by Sara Portman
He attempted to spur her to do just that. “Are you sullen, Miss Crawley, or just intrigued by the tabletop?”
She lifted her face partway, but retained her guarded expression. Her hooded, half-raised eyes surveyed the gradually filling room as she answered. “I am neither, my lord.”
“Then what is the reason for your quiet?”
“I have no reason,” she said. “Though I do wish the weather had not delayed us.” She gave an almost imperceptible shrug before returning her attention to the scarred wooden table.
Given her surreptitious glances around the room, Michael doubted the truth was so simple, but he was distracted from further questions by the arrival of a serving girl with the promised meal. She bent to set a plate of fragrant meat pies between them and Michael decided his hunger was a greater priority than his curiosity in that moment.
His attention to his appetite prevented him from noticing immediately that she did not help herself to a share of the food. “Are you not hungry, Miss Crawley?”
Her cheeks blushed beneath lowered lashes and he was again reminded that, for all of her odd manners, she was pretty in an uncommon sort of way.
She opened her mouth and replied in an unintelligible mumble. The population of the common room was growing and, with it, the din of conversation.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he said.
“I can’t pay for food, my lord.” Her color deepened.
“Is that all?” he asked. Did he honestly appear so monstrous as to deprive her of a meal? “Eat for pity’s sake. I’ve offered. I’ll not accuse you of picking my pocket.” His attempt to be gracious likely missed the mark given his overall frustration, but her refusal was silly after all. “Eat,” he repeated when she did not take action after his first request.
She did, reaching hesitantly out to take one of the pastries. She brought it to her mouth and ate gingerly. She ate nearly half of it before setting it in front of her and lifting her head—only partway again. “Thank you for the meal, my lord.”
He nodded.
To his surprise, she did not return to studying her lap, but gave a delicate cough and continued speaking. “I am not accustomed to particularly fine accommodation, my lord. And I am imposing upon you enough already. There truly is no need for the added cost of a second room.”
He frowned. “While I appreciate your frugality, Miss Crawford, I will not be spending the night sitting up in this public room while it fills with unhappy and intoxicated travelers. And I am not so unchivalrous as to leave you to do so while I slumber peacefully in my private chamber.”
Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t stay here by myself, my lord. I shall be frightened enough alone in a room.”
He peered more closely at her, noting how her hands fidgeted in her lap. “Frightened? What reason have you to be frightened?”
She swallowed. “Only knowing that I am alone and unprotected and the inn is full of strangers,” she said and he knew it for a lie—or at least an incomplete truth. Where was her paralyzing fear of strangers when she had walked up to him in the yard of the Bear & Boar in Peckingham?
“The door will be locked,” he reasoned.
“Locks are not impenetrable.” Her lips pressed into a grim line after delivering this truth.
He looked at her—the way she held her arms close to her body, her shoulders rounded forward, her eyes always darting. Realization dawned on him. She was not submissive. She was fearful. Into what had she entangled him? He was curious, surely, but more than that, he deserved to know from what or whom they were running—if it in fact posed some grave form of danger.
“You are truly frightened to stay alone?” he asked, considering.
She closed her eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“All right,” he conceded. “If you are frightened, Gelert will stay with you in your room.”
She said nothing but tilted her head to look below the table where the dog lay.
He nearly laughed at her expression. He had his answer. The threat was not so sinister. Clearly, the prospect of the dog’s company frightened her more than being alone. “I only consider your peace of mind, Miss Crawley,” he said, folding his hands as he set his elbows on the table. “I will be happy to keep him in my room, if that is more comfortable for you.”
She peeked at the dog again then picked up the uneaten half of her pie. It did not receive her full attention but, in fairness, neither did his. He watched her as he ate, just as she watched the people in the room. The door to the common room opened again and both of them turned to take in the new arrival. This time, two men, large and roughened, joined the growing assembly. They stood at the entrance, dripping from the rain, and surveyed the room with an inspection more thorough than necessary to simply assess the size of the crowd.
Miss Crawley turned back to her plate and lowered her eyes. She drew one delicate hand slowly up and tested the knot of auburn hair at the nape of her neck, the action having the effect of tilting her face away from the door. “Do you know,” she said, her voice just a bit higher pitched than he recalled it, “With so many arrivals, it seems rather uncharitable for me to claim a room for myself at all.” Her eyes darted everywhere except to meet with his. “I’m sure we could make some other arrangement. I could ask after a place with the maids, or I could…I suppose I could even sleep on a pallet in the corner of your room, my lord.”
Michael halted, his mug of ale halfway to his lips. “Sleep in the corner of my room?”
“Like a page might,” she offered.
He gaped at her. “A page? Do you mean like my attendant?”
She swallowed. “Of a sort, my lord.”
Michael set his mug of ale onto the weathered table and considered his companion. “What of the fact that I’m not a medieval knight and not in need of a squire, Miss Crawley?”
Her mouth curved into a nervous smile that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “No. Certainly not. I only meant that I should be no trouble at all and would be out of your way. In the corner.”
