Page 60 of His Scandal
“Oh, it’s not that, Emmy. In fact, I find it rather…amusing.”
The three men at their table erupted in boisterous laughter and toasted each other again, having not heard Blythe’s comment.
Emmeline shook her head. “How will we ever get them home?”
“I think we are here for the night. Shall I see if there are chambers?”
“We’ll go together. Surely there’s a reliable boy to take a message home for us. How Humphrey will insist that he should have driven us in the coach!”
Though they found a messenger to dispatch, there were no lodgings to rent. They had dragged the men from inn to inn before Alex remembered that he’d held two rooms for them at the tavern where he’d stabled their horses—just in case.
Standing on the torchlit village green, Emmeline put her hands on her hips and gave him a severe stare, while he looked innocent.
“Well, forgive me for forgetting!” he said,throwing his arms wide and almost losing his balance.
Maxwell and Clifford snickered, then Clifford sobered enough to stop before Emmeline.
“My lady, now that you’ve a place to stay, I have to go,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. He continued in a softer voice. “It did me good to see you happy, Emmeline. Thank you.”
What could she say? It had all been Alex’s idea, and somehow he’d been right. When she glanced at him, he wore that knowing smile—then hiccupped.
She earnestly wished Clifford well, and was happy she meant it. After he’d left them, Alex and Maxwell slung their arms around each other to sing their way across the village. Emmeline and Blythe fell into step behind, pulling their cloaks about them as the darkness brought with it a remnant of a winter breeze, and the sounds of happy voices began to die away.
Emmeline shivered, then was startled when she heard a strange voice nearby. She whirled about to see another drunken man coming up behind her, and the expression on his face wasn’t pleasant.
As he tipped an imaginary hat, she felt Blythe grip her elbow urgently. The man stopped too close to her, reeking of sweat and ale and wearing a sly grin.
“What fine young ladies,” he said, with a slur to his voice. “An’ me just lookin’ for some fun, too.”
“We already have plans,” Emmeline said cautiously. “Have a good evening, sir.” Blythe pulled on her elbow, but she was afraid to turn her back.
The man took her other elbow in a tight grip, and she gasped.
“You can change yer plans,” he said.
Before Emmeline could call out, Maxwell appeared out of the darkness at her side, his blond hair mussed, his clothing sadly rumpled.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said in a serious, careful voice as if he was trying hard to remember how to speak. “Unhand this lady at once, or I shall be forced to do it for you.”
Holding her even more tightly, the drunk laughed and gave Maxwell a push that sent him staggering back a few steps. Maxwell’s astonished expression gave way to determination. Just as he was marching toward their assailant, Alex came up from behind them, and without a word, punched the man once in the stomach, then hard across the jaw. He dropped into a heap.
Emmeline stared at the unconscious man, then lifted her gaze to Alex. She saw a burning anger in the darkness of his eyes, a coldness that made her wonder what else he concealed. Then the look vanished, and he gave her a lopsided grin.
“My dear ladies, are you unharmed?”
Blythe nodded as she looked at their assailant. “Is he dead?”
“No, but I doubt he’ll arise this night.”
“Should we move him?” Emmeline asked.
“Why? Let him awaken in the mud. Shall we go?”
By the time they reached the tavern, Alex and Maxwell were toasting each other’s bravery, and in general behaving like fools. Emmeline left them to the cheerfulness of the taproom, while she and her sister followed the chamberlain to their chamber. The room had two narrow pallets for beds, but the sheets were clean, and the fire had been lit earlier, and there were candles on the bedside tables.
The sisters helped each other undress down to their long-sleeved smocks, and while Blythe fell quickly asleep, Emmeline lay on her pallet and stared at the smoke-stained ceiling. She wasn’t used to the noise of such a public place, and in the room above them, someone seemed to be dancing.
She tossed and turned for at least an hour, until she heard a soft scratching on her door. Quietly, she crept from the bed and stood listening. The scratching was repeated, then a muffled voice said, “Emmeline?”
