“Could you kindly—” she started with dignity, but he was already setting her on her feet.
“Keep up with me,” he said with a frown, and started toward the inn. Lenora huffed, but made haste to keep pace with him.
“It might be more convenient—” she puffed, but he did not let her finish, instead propelling her through the low inn door by jostling her through with a hand at her hip.
“Sir Garman!”
“I can’t make out your words through that mass of veils,” he lied. “Speak up.”
“I don’t—”
“Good day, good day, good sir and lady both!” a jocular voice hailed them. A round, ruddy-faced man beamed at them as he rubbed his hands with a cloth. “Will you be wanting a room for the night?”
“Two rooms,” Garman clarified, and saw Lenora relax slightly out of the corner of his eye.
“A hand-fasting!” the innkeeper exclaimed, catching sight of their wrists. “Felicitations!” He gave a quick bow. “You honor my humble abode; I will have your rooms readied forthwith.” Garman saw his gaze wander back to Lenora’s heavy veils with confused unease.
“And supper,” Garman growled.
“Immediately, good sir,” the innkeeper assured them, turning to look back over his shoulder. “Brigid!” he yelled. “Kate!” He turned back with an unctuous expression. “The main room is through here, good sir.” He gestured to the right of the entrance. “Where you and your lady can take your ease.”
Garman looked pointedly at Lenora, and she slipped past him into the room with him following on her heels. The landlord’s hand on his forearm stopped him. He froze and Lenora was also forced to come to a halt.
“Your pardon, good sir,” said the landlord hoarsely. He licked his lips. “I am but a humble man trying to make an honest living—”
“Spare me the spiel,” Garman cut across his words harshly. “What do you want?”
“Your assurance, good sir,” he said wringing his pudgy fingers. “That the lady is not afflicted with the plague.”
“The plague?” Garman repeated. “Nay, she is not—”
“I do not have the plague,” Lenora interrupted them, flinging back her veils. “As you can see, I am in perfect health with a few simple after-effects of the pox. I am long recovered from the actual illness.” She held up her face for the innkeeper’s perusal and Garman felt a stab in his gut that bewildered him. Evidently, his expression so terrified the landlord that he fell to bowing and scraping again.
“Your pardon, good sir, good lady,” he said hastily, his words tumbling over each other. “I meant no offence, I assure you!”
“None taken,” Lenora said sweetly, and turned on her heel, their bound wrists necessitating Garman follow into the room after her. “I’m starting to think you may have a point about the veils,” she muttered as they made their way to a table.
“Don’t do that again,” he said, just about managing to keep his tone even.
“Do what again?” asked Lenora. “You mean wear the headdress?”
“I mean,” he gritted the words out. “Present your face like that, for others to…” He broke off, “…look at,” he finished grimly.
Lenora looked at him with surprise as she dropped down into a seat. “You’ll have to sit opposite,” she said. “If our wrists are to remain bound through supper.”
He ignored her, sitting down beside her, forcing her to move up the bench. “I don’t like it,” he scowled.
“Yes, but he would not have let us stay if he thought I had the plague,” she pointed out reasonably.
“Oh yes he would have,” he said grimly and clapped his free hand to his sword hilt. “He would have accepted my word.”
“But what is the point in terrorizing the poor man, when I could so easily reassure him?”
He took a deep breath in and out. “Presumably, you’re wearing that veil because you don’t want people seeing your face.”
She appeared to consider this. “Well, yes, but…” She frowned. “In truth, it was more the scrutiny of people who knew me before that bothered me. They would be contrasting how I looked previously with how I look now. But mere strangers or new acquaintances don’t really make me feel the same need to hide.”
His gaze flickered to the headdress perched atop her head. “Why don’t you leave it off altogether, then?” he suggested. “No-one we meet on the road or at Cofton Warren will have known you before.” Lenora sat stock-still and for a moment he thought she would refuse. Then suddenly she reached up and plucked it from her head, setting it down on the table before them. She turned and looked at Garman wordlessly. “Better,” he growled. Then a servant approached with an ale jug, distracting them.
They ate what Garman considered to be a light supper of bread, cold meats, vegetable pottage and cheese, although his own trencher had to be re-filled several times before he considered his needs adequately met. He watched covertly as Lenora picked over her food. He ate four bowls in the time it took her to eat one, and even then, she did not fully empty it, but left at least a quarter of it unfinished. She smothered a yawn once or twice and eyed their bound wrists which laid on the table between them with an unfathomable expression. As for himself, he was strangely aware of the touch of her smooth, pale skin against his own rough and tanned forearm.
“I need a bath,” she said at last as he drained his ale to the dregs. “Did you order one?”
“Aye,” he admitted, slamming his cup back on the table.
“Oh good.” She glanced significantly at their bound wrists. He lifted an eyebrow. “If it hasn’t taken by now, it likely never will,” she said with a small smile.
He gave her a long, considering look, as he reached down for a dagger in his boot and then cut through the cords with a deft flick of the blade. “I believe it’ll hold,” he said.
He watched a look of surprise flit across her face, before she rubbed absent-mindedly at her freed wrist. “Should we drink a toast?” she said as a servant obligingly refilled their cups with frothing ale. Instead of shooting such a suggestion down, as was his first impulse, he found himself raising his cup and waiting for her to do the same. “To our bargain?” she said with a trace of uncertainty.
For some reason, it seemed to Garman the toast was lacking, but he could not have said why. “Aye,” he rumbled, but still paused, his cup hovering in the air.
As if aware of his dissatisfaction, she added. “A long life and happiness!” and looked across at him for agreement. He shrugged and swigged his ale. It would have to do.
8
Lenora heard the door open and close behind her and carried on dragging the wet cloth up and down her limbs. “Are there any more soap leaves, Berta?” she asked over her shoulder. “These ones don’t seem to work up a lather.”
“Likely the quality is not what you’re used to,” a deep voice rumbled, making Lenora drop the cloth with a yelp and a splash. She craned her head back to find Garman Orde stripping the clothes off his big, hard body. Lenora’s jaw dropped. “Wha—?”