As soon as the maid ushered Simon into the room, the girl was quick to make her escape. The Brass Horse was not the roistering place it had once been. Even so the silence seemed deafening to Simon when the door closed, shutting him in alone with Miri. He dropped the saddlebags to the floor with a loud thud.
Someone, either the maid or Miri, had already lit the candles, fending off the twilight shadows. Most likely it had been the maid because Miri stood poised in the center of the room like a woman who had not made up her mind to stay. Her face still half obscured by the flopping brim of her battered hat, she seemed to be taking stock of their surroundings.
Not that there was much to see beyond a pair of wooden stools, a small round table, the washstand, and . . . the bed, a thick feather mattress covered by a worn counterpane, not very wide, with two pillows nestled side by side, close, intimate as any two people would be who crowded into that bed together.
After an initial protest at his decision to stop for the night, Miri had said little since crossing the threshold of the inn. But now she turned to frown at him. “You seriously expect the two of us to share this one room?”
“Well, it would look damned odd if I told the landlord that we lads required separate rooms, wouldn’t it, Louis?” he asked caustically. “Unless you expect some sort of royal treatment because you adopted the name of kings?”
“No, I don’t and I didn’t call myself that because of any king.” She ducked deeper beneath the brim of her hat, saying in a quieter voice. “Louis was my father’s name.”
Simon winced, feeling like a complete bastard. He was as edgy as she was regarding this situation, but that was no excuse. He should have remembered. Miri had spoken of her father often enough that first summer they had met, so fiercely proud to be the daughter of the bold Chevalier Louis Cheney. When they had wandered the shores of the hidden cove, how often had her gaze strayed wistfully to the channel waters, as though expecting at any moment to see the billow of sails wafting her father home.
“Sorry,” Simon muttered, sagging back against the closed door. “But this is one consequence of our little pact neither one of us paused to consider, that we will be thrust intimately together for the duration of this journey, both day and night.”
“We—we will manage somehow.”
Simon wished he was as sure of that. After another moment’s hesitation, Miri stripped off her hat and tossed it on the bed. As she bent to retrieve her saddlebag, her tunic rode up, the fabric of her breeches drawing tight over the full curve of her derriere. Simon looked frantically around the room for something to do, anything that didn’t involve staring at Miri’s shapely arse.
He stalked over to the window and peered down into the yard, just able to make out the outline of the well and the stables where Samson and Elle were housed. All seemed quiet and deserted, but he ought to sit up all night watching, with a loaded pistol at the ready—
Simon checked himself with a heavy scowl, realizing he was being ridiculous. None of the Silver Rose’s agents had been seen here since the night Lucie Paillard had vanished. It was unlikely they would decide to put in an appearance tonight. Never once had the witches attempted to attack him when he was at an inn with other people around.
He wasn’t thinking straight and he knew why. Miri. The woman’s mere presence unsettled him in more ways than he could count. He was far too aware of her moving about the chamber behind him, the splash of water as she dipped into the wash basin, cleansing away the dust of the day.
When he breathed in, it was as though her scent pervaded the room, something warm, enticingly feminine. A far too seductive aroma. He leaned out the window to clear his nostrils. A light breeze coming off the river tickled the ends of his beard. With the onset of twilight, the air had cooled, but not nearly enough, it seemed to Simon.
He should have tried harder to dissuade Miri from coming with him, he berated himself. But he knew the woman’s stubborn resolve all too well. She had meant it when she had threatened to go after the Silver Rose alone.
But that had not been what had really swayed him. It had been the earnest way she had looked up at him when she had said, “I am a true daughter of the earth, and this evil woman defiles all the goodness and harmony I believe in, every principle that I hold dear. It is my duty to stop her as much as it is yours. How can I make you understand?”
She couldn’t. Simon had never been able to fully comprehend the distinction Miri made between wise women and witches. Any dabbling with magic and the ancient lore seemed to him dangerous and forbidden. And yet Miri was so passionate about what she declared to be the true way of the daughters of the earth, she was willing to risk her life in its defense. He might not like it, might not understand it, but by God, he respected her for it.
And she was right when she said that he required her help. He’d had no success defeating the Silver Rose on his own and Miri had more abilities and connections among the community of wise women than he had ever suspected. He needed whatever knowledge and skill she possessed, needed her with him however long it took to hunt down this sorceress.
But the upcoming days and nights were going to be damned difficult if he didn’t manage to draw rein on the other emotions and desires the woman roused in him. He swept one last searching glance over the stable yard before closing and fastening the shutters. When he came about, he wished that he had kept his gaze trained outside a while longer.
Miri had unpinned and unbraided her hair, the silken tresses cascading like a waterfall of moonlight about her shoulders. As she groped beneath her tunic, he caught a flash of creamy white skin. She struggled to undo the thick strip of linen she had used to bind her breasts. As it came free, she pulled the length of cloth from inside her tunic with a soft sigh of relief that whispered over him, as seductive as a caress.
