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Chapter 24
By the time they arrived at the Hart and Hound Inn, Conrad’s mood was more foul than the innkeeper’s breath. The drizzle that had begun the moment they’d ridden out that morn had yet to stop, as long-lasting as Cait’s silence, and he could not shake the thought that the others had all likely arrived in London. He wanted nothing more than dry clothes, a mug of ale, and a meal.
Perhaps there was one thing he wanted more, but she was presently still ignoring him. He’d tried twice since that morn to engage her, but Cait seemed content to speak to every one of his men except him.
Married.
Did she really think Terric would allow him to live if they arrived in London as husband and wife? Guy may have found his bride at one abbey and wed her at the next, but Conrad could not do the same. Not when his bride’s brother was the man who’d once knocked down so many men in a melee he’d been declared “the Scot,” as if he were the only one that counted at the tournament.
Neither did Cait deserve such a wedding, a fact she did not seem to care about at the moment, judging by her frown. He’d secured private rooms for everyone in their party. It was the last night they would sleep with a roof overhead until they reached London, and even if the innkeeper refused to draw more than one bath, it was something of a luxury. The men seemed to appreciate it, though the frown Cait gave him as they were led toward the second floor indicated she did not currently appreciate anything about him.
At least she was looking at him now.
“This way, my lady.” The serving girl motioned Cait toward one of the doors. “My lord has ordered a tub, which I will attend to forthwith. Will you take your meal in the room as well?”
“Aye,” he answered for her. He could not abide the thought of Cait eating in the hall of an inn more likely to host smugglers than noblemen.
The answer appeared to anger her, causing Conrad even more confusion. He merely wished to keep her safe. But he had no time to explain himself, for Cait moved into the room without another word.
“And you, my lord?” the maid asked. “Will you take your meal up here as well?”
“I will send for it, and for my lady’s meal, when it is required,” he said by way of an answer.
The men all safely ensconced in their rooms, Conrad threw open the door of his own bedchamber, startling the maid. She scurried away, leaving him to find his way inside with the sole candle she’d given each of them on the way upstairs.
Like the great room and the hallway, the room was small and dark. Tossing his belongings to the side, Conrad began to undress. As they had all day, his thoughts flitted from London to the bishop and back Cait.
Always Cait.
No matter that they were in the midst of a rebellion.
I cannot do this.
The thought forced its way inside despite Conrad’s attempt to push it away. Of course he could do this. The plans were well underway. His friends were likely already in position. He had dealt with each issue as it arose, the pope no more of a problem than any other.
He was the one who’d started all of this, and now they were taking on not just the king, but the pope as well. What had he been thinking?
He was not his father.
Shaking away the thought, Conrad found himself at the door before he even realized it. Pulling it open, he stepped out into the hall just as three serving girls left Cait’s room with empty buckets of water.
He didn’t pause to think. Rather, he pushed open the door and stepped inside just in time to watch her lift her shift above her head. She spun, startled, tugging the shift back down.
“I told you to lock the door at all times.”
It wasn’t how he’d intended to greet her.
Cait frowned.
“They just came in with the water,” she said by way of explanation, nodding to the tub.
He locked it himself.
“What are you doing?”
Conrad would have thought it were obvious. “Undressing, of course. For the bath. They could only fill one.”
Cait froze.
