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He came and took the glass from her hand without a word and tossed back half the wine.
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d had the foresight to post a guard and when that had failed, he’d arrived in time. But she knew that nothing she said would stop him from berating himself. Perhaps in the morning she could talk about it, but not now.
After a while, he swallowed the rest of the wine and put the glass carefully down as if it might shatter. “Go back to bed, dearest heart. I’ll stay here with you the remainder of the night.”
He settled in one of the chairs by the fire as she got back into bed. It was only a straight-backed wooden chair, which couldn’t be terribly comfortable, but he stretched out his long legs and folded his arms across his chest.
Melisande watched him sadly for a while, wishing he would sleep with her, and then she closed her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again tonight, but if she lay awake, it would worry him, so she feigned slumber. After a bit, she heard a low murmur at the door and the scrape of a chair. Vale moved about nearly silently, and then all was quiet again.
Melisande cracked her eyelids. Her husband lay in a corner on a kind of pallet. Very similar, in fact, to the one that had been in his dressing room. He was on his side, his back to the wall. She watched him for a bit until his breathing grew slow and even. Then she waited some more.
When she could wait no longer, she crept from the bed and tiptoed to the pallet. She stood for a moment, watching him sleep on his crude bed; then she stepped over him. She’d meant to squeeze by him and ease down between him and the wall, but the moment she set her foot by him, his hand shot out and grabbed her ankle.
Vale looked up at her, his blue-green eyes nearly black in the darkness. “Go back to bed.”
Very carefully, she knelt beside him. “No.”
He released her ankle. “Melisande—”
She ignored his pleading tone, lifting the blanket covering him and lying down behind his back.
“Dammit,” he muttered.
oom.
It seemed the inn was nearly full, and there was only one room left, but instead of sharing it with her, Vale intended to sleep in the common room. Lord only knew what the innkeeper made of that. She sighed and looked to where a footman was leading Mouse on a leash. Or, rather, Mouse was leading the footman, straining forward on the leash. He dragged the poor man to a hitching post, lifted his leg against it, and began dragging to the next post.
“Ready, my sweet?”
Melisande looked up to find that while she had been puzzling out their marriage, Vale had finished his transaction with the innkeeper.
She nodded and took his arm. “Yes.”
“Mouse is going to wear out that footman’s arm,” Vale commented as they strode inside. “Do you know that they toss dice to see who will take him for his nightly walks?”
“The winner walks him?” she asked as they entered the inn’s main building.
“No, the loser,” he replied, then frowned.
A shout of boisterous laughter had come from the common room. The inn was ancient, wit ss aeigh huge blackened beams holding the low ceiling aloft. To the left was the big common room with battered round tables and a roaring fire, though it was the height of summer. Every table was crowded with travelers—mostly men—drinking ale and eating their suppers.
“Through here,” Vale said, and guided her to the right into a small back room. This was their private dining room, already laid with sturdy earthenware dishes and a loaf of what looked like fresh brown bread.
“Thank you,” Melisande murmured as he held a chair for her. She sat just as the footman brought in Mouse. The terrier immediately trotted over and stood against her for a pat. “And how are you, Sir Mouse? Did you have a nice constitutional?”
“Nearly got a rat, ’e did, my lady,” the footman said. “In the stables. Fast little dog.”
Melisande smiled at the terrier and ruffled his ears. “Well done.”
The innkeeper hurried in with a bottle of wine, a girl followed behind with a mutton stew, and all was chaos in the little dining room for a bit. Five minutes passed before Vale and she were alone again.
“Tomorrow,” he began to say, but was interrupted by a particularly loud yell from the common room.
Vale frowned at the door. They were sheltered in their private room, but the constant buzz of noise could still be heard.
He looked across the table at her, his brows drawn over his blue-green eyes. “You must lock the door and stay in your room tonight. I don’t like this crowd.”
Melisande nodded. She always locked the door if she could or stood a chair against it. Anyway, Vale was usually right in the room next door.
