Drake's Honor

by Madeline Martin

  The very idea of food had lost its appeal to Greer. Aye, Drake was not trying to press his advance on her now, but no doubt once the candles were doused and they were abed, he would come rapping at her door.

  It was only a matter of time.

  6

  As it turned out, Greer’s appetite was not as diminished as she had assumed. She and Bean were expensive travel companions considering how much stew, bread and ale they consumed between the two of them.

  They were just finishing their meal when Bean straightened. “Oy! That man took the coins the others left behind for Una.”

  Greer turned in her seat to find a man striding away from a previously occupied table, his hand conspicuously cupped as though he were cradling several coins against his palm.

  Bean began to rise from the table, but Drake put a hand to his shoulder and pushed up to approach the man instead. The thief gave a contrite scowl at Drake’s approach.

  Whatever was said between them was impossible to hear, however through it all, Drake kept his calm demeanor. His straight, easy posture exuded an unspoken yet potent confidence Greer could not help being drawn toward. She had spent her life around people who either had no strength in themselves or had so much they couldn’t stop bragging.

  Suddenly, the other man’s face went florid with rage as he gestured wildly with his free hand. It mattered not. The cool expression on Drake’s face did not change. He remained taciturn and composed, even as the other man continued to grow more agitated, until at last the man stalked to the table still littered with empty cups and trenchers and slammed his hand upon the surface. Mugs jumped from the wobbly surface, one clattering to the floor, but when he lifted his hand, there on the table were three coins.

  He stormed from the tavern, vowing never to return and Drake, nodding humbly at Una’s profuse gratitude, returned to their table as if nothing had happened.

  “That was brilliant,” Bean exclaimed. “I thought he was going to clout ye. Though I dinna think he could handle a hit back. Ye’d have had him in one strike. Mayhap two.”

  “’Tis better to have been resolved as it was.” Drake regarded their own nearly empty table. “Shall we retire? We leave again at first light.”

  The food stuffed into Greer’s full belly suddenly was too great for the roil of nervousness trying to churn in the cramped space.

  “Just one hit then,” Bean continued as he got up and mimed the act of throwing his fist at the air. “It would have been amazing to see. I saw my da do it once, though he says the same as ye, that ’tis better to resolve with words.” He grinned so broadly that the largeness of his front teeth was very apparent.

  Greer rose slowly and followed behind them.

  “Are ye well?” Drake’s dark gaze fixed on her.

  Mayhap she ought to say she was not in the hope he wouldn’t try to come to her that night. But then, mayhap, he would leave her in the morning to travel the rest of the way on her own if he thought her ill.

  She nodded and offered him a plastered smile she’d done enough times to know it passed off as being real.

  “Imagine if there were three men,” Bean said as he climbed the stairs. “Could ye have taken them then?” He nodded for Drake. “I know ye could.”

  His excited chatter filled the space and allowed Greer to slip away and into the first door on the right. Quickly, she slid the latch into place, a meager thing comprised of a leather thong and a wooden toggle, but better than nothing. She leaned her back against the door as another barrier and let her head rest against the solid wood.

  This would be a long night indeed.

  She remained there a long moment as Bean and Drake bid their brusque evening farewells before returning to their respective rooms. Silence filled the space, leaving only the whoosh of her heart pulsing in her ears. She counted each beat as she waited for the squeak of Drake’s door opening to break the quiet.

  To know he would be coming.

  One, two. Three, four. Five, six.

  Nothing.

  Seven, eight. Nine, ten. Eleven, twelve.

  When she reached one hundred, she eased away from the door, resolved to anticipate him most likely within the next hour. But she couldn't very well stand by the door all night. Not when her eyes were so weighted with exhaustion.

  She kept her focus on the door as she hurried to the ewer to freshen up from her travel and prepare for bed. Normally, she would sleep in her shift.

  Not tonight.

  She left her kirtle on. While it would not be comfortable to lay in, it was an additional barrier of protection.

  A slight creak came from outside her door.

  Greer spun to face it; her dagger tucked behind her back, heart hammering. Her muscles were locked in preparation for a fight. One that never came.

  The footsteps outside were attached to an unfamiliar male voice that carried down the hall moments later, along with his heavy tread.

  Body tense, she finally backed toward the bed and sat on the edge.

  Her limbs were heavy, like baskets of sodden laundry, and were suddenly scarcely strong enough to hold her upright. Still hesitant, she relaxed onto the lumpy mattress, setting the ropes beneath her groaning in protest.

  She kept her face toward the door, the blanket over her like a flimsy shield, blade tucked beneath her pillow, ears trained for even the slightest sound, and willed sleep to come.

  It did not, of course. Not when anticipation was such a sorry bedfellow.

  The anxiety of waiting was worse than if the damn door had opened and Drake had entered, brazen with entitlement for what she would never let him have. Any moment now, no doubt.

  Time ticked by, each second excruciating with expectation.

  But no matter how much she begged sleep to find her, the poignant fear at the back of her mind continued to keep her alert. With a hiss of irritation, she shoved back the thin blanket and pushed upright.

