“Oh! The soup, of course.” She snatched a wooden spoon from the table and bent to stir the contents of the pot when she flew a hand to her mouth and lurched back up to her feet. “I am sorry, I cannot…I fear my former pride forbade me from admitting the truth, that I am overtired.”
The weight of the revelation made his limbs drag against the floor, but he ushered her to the room. “You should retire early, my dear. Tomorrow is full. I shall fetch my own meal.”
She turned, innocence and love radiating through the tiny smile that lifted her mouth before she slipped into the bedchamber and shut the door, leaving William to tread the murky waters of reality alone.
Appetite long since vanished, he slumped in the chair nearest the fire and stared into the crackling fire. His long deceased enemy returned now from the world of the departed to begin again what he’d loathed to part from. Even in death, Samuel Martin would endeavor to dominate, endeavor to demean, and command his every breath.
And now, he must keep himself all the more closed, all the more hidden from the woman he loved.
~~~
Paul opened the door to the tavern and stepped in from the rain. The aroma of savory meat and yeasty bread consumed the warm air, and the sudden pang in his stomach reminded him he?
?d eaten nothing more than stale bread and fatty meat in bland broth for weeks. He pressed a hand to the wound that still pained. Soon, he promised himself, soon Donaldson would have a similar wound in the left of his chest.
He stepped toward the large kitchen fire in the back of the tavern. A tall, thin gentleman poked at a round of pork turning on a spit.
The stranger spoke without raising his eyes. “Care for a room or just a meal?”
Paul cloaked the abiding irritation with charm. “Aye, sir, I thank you. I should like a meal, indeed. “ He stopped and pivoted to glance over his shoulder. “But I am curious…perhaps you can help me…”
The man batted the air to quiet him. “Aye, just a moment—Kimball!”
Another man made his way through the crowd, his arm waving. “Coming, sir.”
“We’ve much to attend to and I’ll have nothing but your full attention.”
“Aye, sir.”
The proprietor poured ale into three large mugs. “Take these drinks to the table in the corner.”
With a nod the man took the large tray and hustled back from whence he came.
Paul followed with his gaze as the man weaved through the crowd toward a large table in the back. ’Twas the patriots, no doubt. Paul had seen them there before, full of self-righteous zeal. Foolish men. Ingrates—
“Now, how may I help you?”
Paul turned back with a quick shake of his head. “Of course.” He took another quick look behind before pinning his gaze on the man in front of him. “I am looking for a gentleman by the name of Warren Fox.”
The proprietor’s attention turned once again to the spit. “Don’t know him.”
“I hear he might be passing through. He is looking for his daughter and I wish to help him.” Such a sincere overture would not be ignored, surely.
Heaving a breath, the man stood, his forehead and neck glistening from sweat. He gestured to a man seated alone to the left of the patriot crowd. “You’ll be looking for him. Been in here several times before.”
“Really?” Paul allowed only a single eyebrow to rise, though anticipation burst like black powder. “The distinguished fellow, tan jacket, black hat?”
A nod was the only reply.
Paul bent slightly to offer his thanks before hurrying to the man he sought, the table a mess of maps and notes. When the fellow didn’t immediately look up, Paul readied his charm.
“Good evening, sir.”
Only the man’s eyes lifted, slowly, as if the intrusion were nearly a criminal offence. “Aye?”
Paul grinned wide. “Forgive me, I do not mean to disturb you, but if I may be so bold, are you—”
The heated patriot discussion cut off Paul’s words. Pressing back the scowl that itched to swell across his face, Paul looked up and stilled at the sudden recollection. The man from the print shop stared directly at him, his jaw hard, his arms crossed in front of his chest.