He sat. Pain spiked his head. With a slow sweep, he scanned the unfamiliar chamber. Coals glowed in the hearth, the sheets on the bed turned back; a slight impression of where she’d slept remained, but the lass was gone. He rubbed his brow. Mayhap she’d headed downstairs for food. Foolish, when the inn was filled with men and withouthis protection.
Cailin shoved to his feet, damned another blast of pain. He started toturn, stilled.
His scabbard was empty.
Unease prickled up his spine. Had she taken his weapon to fend off any threats? He grunted. As if with her ankle injured she could swing the sword with any force. Blast it, why hadn’tshe woken him?
Muttering a curse, he turned, paused at the smear of powder on the floor beside where he’d sat for supper. His mind churned with several reasons for the residue.
None good.
Wanting to be wrong, Cailin stalked over, swiped his finger through the powder, sniffed.
Valerian root!
He glared at the closed door. Nay, he hadn’t slept, nor were his ailments the result of too much ale. Kenzie had drugged him and then stolen his broadsword. His anger surged. God’s blade, the lass was in league with the men he’d found her with yesterday. They weren’t robbing her; ’twas naught but a bloody ployto fleece him!
Fury seething through his veins, against the splintering pain in his skull, Cailin jerked on his cape, gathered the few belongings he’d brought, then stormed from the chamber.
Aye,he’d find her.
Godhelp her then.
Chapter 2
Her fingers numb from the cold, Elspet tugged open the thick entry of the merchant’s cottage. A hand’s width above her, metal bits hanging against the door to warn those within of someone entering clanked.
“Shut the bloody door!” a surly voice boomed.
The cold bite of wind blasted against her as she hurried inside, shoved the heavy wood shut.
Warmth permeated the chamber from a fire roaring in the weathered stone hearth, and the rich scents of leather, oil, and age, along with a faint wisp of cooked meat filled the air. Staggered upon the side wall hung several baskets, helmets, swords, a wide array of tools, and, centered against the back, a large woven blanket curtained off a room.
On a table to her right, half buried beneath various pieces of leather, lay an anvil with a hammer atop. Seated behind the disorganized heap on another table to her left, a reed thin, balding man, his mustache infused with gray that curled into a thick beard, scowled at her, a strip of leather in one hand and an awlin the other.
Elspet’s shoulders sagged. Thank God Wautier Brecnagh was here.
The merchant set down the leather tool. “’Tis a poorday to be out.”
An understatement. Falling snow was now knee high, and the wind blew with merciless disregard. Though binding her ankle had allowed her to walk with bearable pain, she’d had to travel throughout the night and a good part of the morning to reach his hut. If desperation hadn’t forced her hand, she would have found shelter and hid until the storm passed.
She shrugged as if she wasn’t freezing. “A bit of snow.”
“And did the snow give you the gash above your eye or the bruise upon your cheek?”
“I–I slipped and fell in the woods. Hit my face against a rock.”
With a disbelieving grunt, he set down the piece of leather, then crossed his arms over his chest. He nodded to the bundle wrapped in her arms. “Tosell or trade?”
Thankful he hadn’t pressed further, her fingers tightened on the covered hilt, and she damned the guilt weighing uponher. “To sell.”
Unfurling his arms, he shoved aside the pile of leather, clearing a large swath of the table. “Place it here.”
Her hands trembled as she lay down the heavy bundle and unwrapped the blanket.
Firelight glinted off the blade as Wautier lifted the weapon, turned it. Shrewd eyes cut to her. “’Tis a commonenough weapon.”
“There is little common about this broadsword,” she scoffed. “Look at the detail of the engraving on the pommel and hilt.”