  She couldn’t stand the waiting anymore. If she were to face this, she would do it on her own bloody terms.

  Her feet met the cold floor as she shoved herself to standing and went out the door of her rented room, intent on seeing Drake.

  The soft patter of bare feet on the wooden floors was what woke Drake from the depth of his slumber. He remained in place as a slight creak announced the person had opened his door.

  Though his body tensed, he did not move.

  His door wasn’t locked. It was something he seldom did, not when there was so little point in bothering with it. Those flimsy toggles could be easily pushed through. It was better to allow a person to assume they had the advantage over him as he lay in wait to attack.

  The door closed once more and the quiet whisper of footsteps moved over the floor to his bed. Whatever they were planning to do to him, he would make his move first.

  Quick as a serpent’s strike, he grabbed the intruder and threw them to the bed.

  A soft gasp sucked in as he trapped the person on the bed by their arms. Slender arms. Arms that would not properly be able to wield a sword to slay him in his sleep.

  His gaze went to the face, the dark lashes and the auburn arch of a brow highlighted in a slash of moonlight that still hid most of her face. Not that he needed to see more to know her.

  Greer.

  He released her immediately. She didn’t scramble away from him, but stayed where she lay beneath him, breasts heaving.

  “What are ye doing here?” he demanded.

  “I know what ye want,” she accused.

  He frowned at her. “A solid night’s sleep before the journey tomorrow?”

  “I’ll no’ lay with ye,” she said vehemently. A flush of red crept over her cheeks in the pale light.

  He put more space between them. “I dinna intend to lay with ye.”

  She blinked up at him. He rose from the bed and lifted his hands to demonstrate his innocence.

  “I’m no’ daft.” She sat up, and the dress pulled up higher over her legs, revealing her shapely ca
lves. She whipped the length of fabric back down. “I know how this works.”

  “Then I think I must be the daft one,” he said slowly. “Because I dinna understand what ye’re going on about.”

  She slid from the bed and stared first at his naked torso, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. Her head only came to his chest, reminding him of exactly how petite she was.

  “I know why ye paid for my meal, why ye let me share yer horse,” she said with an edge to her voice.

  “Because we want to help ye,” he said. “As we discussed in the village today.”

  She scoffed, a hard, bitter sound. “Ye think I’ve no’ heard that before?”

  He regarded her face fully now, taking in the rage burning bright in her eyes. And the underlying fear beneath. “What has been done to ye, Greer?” he asked softly.

  The anger flickered to uncertainty. “What do ye mean?”

  Her skin looked impossibly smooth in the moonlight. He lifted his hand slowly and settled his palm against her soft, warm cheek. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide with innocence or hurt, or mayhap a blend of both. Either way, her expression snagged a place in his heart where it would forever stay.

  “What has been done to ye?” he asked again softly.

  Her lashes fluttered closed at the tender caress, and a tear ran down her cheek. She swallowed but did not reply.

  “Whatever has been done willna happen again while ye are in my care,” he said with all the earnestness he could summon in his soul. “Ye need no’ worry about anything while we are traveling together. No one will hurt ye.”

  Her eyes flew open, and her chin quivered. He lowered his hand to ensure she didn’t see him as a threat. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to draw her closer to him, in a complete embrace where he would shield her entire body in the protection of his, so that he might be able to insulate her from any threat.

  Before he could say anything further, she turned on her heel and bolted from the room. He remained where he stood for a long time, a band of tension squeezing in his chest.

  She viewed him as much of a danger as she had all the men who had harmed her in the past.

  A part of him longed to go to her room, to reassure her he was not like the others. Yet he knew doing so would only leave her to fear that he was exactly like them, prepared to exact a steep fee for his aid.

  Revulsion coiled in his gut for such men.

  He turned away from the door at last and settled in his bed. Though she had only lain on the mattress for a short moment, the sweet smell of her lingered on the sheets, the scent subtle and clean. It brought to his mind the image of her laid out, staring up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing.

  With a violent shove of his thoughts, he cast the image from his mind. Aye, she was bonny. Aye, everything about her tempted him in a way he’d never known. But he would rather cut a limb from his body than give way to any of those impulses. Especially with what she’d been through.

  He had more control than that.

  But despite his determination, thoughts of her remained with him all night until the sun finally spilled its golden light into his room, and he was left weighted by a heavy veil of exhaustion to prepare for the journey.

  Bean was waiting at a table downstairs a while later with a scowl on his face.

  “I take it ye dinna sleep well either?” Drake asked.

  “’Tis hard when one who should be above reproach canna mind themself.” He glared at a pockmark on the table.

  Drake swallowed down a weary sigh and sank onto the bench opposite him. Whatever it was that rankled Bean would be best addressed before Greer joined them. “What troubles ye, lad?”

  Bean shifted his glare up at Drake. “I saw her entering yer room last night.” A flush warmed over his cheeks. “She went to see ye.”

  “And if ye’d waited a bit longer, ye’d have seen her leave soon after,” Drake replied.

  Bean folded his arms over his thin chest. “What did she want?”

