At that moment, she turned toward him, the smile lingering on her full lips. Even though the day was gloomy and overcast, she was like the sun. His heart skipped a beat at a mere glance at her sparkling blue eyes. Her shapely lips turned up into a full smile. His doubt diminished, and his day brightened.
Marcus led them down a path between two of the buildings.
Christian’s senses heightened. The path appeared to be well-traveled, sodden, and slick. Horse tracks, as well as footprints, marred the earth.
Prickles raced along Christian’s shoulders. Well-trodden? Could it be the king’s men? He didn’t trust Marcus. He lifted his hand to rest over the pommel of his sword and stared at the end of the road they approached. He anticipated a squadron of king’s men waiting for them around the corner. Every muscle in his body tensed.
Willow laid a hand on his arm, and he jumped. She tilted her head in sympathy.
“Be ready,” he told her.
Marcus never divulged where they were going, which didn’t seem to matter to Sage. But Christian’s gut twisted in knots. Marcus continued along the path, Sage beside him. Landyn and Raven followed. Christian picked up the rear with Willow. Christian’s muscles coiled tight as they walked, his gaze sweeping from building to building, watching for any hint of danger. But Sage wouldn’t knowingly endanger her sisters. And Marcus wouldn’t imperil Sage. Perhaps Christian was being too cautious. Yet he couldn’t help the tension stiffening his body as they approached the corner.
Marcus and Sage were relaxed, moving leisurely, and turned left at the corner. Raven and Landyn trailed them. When Christian and Willow rounded the corner, he inhaled, prepared to fight, but the street was empty of guardsmen and soldiers. Still, relief would not come. Just because the king’s men weren’t here didn’t mean they weren’t elsewhere. Christian kept looking over his shoulder, searching for trouble, expecting it to be there.
The air was alive with music and singing. He scowled in confusion and followed the noise with his eyes to a single building at the end of the road. It was a wooden one-story structure that vibrated with liveliness. It seemed out of place, tucked in the forest and off the beaten path as if it had grown from the ground. Laugher and the sweet trill of stringed instruments came from inside through the wide-open door.
Landyn glanced over his shoulder at Christian and then at Raven.
Christian could feel Landyn’s puzzlement and unease, the same feelings swirling within him.
Singing rose from the open windows as they neared. Laughter rang from inside the building.
Christian noticed the excited sparkle in Willow’s eye as she stared at the building. He took her hand, and she turned to him. “We’re in hiding,” he reminded her.
She nodded, but the happy noise again drew her gaze to the inn.
Marcus halted in the yard beside the building.
A boy with shaggy brown hair raced up to them. His breeches and tunic were frayed at the edges with a large hole in the knee. “Good day,” the boy greeted. “Will ya be staying the night?”
Marcus handed the boy the reins of his horse and a coin. “Aye,” he said. “Our horses need to be well taken care of. House them in the shaded area.”
The boy bobbed his head, moving around the group to collect the reins.
“Thank you,” Willow said and bestowed a full smile on the boy.
The lad bobbed his head and shyly grinned as he led the steeds around the back of the building, away from the stables.
“Where is he taking them?” Christian asked suspiciously.
“They will be hidden,” Marcus assured them, heading into the building.
Christian was not comforted by Marcus’s words. Their horses were gone, so they had no escape. He watched the horses until they disappeared around the back of the inn, then followed the group inside.
As soon as Marcus opened the door, a rowdy song burst forth. The area was full of merry peasants, travelers, and merchants.
Christian quickly scanned the room, searching for the king’s men and his expected trap. His hand fisted over his sword’s handle. A bard with short brown hair stood at a table before a crowd. He sang in a low voice that reverberated through the air. His nimble fingers plucked a lute as he moved, twirling through the room from table to table. Some laughed at the words, and others sang along with him. The occupants appeared to be villagers and travelers, several standing near the hearth, a few seated at tables.
Christian held back slightly to survey the shadowed corners as his eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting. A couple locked in an embrace occupied one of the corners. The other shielded a slumped man cradling a mug, his jaw slackened and his eyes half-closed.
“Honorable King Philip and Pope Clement together did plot, but never seemed to get out of the spot.”
The room erupted in guffaws.
Christian made his way through the crowded room to join Willow at the busy counter separating the wooden tables from the workers.
Marcus squirmed his way between the patrons lining the counter to the front.
