by Laura Kaye
“Yes, his lordship seems properly fit. And I suppose he’s handsome enough, if you like the dark, masculine type.” He gave Rhys the once-over. “Luckily, my wife has a more refined palate and prefers a sturdier man.” He patted his belly. “I was the catch of the territory at one time.”
Rhys propped an elbow on his thigh. “Yes, we all live in your shadow, Orvis. I still don’t know how you landed Willa. She’s much too good for you.”
“No truer words were ever spoken.” The jolly innkeeper rocked heel-to-toe.
Ravyn liked the way Rhys teased Orvis. Joking made him more…human.
She cleared her throat and forced her words, ignoring the flush creeping up her neck. “Fortunately, I prefer the dark, masculine type.”
Orvis grimaced. “Careful, or his head will swell like a fall pumpkin.”
“Not with you around, Orvis,” Rhys said.
He cupped the back of her head and stroked downward, stopping at her neck. It felt nice, a little too nice. She waited, unsure what to do. Strong fingers burrowed into her hair and curled around her neck, sending unwelcome shivers across her shoulders. In an attempt to dislodge his fingers yet look natural, she leaned slightly forward. Rhys continued to massage her stiff muscles. Was he toying with her? She was fairly certain actual married couples did not display this type of affection in public.
He pressed his chest to her back. “I’m grateful you find me appealing, wife.”
The word “wife” expanded and filled her like warm soup on a cold day, but his overt flirting horrified her. There was nowhere to go. Trapped in his grip, his body layered against hers, she flushed.
Orvis’s hoot of laughter deepened her mortification. “Ah, now there’s a woman in love if I’ve ever seen one.”
She ground her teeth and smiled. In love? Ridiculous. If the innkeeper only knew the true nature of their relationship.
Rhys slid his hand down her back and wrapped both arms around her waist. “I’m a lucky man, indeed.”
A black braid fell forward and caressed her cheek. She couldn’t move, scared he’d pull her farther into his embrace. When Orvis turned away, she elbowed Rhys in the ribs. He let out a small grunt, but his hold loosened. She expelled a pent-up breath when he finally sat back.
“Willie, set that crate down and come over here,” Orvis shouted.
The boy obeyed immediately.
“This is my son Willie.” Pride tinged Orvis’s introduction. “He’s my oldest.”
Though Willie’s build was slight, he was a young man and not a boy. The faint shadow of a ginger beard dirtied his chin. “Welcome back, my lord.”
“Thank you, Willie. I hope things are well.”
He executed a stiff bow. “Very well, my lord. Thank you.”
“Take care of his lordship’s mount.” Orvis ran a hand down Sampson’s flank. With a quick sleight-of-hand, he produced an apple and offered it to the horse. “I believe he’s the finest stallion in all of Inness.”
Sampson shook his head and gently retrieved the fruit from Orvis’s grip.
“He’s smart,” Willie chimed in. “He knows not to bite the hand that feeds him.”
Ravyn stroked the animal’s mane and looked at Willie, mustering the sweetest smile possible. “I’d be grateful if you could slip him a small treat during our stay. He was a perfect gentleman after I tumbled off of him this morning. He stood perfectly still while I floundered about in the mud.”
Willie stared up at her, and like the last patch of snow on a spring day, his stiffness melted away. “I’ll treat him like royalty, my lady.”
He took a step toward her. She jerked upright, putting a bit of distance between them. His gaze caressed her. Certainly this wasn’t proper?
Her eyes began to burn and she blinked several times, willing him to do the same. Nobody had ever looked at her this way. She smiled awkwardly, and Willie took another step forward.
What was she supposed to do? She was certain social etiquette required her to say something. The extent of her isolated life mocked her. “Um, thank you, Willie.”
Rhys cleared his throat but Willie seemed oblivious to everything but her. “My name on your tongue is music to my ears.”
Well now, that wasn’t appropriate. She scrambled for a neutral-yet-discouraging response. His hand drifted toward hers. Whether he meant to cover, caress, or capture her hand, she never found out. A sharp smack on the back of his head knocked poor Willie out of his stupor.
