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Authors: Candace Robb
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'Now about that room?'
Bess took a deep breath. Common sense told her this man could be trouble, but the handshake won her. And he did look travel-weary. She nodded, decided. 'I've got a room.' She led him up the stairs.
Two pallets, a window, and space to walk - a comfortable room. Even a chest in which to store his pack, and some hooks on which to hang wet outer clothes. Bess stood back to let him take a look.
The dark eye swept the room, then paused at the doorway.
'Across the hall. That's a private room?'
That fool Kit must have left the door open when she finished cleaning. 'It is. But it's not available.'
'I'll pay better than your usual price for it.'
There he went with the money again. Bess shook her head. 'That would not make up for the loss of business. I save it for a regular customer. Otherwise only for short stays in between. What would I do with you when he returns on Monday next?'
'I'll pay double for this room to keep it private.'
Bess frowned. She didn't like folk who threw away their money. Besides, it wasn't right to waste a bed.
'A private room is a rare commodity, Owen Archer. How came you to be so keen on it?'
He said nothing.
She read discomfort in his face. It intrigued her.
'You aren't looking for a place to hide?'
'No.'
She waited, hands on hips. A cart rattled by in the street below. A cat padded down the hallway.
Owen grinned. 'You would make a good interro gator.'
Bess waited.
'It's simple. It's the eye and my years of training as a soldier. Someone sneaks up on my left.' He spun round. Bess pressed back against the wall. He thrust with an imaginary sword.
'Merciful Mother.' Bess crossed herself.
He retreated, sheathed the invisible sword. 'I do not trust myself if I'm awakened suddenly.'
'I'll have no trouble here’ she warned.
'I will not wittingly cause you trouble.' His voice was level. He looked straight at her with the good eye.
Bess smoothed her apron, patted her ribboned cap, suppressed a smile. Oh, to be ten years younger and of a slightly better class. 'There is a small room, upstairs in the back. I keep it for family visits. It's plain. But it has a window that looks out on the Wiltons' garden.'
The apothecary's garden. Perfect. 'I should not put your family out.'
Bess heard courtesy rather than honesty in Owen's voice. He wanted the room, her family be damned. It rang true. The thought of the extra revenue pleased her. Her husband, Tom, needed a new pair of boots and she had to purchase a donkey for the cart - Flick was getting long in the tooth.
'Don't worry yourself about my children. Their visits are few and far between. And they grew up in a farm house - my second husband, Peter, God rest his soul, farmed near Scarborough. They're used to making do. Let me show you the room.'
She apologised for the creaky ladder up to the third floor. She and Tom didn't mind it, but the archer might be used to better.
'I grew up sharing the floor with goats,' he assured her.
'Well, you'll not have to do that here.' She pushed open the low door. He bent over to step in, straightened up inside, stretched his arms overhead. His fingers just brushed the ceiling. He walked over to the window, pushed it open, leaned out, turned with a smile.
'This will suit me, Goodwife Merchet.'
She liked the curl his accent made in her name.
She quoted a rate just slightly more than for the
double room below.
'More than fair. I'll give you a fortnight's fee today.' Bess ran down the list of house rules and left him
to settle himself. She must get that stew over to Lucie.
She resolved not to tell Lucie about Owen just yet. Wait
to see if the handshake proved reliable.
Exhausted, Lucie Wilton nodded off as she sat in the corner of the bedchamber, her head coming to rest on the shop accounts. The room was tiny and close, and Lucie had not slept well since her husband fell ill. Even now, her nap was interrupted by Nicholas's muttering. But it was good he woke her. She had not
'Now about that room?'
Bess took a deep breath. Common sense told her this man could be trouble, but the handshake won her. And he did look travel-weary. She nodded, decided. 'I've got a room.' She led him up the stairs.
Two pallets, a window, and space to walk - a comfortable room. Even a chest in which to store his pack, and some hooks on which to hang wet outer clothes. Bess stood back to let him take a look.
The dark eye swept the room, then paused at the doorway.
'Across the hall. That's a private room?'
That fool Kit must have left the door open when she finished cleaning. 'It is. But it's not available.'
'I'll pay better than your usual price for it.'
There he went with the money again. Bess shook her head. 'That would not make up for the loss of business. I save it for a regular customer. Otherwise only for short stays in between. What would I do with you when he returns on Monday next?'
'I'll pay double for this room to keep it private.'
Bess frowned. She didn't like folk who threw away their money. Besides, it wasn't right to waste a bed.
'A private room is a rare commodity, Owen Archer. How came you to be so keen on it?'
He said nothing.
She read discomfort in his face. It intrigued her.
'You aren't looking for a place to hide?'
'No.'
She waited, hands on hips. A cart rattled by in the street below. A cat padded down the hallway.
Owen grinned. 'You would make a good interro gator.'
Bess waited.
'It's simple. It's the eye and my years of training as a soldier. Someone sneaks up on my left.' He spun round. Bess pressed back against the wall. He thrust with an imaginary sword.
'Merciful Mother.' Bess crossed herself.
He retreated, sheathed the invisible sword. 'I do not trust myself if I'm awakened suddenly.'
'I'll have no trouble here’ she warned.
'I will not wittingly cause you trouble.' His voice was level. He looked straight at her with the good eye.
Bess smoothed her apron, patted her ribboned cap, suppressed a smile. Oh, to be ten years younger and of a slightly better class. 'There is a small room, upstairs in the back. I keep it for family visits. It's plain. But it has a window that looks out on the Wiltons' garden.'
The apothecary's garden. Perfect. 'I should not put your family out.'
Bess heard courtesy rather than honesty in Owen's voice. He wanted the room, her family be damned. It rang true. The thought of the extra revenue pleased her. Her husband, Tom, needed a new pair of boots and she had to purchase a donkey for the cart - Flick was getting long in the tooth.
'Don't worry yourself about my children. Their visits are few and far between. And they grew up in a farm house - my second husband, Peter, God rest his soul, farmed near Scarborough. They're used to making do. Let me show you the room.'
She apologised for the creaky ladder up to the third floor. She and Tom didn't mind it, but the archer might be used to better.
'I grew up sharing the floor with goats,' he assured her.
'Well, you'll not have to do that here.' She pushed open the low door. He bent over to step in, straightened up inside, stretched his arms overhead. His fingers just brushed the ceiling. He walked over to the window, pushed it open, leaned out, turned with a smile.
'This will suit me, Goodwife Merchet.'
She liked the curl his accent made in her name.
She quoted a rate just slightly more than for the
double room below.
'More than fair. I'll give you a fortnight's fee today.' Bess ran down the list of house rules and left him
to settle himself. She must get that stew over to Lucie.
She resolved not to tell Lucie about Owen just yet. Wait
to see if the handshake proved reliable.
Exhausted, Lucie Wilton nodded off as she sat in the corner of the bedchamber, her head coming to rest on the shop accounts. The room was tiny and close, and Lucie had not slept well since her husband fell ill. Even now, her nap was interrupted by Nicholas's muttering. But it was good he woke her. She had not
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