With the neckline of her tunic loosened, the folds parted enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the valley of her breasts, and the desire that pierced Simon was as swift and sharp as the bolt of an arrow. He knew he ought to drag his gaze away but continued to watch her as though mesmerized.
Completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him, Miri dipped a sponge in the washbasin and stroked the cool, cleansing water over her neck, her eyes closing in an expression of almost sensual delight. Droplets trickled over her delicate collarbone, past the silver chain she wore, disappearing into the soft swell of her cleavage.
Difficult? Simon gritted his teeth, feeling himself go hard. These next days and nights were going to be pure hell. As Miri toweled herself dry, she finally seemed to remember she was not alone in the room. As she came about to face him, she adjusted her neckline to a more demure position.
“We should not have come here, Simon,” she said gravely. “This hostelry has an unhappy aura.”
He regarded her incredulously. They were embarking on a hunt that imperiled both their lives. They were pent up in a bedchamber that seemed to him to be getting smaller by the minute and she was worried about the inn’s blasted aura?
Miri shuddered. “It is as though some great sorrow presses down upon the very rafters.”
Simon was surprised that she should have sensed that, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Miri had always possessed a heightened sensitivity, an uncanny sympathy with her surroundings. Simon had told her nothing of the Paillards and their tragic history. He was in no humor for another argument and he feared that Miri would attempt to convince him that like the Moreau girl, Lucie Paillard was only misguided. Simon knew better. But at least a discussion of the shortcomings of the Brass Horse might serve to put a damper on the heat stirring in his loins.
“I admit this isn’t the cheeriest place,” he said. “But it’s clean, comfortable, and more important, safe. And it is only for the one night.”
“I still don’t know why you insisted we stop at all. Samson was fresh enough to continue on and so was Elle.” She plunked the towel back down on the washstand. “I thought you usually traveled under cover
of darkness.”
“Not with you, I don’t. Look. I thought we agreed that I was to be the one in charge of this pursuit. This alliance isn’t going to work if you are already questioning my decisions.”
“It won’t work either if you insist upon regarding me as some—some helpless woman who needs your protection,” she insisted.
Simon stole a look at the silken shimmer of her hair, the soft swell of her unbound breasts that now burgeoned against the fabric of her tunic. He blew out a gusty breath.
“You are a woman. How the devil else do you expect me to regard you?”
“Like a brother in arms.”
Simon snorted. “I am afraid that requires more imagination than I possess, despite your efforts to look like a man.” He raked his gaze disapprovingly over her attire. “Do you really think this inappropriate disguise of yours deceives anyone?”
“It does frequently. People seldom trouble to look that closely. I simply pull my hat lower, deepen my voice, and lengthen my stride.” Miri strutted a few steps in a remarkable imitation of a cocksure, swaggering youth. “It works, Simon.”
“Until you bend over,” he muttered.
“What?”
Simon squirmed, feeling he’d do better to keep the observation to himself, but the woman needed to be warned, damn it.
“When you bend over, the seat of your breeches—well, it—it hugs your—” Simon gestured uncomfortably in the general direction of her posterior. “The fabric tightens and one can see the curve of your—your arse.” He broke off, annoyed to feel himself reddening.
Miri’s eyes widened. She twisted her neck, peering over her shoulder as though trying to observe the phenomenon for herself. He expected her to be embarrassed, appalled, even offended. He was not prepared for her to break into a peal of delighted laughter.
“You find it amusing?” he asked stiffly.
“No, merely reassuring. For most of my girlhood, I was so flat, I despaired of ever acquiring any womanly curves worth worrying about. But I am sorry if the sight of my, um, arse distresses you. I’ll take better care to remain upright in your presence. I had forgotten what a prim lot you witch-hunters are.”
“I am not prim, damn it—”
“Yes you are,” Miri said, her eyes dancing. “You always were. Even as a boy, you pursed your lips when you saw me roaming about Faire Isle in my baggy breeches.”
“That’s because it wasn’t decent or respectable for a girl to dress thus.”
“I come from a family of accused witches and my sister Gabrielle was once one of the most notorious courtesans in Paris. I think respectability and I parted company a long time ago. Besides, you should try traveling a long distance trussed up in a corset, clinging for dear life to a sidesaddle or riding astride with your petticoats bunched around your knees. I gave up my comfortable masculine garb once before to please you, Simon Aristide. I am not going to do it again.”
“I don’t recall you ever doing any such thing.”
She flattened her hands on her hips in mock indignation as she accused, “I endured the torment of skirts and petticoats and you never even noticed.”
But as Simon reflected back, suddenly he remembered quite well. Those had been tense and difficult days for him that first summer on Faire Isle, torn between his fondness for Miri and his loyalty to his master, Vachel Le Vis.
The Comte de Renard had succeeded in destroying most of their brotherhood of witch-hunters. The ruthless sorcerer had been fairly tearing the island apart in his efforts to finish off those few who remained. Miri had helped Simon hide in a cave just off the cove, fetching him food and wine every day. She had loaned him her own masculine clothing to replace the dark robes and cowl Master Le Vis had obliged his followers to wear.