Orvis propped his fists on his hips and glowered at his son. “All right, get on with ya, boy, before you disgrace yourself in front of Lord and Lady Blackwell.”
Willie’s cheeks reddened to match his hair. He reached for Sampson’s reins but shot a furtive glance her way. It seemed rude to ignore him, but more errant to encourage him.
Rhys smiled and slipped off Sampson’s back. He turned to reach for her and she accepted his help. Muscles and bones protested, and though he eased her to the ground, she landed harder than expected and winced.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Willie stepped toward her, but Rhys placed himself between her and the boy before Willie could touch her.
“I’m fine. Just not used to riding as much as we have.” She yanked the blanket back into place. “I’m afraid my years of pampering are showing themselves.”
“Would a hot bath be possible for my wife?” Rhys wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her blessed support, but Ravyn suspected part of his action was for show.
The intimate way he kept touching her made it nearly impossible to act natural. Riding on a horse was one thing, suggestive comments and shows of affection were something else entirely.
“Of course, of course!” Orvis exclaimed. “I’ll have the girls prepare a bath immediately.”
He waddled off, shouting out several names.
Willie led Sampson away but continued to glance back at her until he disappeared around the corner of the barn. Did men always look at women in such a manner? She couldn’t remember any young men from the parish looking at her like Willie did now.
Rhys again cleared his throat.
Her stare cut to his face. “Not a word,” she said.
One side of his mouth quirked with amusement. “I said nothing.”
“You want to.” She looked away before his quirk turned into a full smile.
They made their way past crates of bright yellow birds. Her gaze scoured the shadows of the surrounding woods, looking for anything that might spark alarm. She had to admit, Rhys’s hold gave her a measure of comfort.
They passed a group of men near the front door. Ravyn searched their faces for any hint of recognition. A few greeted them with a nod, but most ignored them completely.
The interior of the inn was rustic but grand. Even at this early hour, patrons lounged at long wooden tables, talking over pints of ale and trenchers of bread. Yet another redheaded boy turned a knob at the side of the massive hearth, causing the flames to leap to life and garnering appreciative cheers from the diners. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. Ravyn relaxed a little.
A young girl of about twelve snapped to attention behind a tall counter and watched their approach. Long red braids hung down the front of her dress, and a bright, freckled grin radiated across the room. “Good morning, may I help you?”
She wore a contagious smile Ravyn couldn’t help but return.
“Matilda?” Rhys asked.
The young girl preened and curtsied. “I am, my lord.”
“Why, you’re a young woman.” He leaned an elbow against the counter. “When did that happen?”
“I’m not sure, my lord, but I do believe it happened last year.”
He nodded. “Well done, Matilda. Very well done.”
A faint blush stained Matilda’s cheeks. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Are you married, then? Must be. A beauty like you wouldn’t go unclaimed.”
Ravyn smiled at the effect his praise had on the blossoming girl. Rhys’s sweet-talkin
g skills were not nearly as inept as he’d led her to believe.
“I’m not, my lord.” Matilda flipped a thick braid over her shoulder. Her voice rang with confidence. “But I’m hopeful Billy Johnson will come to his senses soon.”
“He’s a fool if he doesn’t. And there’s nothing worse than being married to a fool,” Rhys advised.
“Papa says the same thing.” She crinkled her forehead in contemplation. “I think he wants to keep me around a bit longer.”
“Can’t blame him.” Rhys dazzled her with his smile. He could be incredibly charming when he wanted. She’d have to remember that. “Your best room, please.”
Matilda giggled. “Of course. Top of the stairs and down the hall. But you already know that.”
“Of course I do.” He gave the girl a devilish wink and wrapped his arm around Ravyn again. As they walked toward the stairs, he stopped and turned back to Matilda. With a shake of his head he said, “Oh, to be ten years younger.”
They slowly ascended the stairs, Matilda’s titter dancing behind them.
“I think you have an admirer.”
