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ngs. Or maybe her father’s. Anyway, there was no help for it. He couldn’t very well take the only clothing she had from her. He’d make do.
It was fatigue coupled with the transference of Ellery’s wounds; that was all. And it didn’t help matters that his body had still been healing from his first tangle with Asher’s hounds. No wonder every muscle screamed in agony, his bones grated together with each step, and his stomach was somewhere in his throat.
He stumbled, Ellery gripping him with a steadying hand. “When were you going to admit that you’re ill?”
“What are you talking about?” He winced at the pressure of her fingers around his arm. It remained sore and stiff, the break slow to knit.
She put a palm to his forehead. Her touch felt cool against his hot, achy skin. “You’re feverish. And you’re pale as chalk.”
He pulled her hand away. “I’m fine.” He eyed the clouds again. “But we need to find shelter. Rain’s approaching. And the Keun Marow will be active once night falls.”
“Mayhap we can find a posting house or tavern.”
“And why’ll we’re at it, why don’t we leave a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow. I was thinking of a barn or a shepherd’s hut. Somewhere safe.”
Ellery stared at him, stubbornness evident in the jut of her jaw and the way she stood with her hand on her hip. “If you think I’m going to wander Cornwall until May first in my petticoats, you’re mad.”
He remained silent.
She threw open the coat, holding her arms out to the side. “Look at me, Conor. I’m not exactly dressed for a forced march.”
She had a point. Her gown and stockings were gone. Her bloody shift hung to her ankles, allowing him easy glimpses of her long, muscled legs. His jacket draped over her hands, the gaping lapels doing little to hide the shapely curves of her breasts.
She hugged the coat back around her. Her gaze softened. She took his hand, clenching it tightly. “Please, Conor. If you feel half as bad as I did before you…before you healed me, then you feel bloody awful. You can’t keep going without some time to let yourself recover.”
He should oppose it. Tell her to soldier on for a bit longer. That they couldn’t afford to stop. But he didn’t want to admit how nice it felt to have a woman fuss over him. For some reason, Ellery’s concern didn’t instantly set him on edge.
His indecision must have been clear in his eyes. Her lips curved in a shy smile. “A day in bed for you, time for me to re-supply, and we can be back on the road by this time tomorrow.”
Conor found himself focusing on Ellery’s lush full lips, before dropping to linger on the tempting body he knew lay hidden within his coat.
She cocked her head, waiting for his answer. He turned away, hoping his thoughts weren’t visible to her.
“Conor?”
“All right. I do know of a place where we might be safe. It’s to the west of here. Another few miles. But we leave tomorrow at dawn.” It was the most he could compromise.
Ellery flashed him a quick smile that lit up her face. “Done.” He turned off the track to head across the fields, praying he could make it as far as Evan’s place. One foot in front of the other. Eyes ahead. Every sense alive to the presence of trouble. Ignore the crushing exhaustion. The deep, pressing ache in every bone and joint. The throb of mage poison coursing through every vein. Just another mile or two. He could make it that far. He had to.
They passed the first few cottages just as the rain began. He raised his face to it, letting it ease the heat of fever and frustration.
Ellery’s voice snapped him back to the present. “Up ahead. We’ll find a room there.”
The inn sat back from the road, light spilling through greasy mullioned windows, the steeply pitched roof black with moss and smoke and rain. As they approached, the door was thrown open and a large, ruddy-jowled man emerged, jamming a hat on his head as he muttered about the weather. Conor’s eyes flicked to Ellery.
Damn. Speaking of breadcrumbs. He couldn’t let her be seen like this.
He summoned the fith-fath, throwing the illusion of two well-dressed travelers over both of them, hoping his strength would hold.
He caught and held the man’s gaze, daring him to challenge them. Praying he wouldn’t. It was taking all his strength just to keep their true appearance masked. Apparently sensing something of Conor’s true nature, the man crossed himself as he stepped aside. Conor’s lips gave a cynical twitch. Did he really think that would do any good? Cold iron. Maybe.
The man’s gaze followed them as they passed through the doors of the inn. Superstitious he might be, suspicious he most definitely was. Conor pulled Ellery close. She glanced up, but he gave a warning shake of his head.
The interior of the inn smelled of boiled meat and stale beer. Long scarred tables sat under each front window, two uncomfortable-looking wooden settles beside a great stone hearth. All stood empty. No sign of Evan.
The publican greeted them before they had shaken the rain from their heads.
“A private room if you have one,” Conor said. “Overlooking the street. And water for bathing.”
