Page 10 of Lord of Fortune
She stared at him a moment. “A source from King Arthur’s time?” She laughed then, amazed that this man would believe such nonsense. “You’re not saying he actually lived?”
Bowen slid her a quick glance from beneath the brim of his dark brown hat. “You’re saying he didn’t? If you think that, why do you care about any of this?”
“Because it mattered to my grandfather, and I promised him.” She wished she hadn’t said that. None of this was any of Bowen’s affair. Except he’d made it his affair by sticking his nose in it and trying to steal the dagger before she could get to it.
“What did you promise?” he asked softly.
“That I would keep it safe.” She wasn’t able to keep the dejection from her voice.
“If it makes you feel any better, there’s no way you could have retrieved it from the cave. I had to dangle from a rope and cut my hand to bits to get it.” He’d donned gloves after she’d left him to retrieve her horse, but her gaze flicked to his hands, recalling his injuries.
She begrudgingly appreciated that he was trying to improve her disposition. “Because the heart my grandfather found doesn’t look like the picture you saw, you think it’s fake. That’s a fairly weak argument for such anexperiencedantiquary.”
“I tested its use. It doesn’t work. Therefore, it is a counterfeit.”
If she’d been walking, she might’ve tripped. As it was, she gripped the reins a bit too tightly, and her horse sidestepped. Amelia whispered soothing words before darting a look at Bowen. “You did what?”
“You do know what the heart is purported to be?” he asked. The condescension had returned to his tone.
“Of course I do. With the heart in one’s possession, the bearer is supposed to be able to make someone fall in love with them. And the dagger was enchanted as a counterbalance, to prevent the spell from working.” She was quite familiar with the story, but it was just that: astory.
“Exactly right. However, the heart in the museum has no effect.”
She laughed loudly. “Of course it doesn’t.”
He shook his head. “I am bemused by you, Mrs. Forrest. You were intent to find the dagger, and yet you have no regard for it.”
“You said it was a treasure,” she said. As had her grandfather. She didn’t doubt it was an artifact from legend, but again, that was all it was—a legend. “The crown jewels are treasures, but they don’t cast spells. I am bemused byyou, Mr. Bowen. I would think your education and experience would keep you from believing such nonsense.”
“I can see why you would think that. However, I know suchnonsenseto be true.”
They were nearing the outskirts of Burrington. She slowed her horse and stared at him. “Preposterous. Did you see proof?”
“No, but I trust those who did.”
“And what, pray tell, did they see?”
“I don’t think we’re sharing our secrets today, Mrs. Forrest. Or so you said.” He kicked his horse toward town. Egg gave her a smug look as he rode past.
Stifling a groan, she quickened her pace and led them toward the inn where she was lodging. A dozen questions formed in her mind, followed by a dozen more. How she wished she could talk to her grandfather. She was sure he could answer every one of them. At least he could have before he’d become lost in his mind so much of the time.
A groom met them in the yard of the inn. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Forrest. Did you have a nice ride?” He’d grown used to seeing Amelia dressed in breeches and riding out every morning for the past five days. That first morning, his eyes had widened, but he hadn’t said a word. Now he didn’t even seem to notice that she was not garbed as she ought to be.
“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t wish to tell him of the brigands they’d encountered. “I met some friends along the way, and one of them sustained a minor injury that I’d like to tend to. I don’t suppose you have additional lodging for them tonight?”
He helped her dismount and took the reins of her horse. “I think the other room is vacant, but ask Mr. Tarleton to be sure, of course.” He looked toward Mr. Bowen, who had just climbed to the ground.
“We’ll do that, thank you,” Bowen said as he helped Egg from his horse.
Amelia preceded them into the dim interior. She glanced back at Bowen, wondering if he’d clear the low ceiling. He had to duck through the doorway but had a few inches between the top of his head and the wood beams that ran the length of the common room at intervals.
Mr. Tarleton, the innkeeper, came from a back room, his ruddy face breaking into a smile. “Ah, Mrs. Forrest. Your maid is on an errand, I believe.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tarleton. Allow me to introduce Mr. Bowen and Mr. Howell. They require lodging for tonight.”
“The room across from yours is vacant.” He looked to Bowen and Egg. “It’s a bit smaller but sufficient for the two of you.”
“Thank you.”