Not only had Miri abandoned her efforts to look like a boy, she had turned up each day wearing a frock, her hair bound back in ribbons. Arrogant young cockerel that he had been, he had been aware she was completely infatuated with him. He had been fond of her, too, but from the lofty experience of his fifteen years, he had considered her mere twelve as little more than a child.
Simon grimaced. His life would be a damn sight easier these upcoming days if he could still view Miri that way, not be so painfully aware of what a desirable woman she had become.
Her lips aquiver, her eyes sparkled with mischief as she continued to tease. “I suppose if it bothers you that much, I could spare your blushes and try to purchase a gown from one of the women in this village. If you truly wish it.”
Although she provoked a smile from Simon, he said, “What I wish, my dear, is that you were well out of this dangerous business. Back home on your island, completely safe.”
The light of laughter in her eyes dimmed. “Completely safe,” she repeated wistfully. “I have been looking for that place my entire life. I don’t believe it exists, do you?”
“No, but you’d be a damned sight safer back on Faire Isle than you are here with me.”
She seemed to realize he was talking about far more than the dangers presented by the Silver Rose. She cocked her head to one side, regarding him in that curious searching way that was uniquely Miri’s.
“Am I not safe in your company, Simon?” she asked. “There is something I have been wanting to ask you. About the—the way we parted on Faire Isle. That kiss . . .”
Oh, Lord. He had wondered when she might get around to reproaching him for that, had been dreading it.
“That was a mistake. I mean, I—I don’t know what devil got into me,” he blustered. “I am sorry. I never meant to offend you.”
“You didn’t. You merely startled me.” Her lashes drifted down as she confessed almost shyly. “I don’t believe I have ever been kissed quite so—so vigorously before. I fear I liked it more than I should have done.”
Simon’s breath hitched in his throat. Did the woman always have to be so infernally honest? Didn’t she understand what a dangerous admission that was to make, closeted alone with a man in a bedchamber? Especially when she added fuel to the fire by unconsciously moistening her lips, rendering her mouth all too red, lush, and tempting.
“Don’t worry about that kiss. Nothing like that will happen again,” he said hoarsely, although he was uncertain who he was most desperately seeking to convince, her or himself. “I wasn’t myself that night and I was so sure it would be the last time we met. I fully expected to be dead soon.”
She glanced up at him with a quizzical smile. “You feared you were about to die and you couldn’t think of anything better to do than kiss me?”
“It would seem not.”
Even knowing he’d be far wiser to keep his distance, he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, skating his fingertips down the soft curve of her cheek, this woman whose life had been so strangely, so inexplicably bound up with his. A mortal maid with fairy eyes. Silvery eyes in which he could see reflections of the child who had enchanted him, the girl whose budding beauty had tugged at his heart, the woman who stirred his senses, despite all the iron-cold walls he tried to erect between them.
He had despaired of ever seeing Miri again that pearly gray evening he’d left Faire Isle and yet here she was gazing up at him, a little shy, a little wary, but with far more trust than he had any right to expect. As Simon stroked her face, she leaned into his hand, unconsciously welcoming his caress.
The realization struck him with all the force of a cudgel to the brain, the true reason he had not tried harder to dissuade her from coming with him. Not because he was afraid of what she might attempt to do on her own or because he wanted to make use of her knowledge and skills. No, he quite simply wanted . . . her. When Simon forced his hand back to his side, Miri blinked like a woman snapping awake from a dream.
“You have always been my one weakness, Miri Cheney,” he murmured. His admission seemed to trouble her as much as it did him. Before she could say anything, he rushed on, “I think I had best spend the rest of this night keeping watch. From the other side of that
door.”
“But—but you need to get some sleep too,” she said. “Of course, there is no question of us sharing the bed, but surely you could make a pallet on the floor and—”
“I think we both realize that would be a bad idea,” he interrupted.
She colored, fretting the chain suspended about her neck. “Yes, perhaps you are right.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t be that far away,” he said. “There is no reason for you to be afraid.”
“I am not, but . . .” she trailed off frowning.
“Of course you aren’t.” Simon’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “That is one of the most astonishing things about you, your lack of fear. You accused me earlier of doubting your strength and courage, but I have long thought you the bravest lady I’ve ever known. I can never forget that night we first met, how you were trying single-handed to fight off a score of witches to save that cat from being sacrificed.”
Although Miri smiled a little at the reminder, she protested. “They weren’t witches. Only a pack of stupid, ignorant girls.”
“And what about that time in Paris when I behaved like such a ruthless ass? You marched through an entire troop of mercenary witch-hunters to see me. I still can’t imagine why you took such a risk.”
“Because I believed in you, Simon.” She looked up at him, adding softly, “I still wish that I could.”
“Don’t. I’ll only disappoint you.” He deposited a brusque kiss against her forehead. “Good night, my dear. Bar the door behind me.”
The Silver Rose Page 16