the thieves, did we not? You would have none of it, were that not so.”
He had her there. Had it not been for him and the lad, she would have nothing left now, not even her honor. Iana looked around her, keeping her face half-concealed by the rough wimple. She saw no person familiar to her. What could it hurt to rest her bones upon a feather-stuffed bed for a change?
Happening upon someone who knew her face worried her as much as spending the silver. She would not have to go about in the town once they had secured rooms in the inn. Sir Henri could buy what they must have. These townfolk would not remark much upon the fact that he was French, as would have those in the small villages they had passed. Many foreigners must travel through a city this size.
“Very well,” she agreed reluctantly. “Make for the inn.”
He gave a firm nod and urged the bay on down the cobbled street toward the two-story building with the hanging sign.
“Lead the mounts through that alley,” he ordered Everand, pointing to the space between the inn and a cloth merchant’s stall. “There should be a stable in back. See to our beasts yourself, for I do not trust strangers to feed them properly.” He turned to her and waited.
For a moment, she did not realize what he expected of her. Then she remembered. Sighing, she untied the bag containing the chain and plopped it in his outstretched hand.
“Merci,” he said, and smiled reassuringly. “I will repay you, Iana.” In seconds, he had forced apart several of the links with his knife blade.
Iana’s heart sank when he tucked the entire pouch inside his doublet instead of giving it back. Less than half the chain remained since she had paid for their horses and every sackful of food she had begged from the local populace ’twixt here and the coast.
“Follow me, my lady, and remain close,” he warned. “There are likely to be ruffians hanging about the public room.”
She did as he asked, for she had never stayed in an inn before and did not know what to expect once they entered. When she had traveled this way with Newell, Dorothea and their retainers, they had carried their own tents, furnishings, servants and victuals.
When Henri led her inside, she saw that she had been wise to heed him. Several men gathered around a chest-high bench, laughing and toasting each other, well on their way to becoming drunk.
Sir Henri nodded amiably to them and hailed the publican. “We would like rooms,” he informed the man.
“You only need the one,” the bearded proprietor told him. “’Tis large and will sleep four. Two beds.”
Henri looked down at her. “One will do.” Something in his eyes warned her not to protest his decision. In truth, Iana had no objection at all. Propriety had been cast aside the moment she had found him, so that was not an issue. More importantly, one room would cost considerably less than two.
She winced a bit when he handed over two of the silver links. One should have been enough.
“We require one night’s lodging, enough food to carry us through three days travel, milk for the child and stabling of our mounts. Also, bring us three buckets of hot water as quickly as you can warm it.” He had not lowered his hand after turning over the silver. “I will have three marks in change.”
Two of the men at the bench stopped drinking to watch the dealings when the publican laughed at Sir Henri. “You jest!”
“No jest,” Henri declared softly. The look in his eyes held a warning and his smile had ceased to be. “Three marks, no less. Else we shall take our room elsewhere.”
The innkeeper turned away, hawked and spat. With a shrug, he reached into a purse at his waist and withdrew the coins, dropping them into the knight’s hand. “Aye, well, times is hard.”
Henri waited a moment longer, raised a dark brow in challenge to the men who were watching, then followed the publican up the stairs.
Iana almost grasped the tail of his doublet in her worry over being left behind. This was a frightening place, she thought, and the men looked hard-edged despite their previous mellow mood. She now understood her brother’s abhorrence of abiding in public inns.
Everand joined them before they had settled in. “The stables are more than adequate, sir,” he reported. “I saw to the feed. The man there says his master will beat him if he does not curry every animal, so I let him do it.”
“You will judge whether he has made a proper job of it before you sleep,” Henri instructed. “For now, you remain here with Lady Iana and Thomasina while I see to our other needs. Bar the door and do not open it unless you hear my voice direct you to do so. I shall return before they send someone with our food and water for washing.”
“As you wish,” Everand replied, then added, “Father.”
Henri smiled at him, a singular expression that spoke of his affection for the lad. He said nothing, only placed a large hand on Ev’s shoulder and gave it a fond shake. Then he left.
Everand quickly dropped the heavy bar across the door into its fittings and turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the portal. “You need not fear, lady. I shall guard you with my life. And your babe, of course.”
She might have laughed at him for pretension, had she not seen what he could do with a knife. “We are glad to have your protection. Tam and I thank you for it.”
He pushed away from the door and came to sit upon the bed where Tam lay sleeping. With one finger, he awkwardly pushed an inky wisp of hair off the child’s cheek. “She does not have the look of you.”
“Nay, she does not,” Iana admitted.
“I had a small sister,” he said softly, in the voice of the young lad he was instead of the deliberately deepened tone he used most of the time. After a long hesitation, his gaze still resting upon Tam, he added, “She died with my mother.”
Iana felt her heart twist just watching his remembered grief. “I regret your loss, Everand. And then your father died, also?”
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. When he answered, he seemed almost lost in his thoughts. “He wasted away with grief, I believe. He wanted death. My brothers were all gone, my mother and sister, as well. There was only me. When Lord Henri came one day to select cloth for his new court garb, my father pleaded with him to offer me employment.”
He glanced up, the corners of his mouth tipped in a sad smile. “You should have heard the plaudits my sire heaped upon my head whilst asking that boon, lady. I feared never to live up to his praise of me. Wishful lies, most of it, yet Lord Henri accepted it as truth. I refused to leave home until my father breathed his last. Then my new master came for me and made me his squire.”
“And now his son,” she added, sitting down at his side, pressing her hand on top of his. “I’ll wager both your old father and your new feel great pride in you, the one in heaven and the other who directs your life here.”
He shrugged with modesty. “I pray it is true, though I have unworthy thoughts betimes.” He glanced up at her from beneath his long lashes. “And, like your poor Thomasina, I do not seem to grow properly.”
The urge to comfort the motherless boy
