Page 20 of The Iron Dagger
Alexandra must have seen the worry on her face, for she clasped her hand and said, “Don’t fret about us. We’ll be fine. You’re leaving for a good reason.”
She did not deserve Alexandra’s comforting words. Hara’s throat ached with shame.
As Hara left the house, she let out a deep breath. One day she would tell her friend what had happened and why she needed to align herself with a rogue like Gideon Falk. One day, when—if—she found her mother. She could only hope that Alexandra would forgive her.
Her last stop was at the home of her dear friend Gertrude. The ancient woman clasped her hands around Hara and pulled her into the small hut.
“If I brought my chickens to you, could you look after them?” Hara asked as Gertrude poured tea.
“Of course, dear. I always said your chickens lay the biggest, tastiest eggs of any in the village. It will be mighty nice to have them.”
“Thank you. And I don’t suppose you could tend to my plants? Now that the frosts are over, I can move most of them outside for the spring rains, but there are some that need to stay indoors.”
“My pleasure,” said Gertrude. “Although I am sad to hear you will be gone for so long. Your ointment makes a world of difference for my stiff knuckles.” She rubbed her veined and spotted hands.
Hara produced a jar from her cloak pocket. “Here you are. That should last for two seasons.”
“Bless you, child,” said Gertrude, taking the jar and cupping Hara’s cheek. “You will be missed.”
“You’ll have to console yourself with a large omelet made from my eggs,” Hara said with a smile. “I have another favor to ask. Does Gessup have any clothing he doesn’t use anymore? Even if it needs mending?”
“I’m sure I could find something. Let me see . . .”
Gertrude pulled a flat trunk from under her bed and dug inside of it. “He only seems to wear one set of clothes day in and day out, that doddering old man. He has some very handsome things that he never wears anymore—used to cut a fine figure in them . . . ah, here!”
She pulled out a pair of rust-brown trousers, a billowy brown shirt, and a wide leather belt.
“It comes with a handsome matching coat, too,” said Gertrude. She dug around a bit more and produced a long coat. As she helped pile the clothing into Hara’s arms, she slid her a shrewd glance. “Not that I mean to pry, dear, but are you traveling alone?”
“Not alone, no.” Hara dropped her voice. “I’ve met someone who may know where my mother is. He has promised to help me since I nursed him back to health.”
“Ohh, how wonderful,” said Gertrude, her eyes two shining points among the delicate wrinkles of her face. “It makes a body believe in fate. All your good work with healing has now come around to pay you in kind. That horrible Corvus is a power-mad scoundrel. I do hope you find her, dear. Here.”
The old woman rustled in her sewing box and brought out a ball of soft yarn, which she tucked into Hara’s reticule. “Wool from our sheep. Take this for good luck. I know you probably have your own luck charms that actually work, but this will be a little piece of home while you’re away.”
“Thank you,” said Hara, touched. She embraced Gertrude over the pile of clothing, and then went on her way.
When Hara returned to the cottage, Gideon glanced up at her. She tipped the clothing onto the table before him.
“What is all that?” he asked.
“Your disguise,” she said. “For traveling.”
Gideon went to the pile and lifted the ruffled shirt and tweed coat. He turned a look of disgust to Hara. “‘Disguise’ is right. No one would ever expect me to be wearing such a . . . costume.”
Hara held the trousers up to him. “The legs are a bit too wide, and short, but I can alter them,” she said.
Gideon looked mournfully at his fur-trimmed cloak hanging on a peg by the door. “I thought nothing could be worse than wearing your dead aunt’s ruffled nightie, but at least I didn’t have to wear that in public.”
“These aren’t enough—we have to change you as well,” said Hara, feeling little empathy for his vanity. “The Lenwen armsmen might still be on the lookout for you.”
This suggestion seemed to dismay him almost as much as the secondhand clothing. Gideon brought a hand up to his silky, pale hair.
“What did you have in mind? Going to curse my nose? Put a spell on my teeth to make them yellow?”
“It would take entirely too much magic to make you ugly. I’d need a fortnight to recover,” she said, amused when his cheeks reddened at her praise. It was surprisingly easy to disarm the prickly lord. “We’ll dye your hair dark. Something not so very . . . courtly. You’ll have to take out your jewelry and stop shaving for the next week.”
“Facial hair doesn’t suit me,” he said grumpily.
