King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

Of course, the innkeeper would not know that unless and until he opened it.

“She’ll need the entire room for herself,” Tadhg announced. “As previously arranged.”

Maggie stared at the pouch. The innkeeper did too, then shifted his gaze to her in silent assessment.

She peered down her nose at him. “The baron will not be pleased,” she intoned.

He twitched again, his mouth this time. “Well, I’m not certain—”

“Become certain,” Tadhg suggested, his voice low and cold.

The innkeeper looked between them, eyes narrowed, and twitched a few more facial features—nose, an extremely dimpled chin, his upper lip—then, in sudden decision, he pushed off his stool and came around the high counter.

“Come with me, my lady. I’ll get you some supper.”

She disguised her stuttered breath of relief as one of approval. Tadhg gestured her in front of him, and as he followed after, she saw him sweep the pouch off the counter and slide it under his cape.

Within minutes, they were seated on cushioned benches in the common room, before a roaring fire, platters of food laid on the table, and the innkeeper was barring the door against the oncoming night. And against any soldiers who might be out there, looking for them.

But Magdalena knew Tadhg was better protection than any door or lock. She knew it to the pores of her skin. His determination was his weapon, his intention a scythe cutting through any opposition.

The hostler bustled up a few moments later to announce their room was ready, and Tadhg, after engaging in a low, murmured conference with the man, lead her up the stairs to the room.

It was not large, but was extremely well-kept, with a high canopied bed, fresh, sweetly fragrant rushes, and a small table and chair. The tub sat at the foot of the bed, high-rimmed and steaming like fog over a dark hollow. No rose petals, but the aroma of lavender wafted into the room.

“Your bath,” Tadhg said, gesturing toward the tub as he shoved the door shut and barred it. Then he strode to the far window, pushed the shutters open and looked out, down to the streets below.

He stood there for long minutes in silence.

She let him be with his coldness and stern determination, let him stare out the window at nothing.

She circled the steaming tub, skirts whispering. Then she bent and carefully removed her shoes, unlacing the leather straps from around her ankles and calves, and slid them off. The plank floors were worn to silky softness under her toes. Turning her back to Tadhg, she unlaced the ribbons at the sides of her sleeveless overtunic and tugged it off.

She heard him turn.

She let the tunic fall to the ground. Heavy with want, she looked over her shoulder. He was watching her, just as he had when she undressed in the hut, but there was more light here in this inn, so he could see her better.

And she could see him.

Slowly, she let down her hair, until it spilled down over her body.

All their lovemaking had been done in low firelight and encroaching darkness. That was fire here too, but in this room, light ruled the night. There were many candles and two braziers burning hot, and oil lamps hanging on pegs in the walls, and she knew her body was lit for him in shades of amber and russet-rose, flickering in and out of light and shadow. She knew he wanted her.

Desire was in his eye, but also the banked fire of a caged beast. The sun was close to setting and as it lit the window behind him, a wash of red sunset light spilled into the room. He stood in it, backlit by it, an aura around him glowing with the strange winter light, while the front of him was cast in darkness, unreadable.

“Are you not frightened?” His low rumble broke the silence of the room.

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I trust you.” It was as simple and complicated as that. Trusted him to do everything he’d promised, not only in word, but in deed. The way he looked when he kissed her, when he sank deep inside her, that too was a vow, a promise for their future, and she believed in it. In him.

Even if he did not.

But tonight, Tadhg felt like a distant horizon. It seemed with every word spoken, every moment that passed, he was getting further and further away from her, like a ship setting sail.

And that frightened her.