that there's unbroken skin beneath." He took over, then sat back and evaluated his handiwork. He must have been satisfied, though she'd never have guessed from his face, because he picked up another cloth and began to wrap it around the knuckles of her right hand.

From between teeth which were clenched together from the tightness of his knot, Alys said, "I can't talk." Even she couldn't make out her words.

"What?"

Alys loosened the head cloth. "It's too tight. I can't talk."

Selendrile pulled it up tight again. "You don't need to be able to talk. You only need to be able to breathe. You can breathe, can't you?"

"Just barely." The words sounded garbled to her, and Alys doubted whether he'd understood. But apparently the fact that she was neither turning purple nor falling over onto her side and twitching satisfied him that she was getting enough air.

"If you talk," Selendrile said, "somebody might recognize your voice."

Alys sighed, knowing he was right.

"If you sigh around other people as much as you sigh around me, somebody's bound to recognize that, too."

THEY REACHED the outskirts of Saint Toby's as the edge of the sky began to turn pink. Some of the villagers would be just getting up, Alys knew, though nobody was out and about yet.

Selendrile was dragging the damaged wheel and she was trying to remember to favor her right leg, which was supposed to be injured, in case anybody was watching. In front of Gower's home, she leaned against the wheel as though for support while Selendrile banged on the door, much louder than necessary to rouse just Gower's household. "Wheelwright!" he bellowed.

The door flung open, and there was Gower, holding a candle to see what the commotion was, looking as furious as a water-doused cat. At the sight of him, Alys's knees got weak and she was glad she had the wheel to support her after all.

"What's all this?" he demanded, looking straight at her.

She realized that she was breathing loudly, stopped, remembered that she was supposed to be hurt and that great wheezing breaths might be mistaken for exhaustion as well as panic, and resumed with a ragged intake of air.

"That wheel you sold us broke," Selendrile said, still overly loud. "My brother Jocko, here, has been injured."

Behind Gower, Etta and Una hovered in the doorway.

"My wheels don't break," Gower said.

Alys heard another villager's door open nearby and saw Gower's glance shift to the left.

"The wheel broke," Selendrile shouted. "Just look at my poor brother. This town was closer than our farm, so we came back here."

Yet another door opened a crack.

"Just"—Gower held his hands out, indicating there was no need for excitement in front of witnesses—"come inside."

Selendrile threw his arm around Alys as though she couldn't make it alone.

Gower shoved his daughter in the direction of the wheel. "Get that thing indoors," he commanded between clenched teeth.

Alys let Selendrile half drag, half carry her across the floor of the living area to the bed. Gower looked pretty sour about that, but Una lit a candle from the low-burning night-fire and brought it over.

Compassionate soul that she was, Etta made a disgusted face and put her back to them to get breakfast started.

With an expression that matched her daughter's, Una nodded toward Alys's head and said, "That probably needs a fresh bandage."

"No!" Alys mumble-cried. She couldn't be sure anybody could understand her, and she flinched away.

"No," Selendrile said quietly. "We had a terrible time getting the bleeding to stop. It's probably best to leave the wound alone."

For all that she'd gotten closer than her daughter had, Una looked relieved. "If you think that's best," she murmured.

Oh, for heavens sake, Alys thought at the worshipful expression on the older woman's face.

"Never saw anything like this happen to one of my wheels before," Gower said, examining the wheel by the light of the fire.

"Well," Selendrile said charitably, "it can't be helped now. We're just lucky we weren't both killed when the cart tipped into the ditch."

"Oh my!" Una said breathlessly, never glancing away from Selendrile, not even to the wheel.

Slowly Selendrile looked up from Alys, flat on her back on Gower and Una's bed, and met Una's gaze. Even from this awkward position Alys could see his smile was dazzling. She groaned and burrowed deeper into the mattress.

"I'll make a new wheel for you," Gower said, heading for the workshop.

After he was gone, Selendrile said, "I should be going."

"What?" Alys cried, her voice muffled by the bandages.

"Must you leave?" Una asked.

Selendrile took Una's hand and held it gently between his own. With a look so sincere Alys wanted to choke, he said, "After the accident, Jocko and I just left the cart upturned in the ditch by the road, with the ox tethered so it could graze a bit without wandering off. I need to return it to the farm and make sure everything's all right there. Could you please watch over my brother until this evening?"

"Certainly," Una said, which Alys knew only meant that she wanted to see Selendrile again.

Between clenched teeth, Alys hissed, "Don't you dare leave me behind."

"What did he say?" Una was gazing at Selendrile in a dreamy sort of way.

"He said you're much too kind," Selendrile said, still looking deep into Una's eyes. "And you are. You're very kind."

Una modestly looked away. "I do what I can," she whispered.

Alys was tempted to demand, "Since when?" Instead she waited for Selendrile to once again lean over her.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, Jocko." He gently patted her shoulder.

With her supposed "good" hand, she grabbed a handful of shirt and, as distinctly as possible, whispered, "I'll get you for this."

"What did he say?" Una asked.

"I don't know." Selendrile turned and gazed at her sincerely. "After that knock on the head, he hasn't been making much sense lately. I think you just need to leave him alone all day—let him rest."

"Don't do this to me," Alys begged.

Without a word, he straightened, kissed Una's hand, and left.