by Lisa Shea
Hugh stood alongside Joan, his warmth heating more than her arm. The low rumble of his voice eased through her.
“And now what, oh guardian angel?”
She took a step forward, breaking the contact which threatened to suck her in. She raised her voice, calling out to the woods beyond the house. “Jake! You can come out now. I have another task for you.”
There was a pause, a rustle, and Jake loped across the clearing toward them, his face chagrined. He drew to a stop before them, hanging his head.
“I know you told me to go back home, but I just couldn’t,” he insisted. “I knew you might need me.”
Joan gave a wry smile. “And so we do,” she assured him. “I need you to get to the Riverside Tavern as quickly as you can. Take Sarah’s other horse. Go up to Greslet – only to Greslet. Tell him that Joan has ten presents for him in need of wrapping at the mill. Just that. Then take the horse home with you. You can say Sarah dropped it off on her way to her sister’s, so you could care for it.”
Jake didn’t need a second prodding. He nodded in understanding and slipped within the stables. In a few minutes he was galloping full tilt down the road to the west.
Hugh’s voice was the soft purr of a tiger, and she felt the draw of it. “And what shall you and I do while we wait?”
Joan knew if she turned that she would be caught in those eyes, would lose all sense of the outside world. The location was not secure enough for that. Not yet.
Reluctantly, she nudged with her head. “You go neaten up the back of the mill,” she instructed, not changing her gaze from the far-off woods. “I will take care of this side.”
She heard the amusement in his voice. “As you wish.” Then, to her relief, he had gone.
Joan focused on the task at hand. The first man was near the door, so she started with him. She lifted both feet of the corpse and tugged hard.
He slid perhaps an inch.
Joan’s shoulders dropped, but she took in a deep breath and began dragging him, slowly but steadily, along the path. The Sheriff could easily plan to stop by and check on his plan’s progress. There could be no evidence of what had occurred.
She took her time, finally getting the first man into the building and moving to the second. Her shoulders were aching by the time he joined his friend in the shadows. Then it was the little details - gathering up the carved stick one man had dropped, checking for any larger evidence that might have been left behind. She knew the team Greslet sent would manage the rest.
There was the steady thrum of hoofbeat in the distance, and Joan stilled. Behind her the stride of footsteps preceded Hugh as he rounded the corner to come to her side. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade.
His voice was low. “Friends?”
She attentively watched the western path, running her fingers down to settle on the leather of her sword’s grip. The sound drew nearer, a shape stirred in the forest –
Her shoulders eased in relief as a large, black horse came toward them, its rider reining in as he approached. The man astride was short and wiry, with curly black hair and jet-black eyes.
She smiled in welcome. “Wymon. So Greslet got the message.”
He nodded, dropping lightly from the saddle and coming up to look between the two. “He did indeed. Greslet is one happy man tonight. This crew was a persistent thorn in his side. Always causing trouble in the den. Gambling, losing, and refusing to settle their debts.” He glanced toward the mill. “All inside, then?”
Joan nodded. “And Sarah is safely off at her sister’s. I told her to stay for three days.”
“I’ll be set by tomorrow, noon,” he responded absently, his eyes moving from floor to floor of the mill. “Scrubbed, boiled, and clean. The sheriff won’t find a trace of what happened.” He glanced back down the path for a moment. “My team should be here shortly to get started.” He turned to look back at Joan, then his eyes slid to Hugh, a question held in them.
Joan gave herself a shake. “Oh, of course, I’d assumed you’d met at some point. Wymon, this is Hugh. He also served in the Holy Land.”
Wymon put out a hand, and the two shook. Then Wymon looked over their shoulders. “And the rest of your crew? We’ll need to get alibis for the lot of you.”
Joan’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Nobody else. Just us two.”
Wymon paused at that, blinking, staring between the two with fresh attention. “Just the two of you? Went up against Tobias and his men?”
Hugh gave a low chuckle. “If I hadn’t happened to be there, Joan would have gone in solo.”