“Yes, I’m quite the ladies’ man. You’re one to talk. I’ve never seen poor Willie so besotted.”
“He’s not besotted,” she argued. “Merely a little touched in the head.”
“Why, because he’s infatuated with you?”
“He’s not infatuated.” She hefted her body up the next step and ignored the heating of her cheeks. Bless The Sainted Ones, but she’d never spoken of men or lust this much in her entire life. Not even if she combined every lecture the Sisters ever gave.
“I admit Willie seemed a bit more intense than usual, but you’re a beautiful woman and he’s a young man. I don’t see anything off about his response.”
Twice in one day, somebody had called her beautiful. The Sisters reviled vanity and compliments. Perhaps because nobody had ever told them they were pretty. She wasn’t going to lie—compliments felt good, no matter how unfounded.
Ravyn cleared her throat. “I admit I have little—well, no—experience with romance, but he’s not infatuated. He was just being hospitable.”
“If he was any more hospitable I would have had to peel him from you like a Lake Leech.”
The image almost made her laugh, but she refrained, desperately wanting to change the subject.
He led her down what had to be the longest hallway ever built. At the last door, they stopped. Despite her exhaustion and aches, her heart raced at the thought of being alone with him—in a room—with a bed. He stepped around her and opened the door.
A pleasant surprise waited inside. The room spanned the end of the building. A wall of multi-paned windows allowed the morning sun to bathe the space with gentle light.
“This is lovely.” She stepped inside and walked to the windows. Activity buzzed below her. From here, they had a view of the outbuildings, stables, and, beyond that, the forest. “Are you sure we’ll be safe here?”
“For a while. Until you’re well enough to travel.” He closed the door. “But I think you should use a different name. We don’t want to alert anybody looking for you by using Ravyn…” He paused. “What is your surname?”
She turned and looked at him. Should she tell him? It wouldn’t take much for him to find out if he was determined. What would he gain by knowing or, more to the point, what would she lose? Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if Mayfield was truly her surname. “Mayfield.”
“Ravyn Mayfield.” He gave her a hard look. “Where does your family hail from?”
She shrugged and winced. “I don’t know. As far as I know I’m an orphan.”
Rhys opened his mouth to ask more, but someone rapped against the door—much to her relief. She wasn’t sure how much about herself she wanted to share.
He opened the door. “Come in.”
Two young boys with flaming red hair and sheepish grins stumbled into the room. They reminded Ravyn of puppies—all feet and little grace. They hobbled a large wooden tub to a corner of the room, bowed, and left. A few seconds later, two girls arrived. One draped the tub with a cloth liner while the other opened a small door in the wall to reveal a wide spigot. She positioned the tap directly over the tub and pushed the iron lever above the tap in a wide arc. Water poured from the spigot and into the bathtub.
“That’s amazing.” Ravyn walked to the tub and stretched out her arm. Warm water poured over her fingers. She smiled at the girls. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The inn is built near Dragon Springs so we always have a supply of hot water, my lady,” the older of the two girls explained. “When it’s full, just pull the lever back and the flow will stop.”
The girls curtsied and left.
Within minutes, the tub brimmed, steaming and hot. Rhys shut off the water.
“I believe this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She sighed at the thought of washing the filth from her body. “I may need your help with my dress, but you’ll close your eyes, yes?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I need to stitch you before you bathe.”
She opened her mouth to argue but another knock sounded at the door. Without waiting, the visitor entered. She was the most beautiful woman Ravyn had ever seen. Though middle-aged, the woman radiated vitality. Her glow of health and happiness filled the room. Long blond hair, the color of a pearl, curled around her shoulders, and her vibrant green eyes rivaled the lushest meadow.
Ravyn pulled the blanket tighter and drifted forward to stand behind Rhys. Maybe his broad shoulders would hide most of the night’s filth and damage.
“Lord Blackwell, I saw you arrive. Orvis told me the happy news of your marriage.” Her voice was soft and low. Ravyn clung to the blanket. What she wanted most right now was to melt into the wall.