Michael watched her: hands in her lap, eyes cast downward, shoulders rounded forward. Was she so meek, or did she fancy herself a clever actress? Was she truly so frightened that she would prefer to stay in the room of a stranger? Or was she playing a game? She could not be a fugitive. She was not wily enough to be running from the authorities. But was she wily enough to believe she could trick him into compromising her? She’d already denied it, but that could be a lie. It would not be the only one she’d offered him.
His gaze shifted once more to the two men whose arrival had so discomfited her. They had taken seats and food, but the dark-haired one, with a bulbous nose and a scar above his left eye, continued to scan the room as he ate. Their presence didn’t bother Michael. He knew his own appearance was sometimes intimidating to strangers and so rarely judged others based solely upon a hard-worn look. He supposed, however, if he considered the men from Miss Crawley’s perspective, they might seem rather menacing. Their habit of checking the room did lend an air of more sinister purpose. If one were a slip of a girl, alone in a strange place, letting one’s imagination wander as to the intent of men such as these, he could imagine that would be very frightening indeed.
Michael considered his pretty and mysterious companion. Empathy with her plight may be admirable, but he could not risk such softheartedness—not when he had yet to understand her purpose. “No, Miss Crawley. You shall be just fine in your own room. And that is the end of it.”
Chapter Four
By the time the meat pies were gone, the public room was crowded to the point of discomfort and so loud that one could not even think. Michael suggested they pass the remainder of the evening in the rooms upstairs and Miss Crawley was enthusiastically in favor of this proposal. She lowered her head as soon as she rose from her seat and kept it thus as she walked—briskly—in the direct
ion of the stairs. Still stiff from days of travel, Michael followed at a more relaxed pace, with Gelert at his side. Whether due to his size or his canine companion, he drew more attention in crossing the room than Miss Crawley, and it occurred to him that she had intentionally hurried ahead to avoid that very notice.
The upstairs hall was narrow and paneled with dark wood. At its far end were two rooms, on opposite sides of the hall that had been assigned for their use. In Michael’s experience, coaching inns varied greatly in cleanliness, so when he opened the doors to each in succession, he was pleased to discover two clean, if not spacious, chambers that were essentially mirror images of one another. Each contained a neatly made bed tucked under the low sloping ceiling of one exterior wall, a small fireplace, a pair of chairs, and a window that looked out over the increasingly chaotic yard of the coaching inn. The windows were large enough such that, on a brighter day, they likely allowed a cheery amount of daylight into the rooms. That was not the case this day, however, as the storm had darkened the skies earlier than usual for the night. As he inspected the rooms, Michael lit candles in each to add to the glow from the low fires that had been set for them.
“You may have your choice of room, Miss Crawley,” Michael said once they had completed their investigation and stood in the hall between the two open doors.
She hesitated, looking back down the narrow hall toward the noise that echoed from below. “I…It doesn’t matter,” she said. “That is, either would be fine, my lord. Thank you.”
Since there was no difference between the rooms, Michael simply shrugged and said, “Very well. You shall take the right and I shall take the left.” He handed her the large iron key that had opened the door on the right. “I believe Albert will be up shortly with your things.”
She looked down at the key he’d given her, drawing his attention to where she held it. It looked very large in her small hand. She stared down at it for moment as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
“Is there a problem, Miss Crawley?”
“No.” Her attention shifted from the key to the dog and then again to the far end of the hall from which they had come.
“All right, then,” he said. He turned toward the left door and signaled to Gelert to follow.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she blurted, then proceeded to say the last thing in the world he would have expected. “I accept your offer. Regarding the dog. I would like for him—” she cast another furtive glance at Gelert, “—to stay with me, in my room.”
Michael halted. He pivoted slowly on one heel and faced her, making no effort to hide his surprise. “Are you sure?”
She swallowed. “Yes, if that is still all right.”
He was convinced she was not at all sure, given how she continued to stare at the dog as though he might lunge at her without notice, but he gave a slight nod anyway. “Of course. If that is your preference.”
“It is, only—” her brows furrowed as she looked more closely at Gelert, “—if he is to stay with me, what shall I do for him? What does he require?”
“He shan’t require anything. He ate this morning and he has been outside.”
“He only eats in the morning?”
“Only in the morning,” Michael confirmed.
“He must eat a great deal.”
“A fair amount, Miss Crawley.” Michael peered at her. He knew almost nothing about her and found her nearly impossible to decipher, with one exception: She was without question terrified of dogs. For the entire ride in the carriage thus far, she had not allowed more than ninety seconds to pass without verifying the dog’s present position and state. He knew with absolute certainty that he had not misjudged her fear of the dog. It was indeed palpable. What he had not considered, however, was that her fear of Gelert might pale in comparison to a still greater threat. From whom had she fled? What misery chased her?
He could pose the question, but she would not answer. Instead he said, “The dog requires nothing, so would you like him in your room or no?”
“Yes,” she said, though she looked a bit sickened by the decision.