Wymon blew out his breath, shaking his head. “Joan, even you know better than that. The man had no scruples at all. And his team was one of the best in the land.”
Joan’s eyes sparkled. “But not the best,” she pointed out.
Wymon gave a low laugh at that, nodding his head. “Apparently not,” he agreed. “But even more reason to get the two of you to where you’ll be seen, and quickly. The Sheriff will be after you like a tick on a dog, and you’ll want to have your story straight.” He glanced to the east. “Head in to the Pickled Pear, and go around the back. The second window from the left has a diamond shape carved beneath it – climb in there. Then call out loud for Maggie. They’ll do the rest.”
Joan nodded obediently. “Maggie it is. And thank you for your help.”
Wymon smiled at that. “Ah, lass, this is a tiny price to pay to be rid of that lot. Now you two go, and be quick about it. If the Sheriff catches you before you’re safely inside, there’s no telling what he might do.”
In minutes Joan and Hugh were astride their steeds, flying through the night, racing against the moon.
Chapter 7
Joan pressed her back against the tavern’s wall as Hugh carefully peered into the darkened window. Their horses were tethered to an elderly maple, and Joan could swear she saw two of the Sheriff’s men’s mounts in the stables as they crept past. Were they inside at this very minute?
Hugh finished his survey and nodded to her. She stepped forward, he made a step with his hands, and she used it to climb up and through the window. In a moment he had hoisted himself up to join her.
The room was small but neat, with a single bed against the side wall. A square table stood opposite with a stool beneath. The only item on the table was an empty iron candlestick. The door in the far wall was closed.
Hugh turned to stand before her. “We haven’t had a moment to talk since the fight. I would hope, if you’d been seriously wounded, that you would have spoken up before now.”
She nodded. “No real harm done; some bruises and scrapes that will heal.” Her hand went to her neck. “Almost didn’t make it out of that, though.”
His eyes shadowed, and he brought a hand to cradle her cheek. “When I came through that door, and saw you fading –” His breath caught, and he drew her hard against him, wrapping her in his embrace. His voice was a whisper in her ear. “Next time we stay together,” he murmured. “Side by side.”
She smiled, touched by his concern. “As you wish,” she replied in a low voice, nuzzling against his neck.
He gave a low groan, and with clear effort he took a step back, separating himself from her. “We need to establish our alibi,” he reminded her in a voice rough with passion. “I need to keep you safe.”
He turned, hammering at the door. “Maggie! Are you out there?”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall, and Hugh’s hand dropped to his hilt. He nudged his head to the other side of the door, and Joan went without a word. If the Sheriff were indeed here with his men, they would need every advantage to get back out again.
The door swung in, hiding Joan behind it, and a burly man stepped through. He was middle-aged, with greying hair and a leathered face. His heavy, white apron was smeared with blood, and he wiped his hands on a less grimy portion of it as he stepped across the threshold.
“I’m Bossard, the owner here,” he stated without preamble, his eyes scanni
ng Hugh without much interest. “Haven’t seen you before, so here’s the drill. I go out and make comments about how you’ve been holed up in here for hours.” He took a thin stub of a candle from his pocket, stuck it into the candleholder, and lit it. “Ten minutes from now, when this candle goes out, you come into the common room and make a fuss. Where’s your ale, that sort of a thing. Then I send you back in here and we make clear over the coming hours how you are staying busy in here.” He gave a low laugh. “Those drunken sots will blur the whole night together. They’ll swear you were at it all night long.”
He ran his eyes down Hugh again, nodding. “Bridget will be just right for you. Red-head, fiery, I bet she’s just your type.”
Joan’s blood boiled, and hot fury filled every corner of her being. She burst out from behind the door glaring at both men. “She will not step foot in this room!”
Bossard shook his head as he turned. “I apologize, Sir,” he grumbled. “I didn’t realize you already had yourself a whore -”
The word hung in the air, and he stared at Joan in shock, his mouth hanging open. After a long moment he closed it with effort, but it took a swallow before he could speak again. “Joan?”