“Willa, you are as beautiful as ever.” Rhys walked toward the woman, leaving Ravyn exposed. He kissed her on each cheek and turned to Ravyn. “May I present my wife, Lady Romelda Blackwell. Romelda, this is Willa.”
Ravyn shot Rhys a heated glance. Romelda? Was that the best he could come up with? She leveled a bright smile on Willa. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“It’s an honor and a pleasure to have you here, my lady.” Willa reached to take Ravyn’s hand and stopped, her eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”
Ravyn’s smile thinned. “Yes, a small accident, but I’m fine.”
The innkeeper’s gaze darted between her and Rhys, but she made no further comment.
“Are you Orvis’s wife?” Ravyn said, attempting to change the subject.
Willa’s suspicious look evaporated and she smiled. “I am.”
“And all those children are yours?” The idea of this beauty giving birth to so many was inconceivable.
Willa beamed. “The five oldest are from Orvis’s first wife, Saints rest her soul. And I birthed the youngest five, but all the children are ours.”
Ravyn imagined she’d beam, too, if she’d delivered five babies. Still, ten children in all. It seemed a bit excessive. And though she liked Orvis, she couldn’t imagine him as Willa’s lover. She blushed. When had such wicked thoughts crept into her head?
Willa held out a pile of serviceable items to her. “I’ve brought you a change of clothes. Orvis said you were traveling light.”
While living in the abbey she’d helped the needy. Now she was the needy. This change of station didn’t sit well with her. “Thank you, but I can’t accept.”
“Nonsense. We have more than enough. Besides, we’ll tack it onto your husband’s charges.” She laid the clothing on the bed. “Now, Lord Blackwell, I believe there are some lovely refreshments waiting for you downstairs. Why don’t you go and enjoy them while I help your wife bathe?”
Ravyn sputtered, her swelling protests only outdone by Rhys’s. What if Willa saw her injuries? First, she’d ask questions, and then throw Rhys and her out. Though being alone with Rhys made Ravyn uncomfortable, at least he knew of her wounds a
nd she wouldn’t be forced to explain.
“Hush, now.” Willa pushed Rhys toward the door. “I’ll see to these duties.”
“We appreciate your kindness.” He planted his feet to stop his expulsion. “But I’d like to tend to my wife.”
Willa laid her hands on his upper arms. “I’ll take care of her, my lord. Gather your strength. Let me help. You can heal her later.”
Ravyn watched their exchange. How did Willa know? Were they so transparent in their lie? Weakness washed over her and she eased onto the bed. Rhys looked at her. She returned his stare, willing him to stay, afraid of Willa’s condemnation.
After several seconds, he said, “You’ll require a needle and thread. She needs to be stitched.”
Ravyn groaned at his words.
“She’ll tell you she doesn’t, but she does. And she doesn’t like needles. If need be I can hold her down.”
Ravyn gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She glowered at him. “Traitor.”
Willa’s smiled indulgently and patted Rhys’s arm. “Thank you, but I think we can manage.”
He gave Ravyn a long look. Without encouragement or reassurance, he turned and left the room.
Willa walked toward her. “Now, let’s see what we have here.”
She lifted the blanket from Ravyn’s shoulders, revealing her blood-soaked dress. “My, my, my, it appears you ran into a little trouble. Bane?”
Ravyn coughed, caught off guard by Willa’s deduction. “You’re not surprised?”
“After being married to Orvis, not a lot surprises me anymore.” She dropped the blanket to the floor. “We’re familiar with the Demon Bane and their minions.”
“When you say we, do you mean you and Orvis?”
“Me, Orvis, our children, and others. Let’s get you out of these clothes and stitched up.” She reached in her pocket and produced a small leather pouch. “And don’t try to sweet-talk me. You need to be stitched and wrapped before infection sets in. As it is, you’ll probably have a few nasty marks.”
“I think…” Ravyn’s stomach churned as she watched Willa thread a long, sharp needle. “I believe I’d rather have the infection.”