causing her to spring out of the way with a gasp of alarm.
Two men pushed their way inside. One had his arm slung around the other’s shoulder and was being supported. He staggered as he walked, moaning softly, and his tangled black hair obscured his face. The second man’s head was bowed under the strain of bearing his companion who was taller and broader.
Lucy gritted her teeth.
‘I don’t want drunks at this time of night.’
‘He isn’t drunk, he’s hurt,’ the supporting man wheezed. He raised his head and Lucy gave a cry of surprise at the face she had not seen since he declared his intention to fight with King Edward’s army in France.
‘Thomas? Is it really you?’
Lucy started forward, but her brother drew a short sword from beneath his cloak and brandished it. Lucy gave a squeak of alarm at the sight of her younger brother with such a fierce expression which ill suited his kind face. Thomas was an amiable dolt and to see him acting so fiercely was disconcerting. She clutched the poker firmly in her hand and retreated to the bottom of the staircase.
The man she had taken for a drunk now raised his head, which had been lolling to one side. He gave a wolfish grin beneath his thick beard, but it was his eyes that transfixed Lucy. Brown as walnuts and studying her with such intensity that a sensation stirred inside her she had not felt in longer than she could remember. She felt a blush begin deep between her breasts that was only prevented from spreading by the dawning realisation that her admirer’s gaze was so intense because he was struggling to focus.
‘What happened?’
‘Ambush,’ the injured man slurred. ‘Don’t fear, little dove. We won’t hurt you. If you do what we ask.’
‘Are you alone?’ Thomas raised his sword again and stepped towards Lucy, dragging his companion with him. ‘Has anyone else come this evening?’
‘No one,’ Lucy answered, sweat pooling in her lower back at the sight of the weapon. ‘I’m the only one here.’
Except for Robbie. A throb of anxiety welled inside her as she thought of her son lying peacefully in his cot in the room above. A son whose uncle did not know of his existence.
‘Thomas, what is happening?’ she hissed. ‘You left four years ago. Why are you here and who is this?’
‘I’ve been in France, fighting with the Northern Company.’
Lucy gaped. ‘A mercenary? You?’
‘Why are you here?’ Thomas asked. ‘Where is Father and why is the inn in darkness so early?’
Lucy dropped her head. When Thomas had lived here the inn was always busy and open late. Now was not the time to explain why it had changed so greatly. ‘I came back...to nurse Father. Thomas, Father died almost a year ago,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know how to contact you.’
Thomas shook his head, his eyes filling with grief.
‘No! Oh, bad tidings, Sister.’
Lucy’s heart twisted. This was not the way a son should learn such news. Thomas would regret their father’s passing more than she did. But then Thomas had never suffered the consequences of having disappointed him as greatly as Lucy had.
The man groaned. Thomas glanced at him. ‘Tell me more later, but now we need to take him upstairs to a bed.’
Lucy took a step back, shaking her head. Not to the floor where Robbie slept in peace, blissfully unaware of the drama happening beneath him. She barred the way, finally revealing her poker and brandishing it like a sword.
‘Come, little dove,’ the injured man slurred, grinning crookedly. ‘Be sensible and we all might live.’
Lurching forward unexpectedly, he raised his left arm and knocked it out of her hand. He staggered, as if this had taken the last of his strength, and fell forward towards her. Instinctively Lucy reached her arms out to catch him, her hands sliding beneath his armpits. She stepped backwards and found herself wedged between him and the wall, his weight crushing her. She yelped in pain as something sharp scratched her left shoulder through her thick wool dress. She looked down to see the head of an arrow protruding from the man’s right shoulder.
‘He’s really hurt!’ she exclaimed.
‘Don’t let me die unmourned, dove,’ the man slurred, his voice deep and husky.
Before Lucy could think how to reply he had reached his left arm to the back of her head, tilted it back and covered her lips with his.
The kiss took Lucy by surprise, the rough beard scratching at her cheek and lips teasingly, sending shivers through her. His mouth enclosed hers, his lips firm and his tongue seeking hers with a fierceness that left her weak. Her mind emptied as desire lurched in her belly and without intending to she was kissing him back. If he could kiss like this when close to death, what would his touch be like when at full strength?
She came to her senses almost immediately and jerked her head away. His mouth followed, greedily seeking her out again, and his good hand slid from her neck down her body, fumbling at her breast.
A kiss she could tolerate, but the groping was too much. Outrage surged inside Lucy and now she had her wits about her. He was not the first of her customers who had tried to force attentions on her and was likely not to be the last. Injured or not made no difference. She twisted her leg until it was between his and brought her knee sharply upward.
The man gave a whimper of pain and crumpled on to her, his eyes rolling back in his head. He went limp and Lucy realised, aghast, that he was close to passing out. Her hand shifted against his back and touched feathers. The fletch of the arrow was sticking out. Guilt swept over her that she had done such a thing to a wounded man. She bit her remorse down. She had not asked for her home to be invaded, or to be kissed. He had brought it on himself.
She supported him as best as she could, but he was a tall man and broad with it, and was crushing the breath from her as she leaned against the wall. Even by the feeble light of the fire, the man looked as pale as a wraith with a waxy sheen to his brow. His hair was matted to his cheeks. He must have bled from his wound, but against the darkness of his cloak it was impossible to tell.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, reaching to brush the hair from his face. His forehead was cold to the touch and her fingers came away damp with his sweat. He opened his eyes.
‘Do you have wine? Anything stronger?’ he moaned.
‘Enough of this!’ Thomas cried. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, reminding Lucy he had always been as prudish as a monk when it came to shows of physical affection. ‘Get him upstairs before you do him any more harm. We may not have much time.’
He pulled the injured man off Lucy. Lucy ran to get the lantern, thrusting the poker back into the fire where she could find it later if needed.
‘Bring wine,’ the injured man growled.
Lucy ran to the counter where the flagons and cups were
