Camid looked at her blankly. "Why not what?"
"Why not take him along?" she clarified. Then she frowned. Had she said that, or had something unruly taken over her mouth? Things were going downhill for her rapidly. First her fine form, then her wits. "Perhaps he deserves a chance."
Camid looked as surprised as she'd ever seen him. "But," he spluttered, "what will we do with him?"
"Train him," she said, then she looked at Camid, openmouthed. If she could have turned around to look at herself, she would have.
Paien laughed heartily. "What did you put in those herbs, Adhémar? She's gone soft."
Morgan would have agreed, but she was distracted by the sight of Fletcher suddenly freed of his bonds by Glines and kneeling at her feet.
"Thank you, my lady," he said, clasping his hands and looking up at her with tears streaming down his face. "You will have my everlasting gratitude and I vow I will do all you tell me?"
"Then stand up and cease blubbering," Morgan said in irritation. She wasn't altogether certain who she was more irritated at: herself for being a soft-hearted fool or Fletcher for looking at her as if she'd saved him from a life of torment.
He leaped to his feet enthusiastically. "Now?" he asked, in a fashion not unlike an over-friendly pup. "Now' what shall I do?"
Morgan looked at Camid, but he shook his head. She turned to Glines. He managed to find something quite interesting about the sky. Adhémar only folded his arms over his chest and scowled. She turned to Paien.
"Oh, nay," he said, holding out his hands. "If you want him, you must train him."
"I wouldn't know where to start."
"Try beginning with obedience," Paien suggested.
"If I whip him like a disobedient pup often enough, will he learn, do you suppose?" she asked.
Fletcher gulped, but did not flinch.
Not overmuch.
Paien looked at her, no doubt to try to discover where she'd stowed her wits, then sighed and put his hand around the back of Fletcher's neck. "I will take him for a few days and teach him how not to aggravate you. You can work on his training then."
"I'm saving us a trip to the docks," Morgan reminded him.
Paien snorted. "Considering how just the sight of a boat might render you useless for the day, I daresay that is a self-serving sacrifice. What you have saddled us with, though, may turn out to be more trouble."
"Perhaps," Morgan said, but she could not erase the memory of the desperate look in the lad's eye. It wasn't her habit to pity lads who should have known better than to mix with mercenaries, but that look…
She cursed and shouldered her pack, stumbling to catch her balance as she did so. She glared at Fletcher.
"Keep up or we'll leave you behind," she snapped.
The lad nodded vigorously.
Morgan forced herself to walk away without swaying. She took each step carefully and did all she could to not do anything besides look at the ground in front of her.
She did pause, only once, to look back over her shoulder as they traveled along the road that rose up out of Istaur. It was easy to see the quay with the ships bobbing there so innocently.
Nay, there was no return there.
She spared a brief thought for Nicholas and ignored the pang that stabbed into her heart when she realized that she would never see him again. Perhaps after she accomplished the delivery of the blade to the king she would find someone traveling to Melksham and have word sent to him. It was all she could do.
She resolutely refused to think of that blissfully soft bed and those delightfully warm coverings.
Or of the generous man who had provided them for her.
The next afternoon Morgan found herself walking along wearily behind Adhémar, struggling to focus on her surroundings. Each footstep was an effort and she felt as if she were wading through deep water. A pity the physical effort wasn't enough to keep her mind from wandering to topics it should have left alone.
