She got out of bed gingerly, holding her right side. Through the thin shift, he could see discoloration on her ribs. They were probably broken. Demurely glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Might I bother you again for some assistance? I cannot lift my arms over my head. I think at least one of my ribs is cracked.”
Picking up the worn dress from the innkeeper, he helped her put it on. She gasped in agony as she lifted her sore arm, but she didn’t complain. A small part of him admired her grit. A very small part.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her teeth still clenched in pain. She sat at the bottom of the bed.
He fetched their boots and stockings from the fire. “Stay seated. I’ll help you with these. It’s probably best not to bend over.”
Like a prince in a story, he put on her shoes. Except they were not fancy ball slippers; they were scuffed boots. And he was no prince.
She thanked him again, but he didn’t respond. He was too busy putting on his own boots and swapping the smock for his shirt and Petit’s old coat. They were dry, stiff, and looked a little worse for wear but were better than a farmer’s smock. He quickly made the bed and laid the smock on top of it. Reaching into his pocket, he felt a few coins left. Only enough for food, not transportation.
Gerard took Elea’s elbow and helped her stand and down the stairs. The taproom of the inn only had four tables and they were all full.
“Good morning,” Mother Rooney said. “You two look all dried out and not too worse for wear.”
Her eyes rested briefly on Elea’s bruised face, but it was Elea’s hair that caught her attention. Last night, it had been dark and wet. But in the morning light, Elea’s violet hair was undisguisable. The color was so beautiful. It caught the light, and it reached all the way to her waist.
Mother Rooney made the sign of the trigon. “Màthair bless me! It’s our queen.” The woman curtsied deeply to Elea. “Rooney, bow to your queen.”
Her husband reluctantly gave a sharp bow. “Your Majesty.”
Elea nodded regally. “Thank you, Mother and Father Rooney. But perhaps we can have breakfast and then talk about the procurement of horses.”
“Of course. Of course,” Mother Rooney said, ushering them into the taproom. “Make room for your queen.”
The inhabitants of the closest table stood, but Elea held up a hand. “There is no need for you to move; my friend and I will stand by the counter.”
Gerard wasn’t surprised that the people still vacated the table with their bowls of gruel. It wasn’t every day that you saw the queen with purple hair. Mother Rooney held out a chair for Elea and she sat down. Gerard slumped into the seat closest to her. Elea turned her emerald eyes to him, but he was in no mood to speak to her. Mother Rooney returned in only a few moments with two steaming bowls of gruel.
“It’s not much,” she admitted, “but I added a bit of honey to sweeten it up.”
“It looks perfect,” Elea assured the woman.
Perfectwasn’t the word Gerard would have described the slop in front of him, but he was too hungry to be picky. He ate every last spoonful of the gooey gruel.
Father Rooney came back into the taproom and sat next to him. “I’ve secured two of the fastest horses in all of Umbria County for the bargain price of thirty gold coins.”
It was a fortune.
Elea glanced at him and he shook his head. The coins in his pocket would only add up to one golden coin.
“We do not have the money on us now,” she said, “but I promise, as your queen, that you will be paid.”
The burly man shook his bearded head. “There’s no guarantee that you’ll ever see the throne, Your Majesty. Laird Lochdon is a mighty foe.”
Gerard looked at the bruises on Elea’s face that were given to her by Laird Lochdon. A sort of primal anger filled him and he would have happily strangled the laird on the spot.
Elea sniffed. “Is there anything that we can trade or do for two horses?”
Cocking his head to the side, Father Rooney pointed at her. “You’re hair. Real purple hair from a princess will sell for a quite a price.”
Gerard wanted to say no. Elea’s hair, even with the chunks torn out of her scalp, was glorious. It was a gorgeous waterfall of violet color and curls that fell past her waist.
“Done,” Elea said without hesitation. She held out her hand to the innkeeper and he shook it.
“My wife is handy with the scissors.”
“Very good,” Elea said, standing.