  Una arrived then with several ales and bowls of pottage. Drake accepted them from her and gratefully drank.

  “Wrong room,” he lied as he set the mug on the table. While he didn’t relish offering mistruths to the lad, neither did he wish to embarrass Greer.

  She came down the stairs at that very moment with shadows under her eyes that were indicative of her own night of troubled rest.

  “How did ye end up in the wrong room last night?” Bean demanded.

  “All the doors look the same.” She laughed it off and reached over him for a slice of bread, which she set into her bowl of pottage as she plunked onto the bench beside him.

  “Then why did ye stay at all when ye realized it wasna the right room?” the lad pressed.

  “’Twas dark and took me a moment to realize,” she answered with ease. “And then I begged forgiveness for having interrupted Drake’s slumber.”

  The mirth on her face was as false as the words falling from her lips, but Bean, in his innocent youth, appeared placated. Yet while the lad ate with the zeal of adolescence, Drake could not stop the queries from rising in his mind.

  There was much more to Greer than the façade she offered the world, and he wanted to know exactly who she was.

  7

  Agreeing to travel with the two of them had been a mistake. Greer realized that now. Drake was no ordinary man. He saw her more deeply than anyone else. Beyond the layers that she’d built like calluses over the years, past the prettiness most men allowed themselves to be distracted by and straight into the sloughed away rawness of her heart.

  She’d expected he would be a man who would try to work an advantage over her, as most did. To her dismay, he was far, far worse. His unassuming nature edged past her defenses, and somehow, he managed to see who she was inside. He could identify the emotions she tried to hide from—the fear and the wounded hurt—and offered her something she knew she should never again bother with. Hope.

  Once, long ago, she had held hope, as if a flickering flame in the cradle of her soul. Back when Mac had first been born. Before her mother had left and her father lost himself in the bottle. When days had been sunny, and their food stores had been sufficient.

  But when she had to start stealing to feed them, it had slipped away, as if a cloud passed over the sun, blotting its warmth and light.

  Foolishly, she had dared to hope again when she bought the tiny cottage with her earnings from laundering clothes in the village. A hard living to be sure, but an honest one. That life had brought her happiness and hard-won pride.

  But that bliss had been precarious, balanced on the whims of their unjust lord who captured Mac, leaving them at the mercy of laws that did not favor the poor. In an instant, that joy had been snuffed out. And with it, her hope.

  She was not so foolish as to let it be reignited so easily.

  “Have ye had enough?” Drake indicated her half-eaten pottage, which was growing cold where it congealed against the side of the wooden bowl.

  She’d avoided glancing at him thus far but now forced herself to as she nodded. No sooner had her gaze settled on his dark eyes than the memories from the previous night flooded her mind.

  The way he had touched her cheek so gently, not with ownership or intent, but with affection. Compassion. A band of emotion compressed around her.

  He had promised to protect her. She looked away suddenly as a prickle of tears warmed in her eyes. No one had protected her for as long as she could remember. She had protected her. No one else.

  While she could not even fathom what such a thing must feel like, there was a part of her that yearned with palpable longing to find out.

  And if ever there was someone capable of such a thing, it would be a man like him—one whose body was etched with muscle. Not noticing such had been impossible when she’d been in his room. He’d worn only a pair of linen trews, his torso stripped bare and carved like granite in the moonlight.

  She had never found herself interested in in
timacy, not when so many men had been readily drawn to her. But seeing Drake thus had made her curious for the sensation of his naked skin beneath her palms, for the slight rasp beneath her fingernails as she traced the lines of muscle.

  A strange feeling tightened in her stomach and heated her blood. One she did not welcome or recognize.

  She kept her focus on the floor as they rose from the table, as though the dark stains in the grooves of wood from years of ground-in dirt were overly fascinating. They had only two more days and one more night before they would arrive in Lochmaben.

  Mac.

  He was her sole concern. Him, and acquiring enough coin to ensure his freedom.

  The day before, she’d thought her task accomplished with what she had stolen from Drake and Bean, only to have it all taken away. She was once more back where she started with not much more than a couple of coins jingling in her otherwise empty purse.

  The sun had risen by the time they departed the tavern. The light of a new day was brilliant in the clear sky as they resumed their journey. Only this time, Greer found herself wishing Drake’s hands weren’t as far from her as they had previously been when she rode with him. She wondered at the heat of those strong arms enfolded around her, offering the protection he had promised.

  As they rode, she did not keep herself as stiff as she had before. Instead, she relaxed in the saddle, so her bottom grazed his crotch. Immediately, he jerked back and readjusted his position, so no part of his body connected with her.

  It only made her want to touch him more, but she did not wish to force him so far back that he fell from the horse. She resolved to stifle her interest and remain still in the saddle. At least, until the previous night’s sleeplessness overtook her, and exhaustion tugged at her lids.

  The thick foliage overhead provided coolness from the direct glare of the sun, dappling their path with flecks of gilded light. The damp scent of rich soil and wet leaves from the woods rose around her, clean and welcoming. Were it not for the sway of the horse, she might have been fine.