Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(14)

Ruark wiped mud from his bearded chin and peered at the man. “Aye.”

“Then I’ll set these irons from ye, and we’ll be on our way. The day is awastin‘, and me mistress is awaitin’.”

They gained entrance to the inn by a back stairway, and none knew of their coming as they made their way to a small room tucked high beneath the rafters. After spreading their cloaks before the fire to dry, the two guards reluctantly took up posts outside the door, leaving Ruark to the care of Pitney. Pitney gestured to a wooden tub in the corner of the room.

“The chambermaid will fetch water for a bath. There’s a mirror for ye to mark yer appearance.” He opened a small leather chest and displayed the contents for Ruark. “The mistress sent garments to fit the occasion. She begs ye to groom yerself with care so as not to bring shame upon her.”

Ruark glanced askance at the brawny man and laughed without humor. “For one who has gone abegging, your mistress seeks much.”

Pitney gave no sign that he heard. He pulled a timepiece from a deep pocket in his waistcoat. “We’ve no more than two hours to dally here.”

Stowing the watch, he cocked his head slightly and regarded Ruark with a rare smile.

“In case ye’re ponderin‘ on what I would be, there’s two ways out of here. Through yonder door, with the good men outside just waitin’ fer a chance at ye, and this window.” He beckoned to Ruark and pushed open the shutters. It was a straight three-story drop to a pile of jagged rocks. “I have only to sound me pistol, and the other guard will bring the wagon around with all good speed.”

Ruark shrugged as the man closed the window against the chill drizzle and strode to a spot before the hearth.

“But either way, first ye must get past me.” Pitney doffed his heavy cloak and opened his coat to show a pair of oversized horse pistols tucked in his belt. After only a brief consideration and with complete honesty, Ruark assured him such ideas were far from his mind.

The chambermaid was a small but buxom lass, not quite plain, not quite pretty. If she claimed a score of years, it was a lie by four, and she betrayed her lack of age in her obvious reluctance to approach anywhere near the filthy patron. But having made all the preparations, she could delay only a bit more.

“I’ll shave ye in a minute, sir. But me razor’s a bit blunt. Let me fetch a strop.”

Her pale eyes flickered down Ruark’s torn and grimy clothes and warily came to rest on his mud-caked beard. An expression of disgust was all too evident on her face, and her freckled nose wrinkled at the stench of the mire on him. Quickly she skittered out upon her errand.

“Could be the wench doubts I’m human,” Ruark remarked wryly.

Pitney grunted as he lounged back on the bed, bracing his shoulders against the headboard and sipping from a mug of ale. “Ye needn’t fret none. Ye won’t be tarryin‘ long enough to try her.”

Ruark gave him a level stare. “ ‘Twas never my intent.” Considering the manservant, he added, “ ’Tis my wedding day, or have you forgot?”

Pitney’s scowl darkened as he swung his large feet to the floor, and he strode to the window where he could look out upon the gray day.

“I would not fret much on that, either,” he rumbled over his shoulder. Stretching his long arms wide and flexing his fingers in a low squeezing movement, he turned and smiled at Ruark, though there was little humor in his eyes. “I’m here to see out me mistress’s bidding, whether I like it or no. Me first task is always to see to her welfare, but that I judge for meself. I would not take it kindly should ye give me cause to doubt that her good is served.”

Ruark measured his answer with care. “I know little of this deed of which I am accused. In truth, I do not remember more than accompanying the wench to her room at the inn. With certainty I can avow, ‘twas not my babe she carried. I had not been a fortnight in the country and most of that I spent in Scotland. In fact, ’twas my first day in London. Thusly, if I bedded her at all, ‘twas on the same night that was her last. But I have no recollection of even that. The next morning when the innkeeper came to rouse the maid to her duties, he found me asleep in her room. So you see, my friend, I cannot deny that I bedded or murdered her, for she was dead, beaten and bloody, and there was I, slumbering peacefully in her bed. Yet I can and do deny that the babe was mine.”

Beneath the weight of Pitney’s close scrutiny, Ruark stripped off the useless waistcoat and shirt and laid a towel over his shoulders. He settled himself in a chair to await the maid’s return and further consider his silent companion’s words. It was well possible that the lady, Shanna, had told her man nothing of their agreement. Whether she was bent on treachery or simple caution, Ruark could little guess. But as Pitney himself had made clear, either way it boded ill.