“Very well, Gelert will be your companion for the evening,” Michael said, then he gestured to Gelert, who lumbered calmly through the doorway to the right.
She watched him as he went and stared into the room as though hesitant to enter herself.
“He shall be fine, Miss Crawley, and so shall you,” Michael said, but when she followed the dog into the room, closing and locking the door behind her, he remained in the hall, puzzling over the woman. He considered the locked door and turned his attention to the bend in the hall that led to the stairwell. Just who might be ascending those stairs in search of her? Had that very person been in the common room as they’d eaten? Without knowing what threat chased her, Michael had no way of knowing if the threat loomed nearby—perhaps even now in the public room below.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the thoughts. Was paranoia catching? Why had he always been one to champion the weak and wounded? Why should he offer his protection when he knew not from what he protected her? He may simply be protecting her from a sound thrashing from her parents and a lecture not to run away again. What if he was aiding her in something wholly rash and irresponsible and she was better off, in fact, to be discovered?
The shape of a man rounded the shadowed bend in the hall and startled Michael from his thoughts. Almost immediately, however, he recognized the brawny shape and stalking gate of Albert.
“Is anything amiss, sir?” he asked, approaching Michael with an odd, assessing look.
Alarm at Albert’s question drew him a step toward the stairwell. “Amiss? Why?” he asked, tilting to head in an attempt to peer around the corner. “Is there some reason to believe so?”
The curiosity in Albert’s expression grew to confusion. “Only that you’re lurking about in the hall, sir.”
Michael stepped back again. He straightened his shoulders and tugged at the front of his waistcoat. “I do not lurk.”
Albert shrugged.
“I was only thinking,” Michael insisted.
“Too much of that’s a dangerous thing, I say.” Even in the dim light, Michael saw the corner of the coachman’s mouth tip into a wry smile.
There was too much wisdom in the declaration for Michael’s comfort. Now that his thoughts were consumed with possibilities as to the threat that chased his female companion, he would not be at ease until he learned the truth. “I’m afraid I agree with you, Albert.”
Albert cocked a questioning brow. “I suspect there’s a meaning in there, sir.”
“There is. It means I’ve acquired a room for you.”
“For me?” The coachman’s expression could not have been more stunned at this announcement.
In truth, Michael was a bit surprised himself. He had not realized he had made the decision until he’d said the words. “Yes,” he said, lowering his voice. “Miss Crawley and I shall be passing the night in the same room. For her protection only,” he was quick to add.
The coachman’s eyes narrowed in judgment. “Do you think that’s wise, sir?”
Michael stared mutely back at Albert. No, he did not. It was likely a terrible decision on his part. But it had been her idea, hadn’t it? She had asked to stay in the same room as he did, then proceeded to behave as though the prospect of staying alone frightened her beyond reason. She could be a brilliant liar and hoping to make sure she was thoroughly compromised by the night’s end. Or perhaps she was a thief. Then again, he’d looked at her hands—half the time she’d been nervously wringing them in her lap. No. She was no thief. A liar, perhaps. But he could not seem to ignore the fact that she was not lying about her fear.
Michael stepped forward and spoke quietly, so the subject of their discussion would not overhear. “She is running from something.”
�
�How do you know?”
“I can see it in her. We have been in war, Albert.” Michael’s voice softened as he mentioned that time in both of their pasts. “We have seen men killed and we have watched others with the same memories be asked to go into battle again. I never understood what real fear looked like until I looked into the face of those men.” Michael shook his he continued, “This woman fears something or someone that much. I recognize it in her and you would too, if you spent any time in her company.”
Michael did not add that what intrigued him beyond the need to know the origin of her fear was her strength against it. He had witnessed the sort of fear that took root in the very soul and held a person, planted, unable to march forward. He’d seen strong men—prideful men—crippled by it. Unlike those men, she had not crumpled into a heap of begging desperation, too ashamed to meet his eyes. She’d looked into his face and asked for the protection of an animal she feared nearly as much.
Michael looked at the door and again down the corridor.
If her fears were justified…
“Who is she?” The coachman asked.
Michael sighed. “I have no earthly idea who she is.”
“She gave you a name, didn’t she?”
“Indeed. But she hasn’t given me her name.” He shook his head. “She’s as much Ana Crawley as I am.”
“I don’t trust a woman with secrets, sir,” Albert said.
Michael looked to the door again, wishing he could not only see into the room but into the woman’s head. He didn’t trust a secretive woman either. He wanted to know what those secrets were, particularly if they placed her in any danger. “That is probably wise, Albert. I’ve tried to glean why she is traveling to London alone, but her reasons don’t fit together.”
“But she’s not traveling alone, is she sir?”
Michael paused and lifted his head.
“I wonder at just why she’s traveling with you.” Albert crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned one shoulder against the paneled wall. “It’s good of you to help a woman in distress, but that common room is fair to overflowing with witnesses if she wants to be certain she’s found in the wrong room, sir. Or the right room, depending on how you see it.” He pursed his lips briefly before he continued. “I wouldn’t want you to find your charity is more costly than you expect is all.”
