Page 49 of Paladin's Faith

Unfortunately, this left limited energy for holding things, like her fan and her wine cup. The cup fell, splashing across Wren’s bodice, and the fan hit the floor.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” said the woman in the sea-green gown, while her two companions murmured behind their hands. “I don’t know how I didn’t see you down there!”

Like hell you didn’t. Wren produced a grunt worthy of Shane. No, dammit, say something else. Courtly manners. You have them, remember? “Please don’t trouble yourself,” she said, trying not to grit her teeth. “Accidents do happen in such close quarters.”

“And I’m certain no one will even notice the stain,” the woman said brightly.

Given that it had been red wine, however watered, and that Wren was wearing a blue dress, this was absolutely a lie. Wren simply met her eyes steadily. The woman smiled and flicked her fan, and her two companions tugged her away. Giggles erupted as soon as they were out of immediate earshot.

“I hate this,” Wren muttered to no one in particular.

“Understandably so,” said a man’s voice beside her, though not so close as to be alarming. Wren turned, resigned to the fact that her gown probably looked as if someone had put a knife in her ribs, and met the stranger’s eyes.

He was taller than she was, although that didn’t count for much, since almost everyone was. Not nearly as broad as Shane, and he looked unarmed. He had dark hair and amber skin, and his eyes were nearly black. She took a step back as he bent down, and for a confusing moment, she thought that he was kneeling at her feet, which made no sense at all.

Then he picked up her fan and offered it back to her. Ah. Yes. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He picked up the cup as well, which had broken into several pieces. Wren tried not to feel guilty. The tableware in these rooms was all unglazed bisque from the pottery at the base of the mountain, handsome enough but made to be used only once.

“May I?” he asked, taking a handkerchief from his surcoat.

“May you…?”

“Your dress,” he said gently. He had a pleasant tenor voice. Wren watched him dip the corner of the handkerchief in one of the carafes of water on the table. He turned toward her, making a dabbing motion, and she finally realized what he was doing.

“Oh! Err…yes, I…thank you…”

Had she still been that young girl in her father’s house, she absolutely should not have let a strange man wipe a cloth over her bodice. But she was a grown woman, dammit, and there was nothing remotely erotic about scrubbing out a stain. Even if it meant that he was bent over her, and that she could feel his breath across the tops of her breasts. Or that he had his other hand on her waist, as if they were dancing, to hold the fabric in position.

“It’s fortunate that this wine is so weak,” he said, darting a quick smile up at her. “If they were serving the good stuff, it would be another matter.”

“If they were serving the good stuff, I would be much less put out by the stain,” she said. “At least I could drown my sorrows that way.”

He laughed. “Fortunately, my lady, we’ve caught it before it set.” He stepped back, dropping his hands, and Wren felt a pang of disappointment.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “I have other gowns, of course, but I suspect that the laundresses in this place are overwhelmed.” Was he handsome? She had never been a good judge of such things. Being surrounded by a great many large, muscular men who treated you as a younger sister meant that you developed a somewhat skewed view of masculine beauty. She thought he might be, though. Certainly he was attractive, which was something altogether different.

“Dreadfully so,” he agreed. What is he agreeing to? Oh, right, laundry. Something like that. His dark eyes held hers, and there was a slight smile on his lips.

“I…ah…” She could feel herself flushing. I am a grown woman, dammit. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Wren. Of Sedgemoor.” She thrust out a hand, realized it was the one holding the fan, and switched them awkwardly.

He took her hand in his. His fingers were warm and ungloved. She could feel calluses at the fingertips, but not at the base, where a sword’s would be. A musician, perhaps? She wasn’t sure.

She had expected him to bow over her hand, as men were supposed to do, but instead he brought it to his lips. The actual kiss was so fleeting that she barely felt it, but he rubbed his thumb across her palm in an unexpected caress before he released it. “Lady Wren,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I very much hope that I will see you again…soon.”

“Yes,” said Wren faintly. “I…err…I’d like that…”

He bowed to her then, and smiled as if she was the only woman in the entire room, before he turned to go. Wren watched him leave, then turned herself. The nearby trio of girls led by the one in sea-green were throwing hard-eyed looks in her direction. None of them were giggling now.

“I think,” said Wren, almost to herself, “that I will go and change my gown.” And she went out the door, feeling a great deal lighter than she had in days.

TWENTY-ONE

Marguerite was supposed to be doing paperwork, but she had encountered a definite source of distraction. Namely her bodyguard.

She hadn’t minded when Shane was sharpening weaponry or examining his armor or whatever he had been doing by the fire for the last few days. Honestly, she found the small, lethal noises of the whetstone rather soothing after the initial startlement, and there was a certain pleasure in doing your work while someone nearby was doing theirs. The silence had been almost companionable, and when she broke it, frequently, to mutter to herself about names and invitations and who was allied with who, he didn’t keep interrupting her to ask what she was saying.

No, the problem was that apparently Shane had finished doing all those small lethal things for the time being, and was reading a book. Which, again, would not have been a problem, except that he had taken out a small pair of spectacles and balanced them on the end of his nose.

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