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 stored and found what he had requested. Carrying a bottle in each hand and the lantern hooked over her arm, she followed as her brother half dragged the injured man up the narrow staircase.
The first floor was low ceilinged and dark. Lucy’s room took one half of the space, though it was filled with all manner of boxes and piles of unused or unusable objects she could not bear to throw away. The second room contained pallets for travellers who wished to spend the night, but until the better weather arrived the frames were piled up and the straw mattresses wrapped in oilcloth as prevention against vermin. It was this room that Lucy intended to take the two men into, but Thomas entered the bedroom that had once been their father’s and where Lucy now slept. She opened her mouth to protest, but decided it was better to make no arguments and hope that Thomas would explain before long.
Robbie’s cradle was pushed into the far corner and he slept silently, mercifully not stirring as they entered. Lucy did not dare look directly at him, fearing she would alert the men to his existence, but they were more intent on reaching Lucy’s bed beneath the small window.
‘Lay me down and give me a drink,’ the injured man mumbled. He appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness. Lucy wondered how much blood he had lost.
They lowered him on to the bed, pushing the blankets to one side and edging him over so that his shoulder was hanging over the furthest edge of the frame with the fletch of the arrow free from the mattress. Thomas pulled the injured man’s boots off and placed them at the side of the bed. Lucy held out the bottle of wine and he tipped it back, drinking deeply until it was half-empty. He put it on the floor and fumbled with his left hand to unclasp the buckle of his cloak. His fingers were clumsy and he let loose a string of expletives.
‘Help me get this off,’ he commanded.
Thomas began to fumble at his neck, but the man pushed his hand aside.
‘Not you, Thomas. You go tend to the horses. Dove, you can do it.’
Lucy knelt by the bed and tried to do as he asked, but when she attempted to ease the cloak from his back, it stuck fast around the shaft of the arrow. The man gave a gasp of pain as she tugged. Lucy let go, realising the arrow had gone through all the layers of clothing. Something moved in the corner of her eye. Thomas was pointing a dagger at her face. His hand shook and the expression of fear in his eyes made him almost unrecognisable.
‘Cut it free,’ Thomas said, pushing the dagger into her hand. ‘Remove all the clothing you can. When I return, we remove the arrow.’
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, alarmed at the prospect of being left alone with the man who had earlier appeared intent on violating her. The word we did not give her any comfort, either.
‘You heard what he said. I must hide our horses. We are being hunted. I’ll explain properly later.’ Thomas gazed around frantically as if expecting assailants to appear from the wooden chest at the foot of the bed or behind the open door. He lumbered out, pulling the door shut.
‘What is this place called?’
The man on the bed had spoken, his voice rough and rasping. Lucy jumped in surprise. She looked at him more closely. His cheeks had a touch of colour beneath the mass of beard and his eyes were brighter. Lying down and filling himself with wine seemed to have rallied his spirits and returned some of his vitality.
‘It has no name,’ Lucy answered.
The man gave a wheezing laugh. ‘A nameless inn. Perfect for a nameless man such as me. Does its mistress have one or are you equally anonymous, dove?’
‘Lucy Carew is my name,’ she answered reluctantly.
‘Carew! Sister of Thomas, or wife?’
‘Sister,’ Lucy answered, wondering what sort of man would kiss a woman who might be his friend’s wife.
‘Give me more wine, Lucy Carew,’ the injured man demanded, reaching for the bottle. Lucy picked it up, then paused before handing it over and took a sip herself. It did little to calm her nerves. The man drained the bottle, spilling a good measure down his face and neck. Lucy wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her mattress would reek of wine—though if it survived without blood being spilled on it that would be a wonder in itself. Gripping the dagger, she bent over the bed to do as she had been bidden. Her hands trembled and she hesitated, drawing her hand back from the cloth.
‘Have you never undressed a man before?’ the man asked with a leer.
‘Never with a knife,’ Lucy answered curtly.
He laughed.
‘I thought a pretty dove who can kiss like you did must know her way around a bed.’
His voice was mocking and Lucy flushed with anger. Voices of condemnation pressed down on her, whispering names that set her cheeks aflame with shame. The voices were right though, weren’t they? Otherwise why would her body have responded in the basest way possible to the uninvited touch of his lips?
She held his gaze, noticing his eyes were increasingly unfocused and the colour was leaving his cheeks once more. He would most likely pass out again, if not from his injury then from the wine he had drunk. She bent over to widen the hole around the arrow at the front and back. The evil-looking tip was crusted with blood, as was his clothing, and her stomach heaved.
The cloak was thick, but the dagger blade was sharp and it came away without too much work. She dropped it down between the bed and wall. Beneath the cloak the man wore a sleeveless padded jerkin, laced at the front. By some fortune the arrow had missed this, piercing his flesh where arm joined body, and the garment was intact. The jerkin was the colour of oak and the cloak was of good quality. Lucy wondered for the first time who he was. She unlaced the jerkin, aware all the time of the man’s eyes upon her.
‘You’ll have to sit up to take this off.’
‘You’ll have to help me, Lucy Carew,’ he slurred, raising an eyebrow.
He gave her the same grin that had made her stomach curl. Now alone on her bed with him she felt a stirring of anxiety. It had been a long time since a man had shared her bed and, even though he was not there for that purpose, the sight of him made her stomach twist. She weighed up the likelihood of him repeating what he had done downstairs and decided he looked incapable of much harm.
She
