Page 67 of Paladin's Faith

Then there was nothing to do but wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And not listen.

There was a lot that he wasn’t listening to.

Shane knelt in the middle of the floor and closed his eyes. Prayer. Prayer was what he had left. Not to the Saint of Steel, who he knew no longer heard. Nor to the Dreaming God, of whom Shane had not been worthy. He prayed instead to the White Rat, that practical god who solved problems and whose people tried so hard to make the world a better place.

White Rat, I owe Your people a debt I can never repay. I have no right to ask You for more, but please, let Marguerite be safe and well, and let us all get through this.

Whatever this was. It seemed like an enormous amount of trouble over mere salt. Still, both Marguerite and the Bishop thought that it was important, and he had faith that they understood the matter better than he did.

Shane wondered if the White Rat could hear thoughts tangential to prayers. Well, if He could, He had probably heard much worse. He tried to refocus. Let the outcome, whatever it is, be the one that helps the most.

And if nothing else, let us not make things worse.

The door creaked, very softly. Shane’s eyes snapped open, but he knew the soft footsteps that came toward him.

“What do you have for me?” Marguerite whispered. “Anything useful?”

Her hair had slipped mostly loose from her braid, forming a disheveled knot, the ribbon dangling. He had a sudden intense urge to comb it out with his fingers and braid it back in place, midnight line over midnight line.

Of all the things that we do not have time for…

“Are you all right?” he whispered, because they had time enough for that.

“Fine, fine.” She waved off the question. “What have you found?”

The first time that he’d killed a man, he’d wanted to be sick. The black tide had rolled back and he looked down at the corpse in front of him and his gorge had risen and then Stephen, who was only a little older but had been a soldier for a great deal longer, had grabbed his forearm and hissed, “Later. You aren’t done yet.”

And he had choked it down and lifted his sword and the tide had rolled over him again and he had cut down more of the enemy. And later on, Stephen had held his hair while Shane puked up everything he’d ever thought of eating.

Marguerite had been a spy for as long as he’d been a warrior. Undoubtedly she knew all about waiting until later. The least he could do was respect her composure. So Shane nodded to her and told her, in whispers, that it was all invitations and that only one drawer was unlocked.

“Good work.” She pulled a thin metal implement from inside her bodice. “Extra boning,” she said, at his glance. “At least, that’s what it feels like on the outside.” Shane went to the door, setting his back against it lest anyone try to enter, and waited.

He thought that he was calm and composed, until he heard Marguerite whisper, “Come on, baby, right there…” and nearly jumped out of his skin.

She was talking to the locked drawer. Of course she was. Certainly not to him. Certainly not those words, right now, when she’d just been pawed over by some titled brute.

“There’s the spot,” she murmured, and popped the lock.

There were two more locked drawers. Shane wasn’t sure he’d survive if she had to talk to those locks, too.

What is wrong with you? How can you even think such a thing right now?

It was terribly wrong. The only thing he should be thinking right now was how to comfort Marguerite after an undoubtedly unpleasant experience and possibly how to murder the baron later.

I really need to figure out what that word for not feeling guilty enough is.

“Money,” Marguerite muttered, sounding slightly disgusted by the concept, and closed the drawer again. She bent forward to work on the next lock and he squeezed his eyes shut, because only an unchivalrous monster would stare at her backside while she worked. “Now, then…come on…there we go…just a little bit more…”

With his eyes closed, it was impossible not to imagine her whispering those words in his ear. Impossible not to imagine what he might do that would have her saying such things.

She went to another man’s bed to accomplish the mission, and still you’re having these thoughts?

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