‘Ma demoiselle, about our sleeping arrangements...’
She stiffened. ‘Sir?’
‘You understand that you shall be sleeping in common with other travellers?’ At her nod, he let out a breath. ‘I have secured the last of the spaces in the loft. It will be cramped up there, but I thought you would feel safer.’ He gestured about him. ‘You could bed down in here, but there will be constant traffic.’ He grimaced. ‘And more draughts.’
‘Thank you, sir, I should prefer the loft. Will you be sleeping in the loft, too?’
‘If it pleases you. Ivo and I should be happy to guard your sleep, but if our presence troubles you, we can remain here.’
‘There’s no need for that, I will feel safer with you nearby. I...’ she flushed ‘...I have never slept in an inn before.’
It was a remark which, when uttered in that husky, lightly accented voice, had Arthur wondering anew about her past. He had made a few hasty enquiries at the barracks, but no one knew anything about her before she began sharing lodgings with Nicola. Clare’s eyes told him all he needed to know about her ancestry, but what kind of a life had she lived between her birth and the time she moved in with Geoffrey’s mother? It was none of his business. Gaining her trust, however, was. Thankfully, she seemed to trust him, at least enough to accept his protection in the common sleeping chamber.
‘Sir...?’ She twisted her hands together.
‘Yes?’
‘I have no bedding.’
‘There’s no need to trouble about that, I told Ivo to bring an extra bedroll.’ Arthur got to his feet. ‘We’ll be up at cockcrow. Permit me to escort you upstairs.’
‘Thank you, sir, you are very kind.’
Arthur was pleasantly surprised when she allowed him to take her hand and lead her to the stairway. It was a small hand, and though it was fine-boned, it was definitely not the hand of a lady. The skin was roughened with work and slightly chapped. The impulse to rub his thumb over the back of her fingers came from nowhere. He kept it in check.
‘I am sorry to put you to this trouble, sir. I realise it is a great inconvenience for you to take me to Count Myrrdin.’
‘It is no inconvenience, ma demoiselle.’ And, as he caught a shy, elfin smile, Arthur almost believed it.
* * *
The noises in the sleeping loft were different to the noises Clare had grown used to in Troyes. More unnerving. The other guests took an age to settle. No sooner had everyone quietened down, when someone got up and fumbled through the flickering half-light towards the stairs. The privies were outside and the wooden steps groaned with the to-ings and fro-ings. A baby whimpered and snuffled; a woman muttered to her husband.
Lying next to the wall, Clare felt safe enough to have her back to the room. With Sir Arthur’s squire, Ivo, sleeping at her feet like a guard dog and Sir Arthur bedding down between her and the other travellers, it would have been hard not to feel safe. It was reassuring having the knight’s large body so close. My knight. Clare was surprised with herself for thinking this way—after what had happened with Sandro in Apulia, she had never imagined she’d trust a man she hardly knew. Particularly one who, as she had discovered when walking with Sir Arthur past the Black Boar in Troyes, enjoyed his women.
Sir Arthur was not just any stranger, that must account for it. Geoffrey had spoken highly of him, making especial mention of his loyalty to Count Lucien under trying circumstances. Exactly what those trying circumstance had been, Clare had never discovered, but the fact was that Count Henry was not the only great lord to trust Arthur with high office.
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