Page 74 of The Knight's Pledge
“If you do choose to get blazing drunk again, however,” hesaid suddenly.
“Stop,” she warned. She couldn’t help but looked over at him and caught his gaze taking in her legs. “Stop, Lucan. You’re not making things easier. God help me, I sincerely hate you.” Effie faced forward once more, her heart racing, her breaths coming fast and shallow.
“I know. You shot me. It can’t be debated.” He paused. “I’dstill risk it.”
And, just like that, she wanted him again.
* * * *
The winter sun had long since set by the time they reached The White Swan, but no one had wanted to camp in the cold and dark. Lucan was glad of it, longing once more for the bright, clean inn and the kind proprietors’ care. He needed a place to catch his breath, strengthen his mind. He needed tothink.
Effie had moved through the caravan to avoid him after their conversation, putting as much distance between them as possible. He never managed to be paired with James Rose, and that was just as well—Lucan had grown quite tired of the young man’s rudeness, and he didn’t think it would do him any favors with the family to teach the lad a lesson on the road.
Besides James, the rest of the band seemed to treat Lucan much the same, save for a bit of awkward stiltedness at each changing of positions. He felt Dana’s genuine sympathy though, and it touched him. Kit Katey actually smiled and spoke with him at length, and Lucan was surprised and pleased at the beautiful young woman’s sudden loquaciousness. It took his mind from the troubles plaguing him in the dark. He learned that her name in her language—Qi QiangTing—meant ‘Wondrous, sustaining red rose,’ and he had to agree that Kit Katey was indeed both wondrous and sustaining for all that she had endured at the hands of the English.
Lucan was honored to ride into the White Swan’s dooryard at her side.
As if she had been watching for them, Mari threw open the door of the tidy building and gave a cry of welcome, moving at once into the midst of the horses, specifically to the women who were strangers to her, and taking charge of them as a mother hen would her chicks. The group was noisy chaos in the dark until Gale arrived with a brace of torches, and everyone sorted their mounts and their possessions and saw them tended to before jostling each other into the common room, which was so clean and inviting that Lucan wanted to weep like a child.
He could only imagine the relief felt by the lost souls finding refuge here forthe first time.
Thomas Annesley was greeted warmly, as was Lucan himself, but rather than buoy his spirits, it caused Lucan’s guilt and his loneliness to increase. Gorman taking the seat on the bench next to him was the final straw—he quickly ate the hearty, delicious food Gale served him, his head down. As soon as he had swallowed the last mouthful, he rose.
“My gratitude for the superb meal,” he said to his hosts. “If you will excuse me.”
Gorman looked up with a half frown, still chewing. “Alright,there, Lucan?”
“Just tired,” Lucan said. “Goodnight.”
He thought he heard James Rose mutter something nasty to the group, but Lucan didn’t pause to force the issue. In truth, he just wanted to escape.
Stupid. Cowardly. Failure.
He pushed inside the small, whitewashed room, becoming reacquainted at once with the narrow chamber. The bolt on the solid door slid easily and true. The quarters were only a fraction of the size of the rooms at most inns of his experience, but none had ever felt so clean, so comfortable, so safe.
The bed was narrow, but it did not sag, and even in the remainder of that dreary winter, the fresh smell of the clean linens scented the small space perfectly. There was a tiny stand with a little wooden bowl and pitcher, a slice of soap and a single piece of toweling. Typically, beds were wider, and often shared between travelers unless they had significant coin, and Lucan recalled his first solitary stay there and the way he had marveled at the inn’s strange—but very pleasant—appointments. Because of the size of the chamber, the upper floor could house perhaps ten guests, whereas most inns might boast five larger chambers of shared lodgings, and now Lucan understood the purpose.
No questionable goings-on at the White Swan. Shelter for those poorly used. Shelter and safety and peace.
Peace.
Lucan thought of how he’d failed in losing the portfolio—and he accepted now that he had lost it. He’d no longer allow himself to hide behind the semantics of “stolen.” Unless they could find the man who’d taken it, either on the road or in London, there was little chance that Thomas Annesley would ever again be free. Little chance of finding out the truth of what had happened to Lucan’s parents, even if Henry did return Castle Dare lands to him.
And who would really care? he thought to himself. Iris, who had her own worries about her husband—who just happened to be Thomas Annesley’s heir? No. His dead parents? No. Roul and Amée Montague weren’t coming back. Lucan knew the fire that had killed them was no accident, and he was certain that Vaughn Hargrave—who was also already dead—had his hand in it. What more could he gain by trying the issue of posthumously accusing the man of killing his parents inHenry’s court?
A soft rap sounded on his door and Lucan’s heart stuttered. He wondered if it could be Effie and found himselfunable to move.
“Sir Lucan?” Mari’s voice called out quietly from the corridor.
He unbolted the door to find the short, round woman stepped back across the corridor, holding a flat, circular object covered with a towel in one hand and a mug in the other.
If ever there had been a less threatening sight, Lucan couldn’t imagine it.
“I’ve brought you a bit of pudding and some warm cider,” she said with a gentle smile. “Gale’s is the best, you’ll see. You’ve had a long, cold ride today, and I reckoned you wanted it. A hard day, as well, from what I gather.” Her eyes were knowing.
Lucan’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” he rasped as he took the offerings, looking at them as if they were containers of gold—no one had ever cared for him in such a way without being duty bound or paid handsomely for it.
“Thankyou,” Mari objected. “Gorman says that if not for ye, the poor doves might not have been saved. Effie could have been badly hurt, or even killed. He’s been singin’ your praises since you left.”