Joan moved to stand next to Hugh. “Hello, Bossard.”
He blinked again, shook his head, and suddenly the color drained from his face. “You need an alibi? It’s not Sarah, is it? Is she all right? Aiden will be beside himself if she’s hurt. You know he thinks the world of her.”
Joan smiled in reassurance. “Sarah is fine. She’s at her sister’s.” The corner of her mouth tweaked up. “Perhaps your son could go keep her company there. I would guess she’s finally ready to start thinking about her future.”
Bossard’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank the Lord,” he sighed. “Aiden would have been heartbroken if anything had happened to her. He asked her repeatedly to give up on the mill, to come move in with us. But you know Sarah. Stubborn as an apple-crazed mule.”
Joan grinned. “I do indeed.”
Hugh held Bossard’s gaze. “So, about that alibi?”
Bossard shook himself back into focus. “Yes, yes, of course. The horses are out back? We’ll get them tended to. For you two, you need to wait ten minutes. You come out tousled and …” He reddened and looked over to Joan. “If that is all right, of course. It’s just what we’ve always done. We can instead try –”
Joan slid an arm around Hugh’s waist, the warmth of his body permeating her. “Oh, we can do tousled,” she reassured Bossard.
A low groan came from Hugh as her fingers wrapped along his hip, and Bossard chuckled. “Ten minutes,” he reminded them, then turned and closed the door behind him.
Hugh turned in place, sliding his hands along her hips, interlacing his fingers at her back and drawing her in to him. His voice was the rumbling strength of a waterfall. “And just how tousled do you want to be?”
She brought her lips up to his neck, nibbling gently at the tender skin there. “Oh, I want to be thoroughly and completely tousled,” she whispered.
He swept her up in his arms, carrying her over to the bed. “We only have ten minutes,” he reminded her, his eyes smoky.
She chuckled. “Then you had better get going.”
*
It was closer to twenty minutes before Hugh and Joan strode into the main room of the tavern, but the reaction was all she could have hoped for. A hush fell across the room as ten tables’ worth of faces turned to them first in interest, then in open surprise as it became clear just who the two involved were. In a moment the room was filled with cheers and laughter, toasting mugs and shouted congratulations.
Hugh lifted Joan up in his arms, whirling her around, and the cacophony grew. The patrons began pounding on the tables, cheering, and Hugh brought Joan to face him, sweeping her into a long, passionate kiss. The room erupted into applause.
Bossard stepped forward, a pair of mugs in his hands. “All right,” he joked. “Here’s your mead. The last three times I came by with it, you two were, erm, occupied.” He gave a meaningful wink to the crowd, handing over the tankards.
Joan swept hers up, tilted her head back, and drank down the cool liquid. She was beyond parched, and the smooth mead was exactly what she needed. She lifted the mug slowly, draining every last drop, and when she was done she slammed the mug down onto the table, sending it ringing.
A cheer echoed throughout the room, and Hugh shook his head in mock surprise. “Barkeep, another round for my woman. It’s hard enough to keep her satisfied!”
Laughter erupted around them, with more toasts and whistles.
Joan scanned the group around them. Most she knew well – farmers and merchants, a stable owner and a pair of lads from the next town over. But there – she stilled for a moment. They were two of the Sheriff’s men. Their faces were tight together, and one of them glanced at the door.
Hugh had followed her gaze; he nodded in understanding. He raised his voice. “Another round, in fact, for everyone! Tonight is a night for celebration!”
The cheers grew louder. Joan smiled as the Sheriff’s men sat back in their seats, their eyes moving attentively to where Bossard was dutifully pouring out the fresh pitchers. Apparently the Sheriff’s minions had their own priorities.
Bossard looked out at the crowd. “A celebration indeed! I think I’ll get Minnie to sing us some songs, and dance for us as well! That would go nicely with the free round. What do you fine lads think?”
The room erupted in applause, with the Sheriff’s men clapping harder than the rest. Joan was all smiles when Bossard bustled back over, pressing a pair of fresh mugs into their hands.
