Page 68 of Paladin's Faith

In his defense, they weren’t exactly thoughts. More involuntary images. He risked opening his eyes, and saw with relief that she was sitting up again.

She shuffled quickly through the papers she’d found, eyes scanning over the pages, then stopped. Read the paper again. Her breath came out in a long sigh. “There,” she said, with clear satisfaction. “That’s what we needed.”

She slid the papers back into the drawer and locked it. The third lock was almost perfunctory. She was clearly distracted—thank all the gods—because she did not attempt to sweet talk it. Instead, she cracked it open, rifled through the contents without much interest, and closed it up again. “Come on,” she murmured, rising to her feet. “We got what we came for.”

Shane opened the door to the suite and stood like a wall, shielding her from the curious eyes of the servants. Their card game was still going, it seemed. They looked up, saw Shane, then looked down again.

Not the first time that a woman has left these rooms in silence. Nor the last, I suspect. But at least we got what we came for.

He let the door close behind them and hoped that the price had not been too high.

Marguerite took a discreet path through the fortress, rather than a direct one. It was unlikely that anyone cared who warmed Malvertor’s bed, as long as the woman was no one of consequence, but there was a slim chance that someone might be watching her. Davith, for example. He does not entirely trust me, but how much does he know, I wonder? So she took the long way around, using the corridors on the outside walls.

Shane walked beside her, rather than behind. Marguerite glanced up at his profile. She had thought that she had learned to read him a little, but tonight he might have been a carving made of ice.

Embarrassment? Disapproval?

He damn well better not disapprove. I’ve got the information, and all it cost me was about thirty minutes with an unpleasant man who smelled like he was trying to cover up sweat with sandalwood.

Irritation flared in her gut. She knew that it was mostly at Maltrevor, but he wasn’t here and Shane was and the bastard wasn’t even able to look at her. Did he think I was as pure as he is? A virgin or a saint?

Who gave him the right to disapprove of anything I do, anyway? Or who I choose to fuck? He’s my bodyguard, not my chaperone. I could have a different man in my bed every night, and the only thing he has any right to do is check them for weapons at the door.

Chilly air puffed through the arrow slits on the outer wall. She wrapped her arms around herself more tightly. Her current outfit might turn her breasts into one of the wonders of the world but that was about all you could say for it, and the cloak had been chosen for concealment, not warmth. The night breeze cut right through the thin fabric and whipped it around her bare legs. Also, she’d taken off the damn shoes, which meant that her bare feet were becoming intimate with the flagstones.

Shane stopped and turned to face her.

“Marguerite…”

“What?” she asked crossly. “I chose to do this. Don’t start getting cold feet now.” Swear to god, if he decides to read me a lecture about my behavior, I’ll take that sword and give the stick up his ass some company.

“I’m sorry you had to do it,” he said. “I know there was no choice, but I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’s just the job. I’ve done it before. It’s all right.”

“It’s not—"

She groaned. She was not in the mood for this. “Shane, have you ever cleaned a privy?”

“Err…I’ve dug a latrine trench?”

“Close enough. Was it a horrible traumatic experience from which you will never recover?”

He blinked at her. “I can’t say it was, no?”

“Was it a boring physical job that you didn’t particularly enjoy but it had to get done?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, so is what I just did. A little soap and hot water and then I’m probably never going to think about it again.”

Shane considered this. “A lot of people wouldn’t feel that way about it,” he said cautiously.

“Then they shouldn’t go into my line of work.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shane, I understand you’re trying to be delicate with my feelings, I realize that a lot of people would be horrified and conflicted and would need that, but frankly, my only feeling right now is that my goddamn feet hurt, okay?”

Shane nodded once, sharply. “I see.” He pulled the heavy wool cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She blinked up at him, surprised, and then he bent down, slid his arm behind her knees and picked her up.

Wait, what?

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