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Apparently Master Nathan is also the town brewer as well, not so surprising for a tavern owner.
Nearing the end of my second mug, and more relaxed than I’d been when first sitting down with the men, I’m surprised to feel a presence at my back at the same time that Master Nathan looks over my shoulder.
Knowing precisely who stands behind me, I turn. And look up.
Carrying a leather satchel, still sans robes, Aiken glares down at me. I return his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. I’ve done too much of that as the wife of Lord Whitley.
“Pardon me,” he says with the steely tone I know all too well by now. “My lady. I am surprised to see you here.”
As I spin in my seat and catch Master Nathan’s expression, though fleeting, it occurs to me that his and Aiken’s relationship might be more than simply innkeeper and patron. They know each other. I am suddenly convinced of it.
“We will take the same table as last eve,” Aiken says, ignoring me completely now. “Have you taken dinner yet, my lady?”
Though early for such a meal, tis not unusually so. Most take their main meal of the day well before the sun sets, and it seems we will not be an exception. I’ve eaten nothing since this morn.
“Nay.”
The word is hardly out of my mouth before he says, “I will return shortly,” and walks away.
Sir James looks between us. Does he think Aiken is my husband? Without his robes, he could easily pass for a knight, or perhaps a commander by his bearing. Certainly no tradesman, his sword marking him a warrior of some sort.
The innkeeper rises, as do I with him.
“Come, I’ll see you to your table, my lady.”
I am about to tell him I know the way when he leans in close. “Say no more than is necessary.”
Did he sense I’d been struggling with how to explain Aiken’s presence?
“You are acquainted with him,” I whisper back as he escorts me to the same corner table as last eve.
“Aye, Princess,” he whispers back.
I sit, staring wide-eyed.
“He told you?”
“He did not have to.” The old man winks at me and leaves me to my questions. No other has recognized me. Unlike my sister, I’ve not traveled widely in many years. I’m accompanied by no retinue and wear no markings on my clothing. Then how?
The same maid who brought me a mug earlier does so again, along with a tankard and second mug. She smiles and walks away as more and more patrons begin to stream inside.
By the time Aiken returns, I’ve so many questions.
But I start with the most pressing of them all. One that has been on my mind since Sir James told us what he knew of the recent events at Craighcebor.
“Are we in danger?”
When he sits across from me, with his loose linen shirt wide open at the chest, Aiken immediately pours himself an ale.
“Aye, my lady. I believe we are.”
12
Hilla
“I’ve not drunk so much in one sitting in my life,” I confess.
Maybe it was his admission that, aye, we—or more precisely, I—am in danger. That his initial assessment of my involvement in the attempted attack on Craighcebor was not isolated. Apparently he’d spent the afternoon speaking to villagers and his scouts.