“You’ll be set until after dawn, at this rate,” he murmured with a wink. “Best get yourselves back into the room, though.”
Joan turned in Hugh’s embrace, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “Ready to take me to bed again?”
The heat in his gaze was all she could have hoped for.
*
Joan blinked awake, her body rich with lassitude and comfort. Hugh’s arm was draped over her body, his back to the locked door. His breath came in long, even draws. The soft glow of early morning light eased through the window, sending a glistening shaft of dust motes dancing across the center of the room.
She leant forward, brushing her lips against Hugh’s. He came awake instantly, his gaze softening as he saw who was before him, then becoming smoky with desire. He returned her kiss, softly at first, then with growing heat –
There was a jangle of metal from the other side of the door and a low curse. Bossard’s voice came in soft apology. “My fault, Sheriff; I can be clumsy at times.”
Hugh sat up in bed, blocking Joan with his body, and his dagger was in his hand by the time the door swung open. Sheriff Elias strode into the room, his two minions close behind him. The Sheriff was in his thirties, with short, dun-brown hair and a pockmarked face. He wore a crimson tunic with black leggings, and the scabbard which held his sword was intricately engraved with curling black scroll-work.
The Sheriff wrinkled his nose in disappointment. “Oh, Hugh, it’s you. So your little charade with Joan didn’t hold up for long. She took off already? It figures. What whore did you actually end up with for the night?”
Joan had heard enough. She wrapped the sheet around her chest, then sat up, moving to be alongside Hugh.
The Sheriff blinked in surprise, looking between the two. Then he shook his head. “She probably heard me coming and climbed back in the window,” he muttered. “There’s no way you two actually –”
Hugh peeled back the sheets from his own body and drew to his feet, stark naked. He settled the dagger in his grip. “There’s your proof,” he growled.
The Sheriff’s eyes lit up in anticipation, and he turned to stare greedily at Joan.
Hugh’s gaze narrowed. “If you take one step closer to Joan, then you and I will have a problem.”
The Sheriff looked as if he would be half-willing to brave that, bu
t he glanced again at the layers of muscles on Hugh’s body, on the twisting scars which showed evidence of his years in the field. At last the air slid out of him, and he gave an elaborate shrug of the shoulders. “Guess I rated her too highly,” he tossed out. “Seems she’ll tumble anyone she comes across, in a seedy bed in the back of whatever tavern is convenient.”
Joan pressed her lips together, but forced herself to remain quiet.
The Sheriff looked between the two of them. “If you had something to do with Tobias’s disappearance, I’ll find the evidence of it.” His grin widened. “And when I do, I’ll greatly enjoy handling your punishment. Personally.”
Joan set her voice to hold sweet innocence. “Oh, have you lost your pet?”
The Sheriff’s look darkened. “Don’t you forget, my pet has nine minions who are loyal to him. If you have hurt him in any way, you’ll not only have me to deal with, but them as well.”
Joan held his gaze. “I won’t forget a thing.”
He nodded, then turned on his heel, the two other men scurrying after him.
Bossard waited a long moment for their footsteps to fade before turning to the two. “I’m so sorry. They got me up out of bed, and –”
Joan waved her hand. “You did the best you could, by giving us that warning. You go on back to your work; we’ll be fine.”
Bossard bobbed his head, looking between them. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are.” He pulled the door closed behind him, and his footsteps moved away.
Joan looked up at Hugh, still standing nude by the bed. Heat eased through her at the sight. He turned, caught her gaze, and gave a low laugh.
“Not quite ready for breakfast, then?”
She put a hand up to draw him down. “Not quite yet.”
*
It was just after noon by the time they were dressed and sitting at a corner table in the main dining area, enjoying bowls of delicious venison stew with apple and pear. Joan took a swallow of ale, leaning back in her chair.
The tavern’s front door swung open, and Jake scampered over to Joan and Hugh, his thin body vibrating with energy. He blurted out his news before he came to a full stop. “Greslet wants to see you.”