Page 6 of The Knight’s Reward

Mary’s head, and only her head, peered at her from behind the closed door of her room. As Magge reminded them frequently, they were fortunate to each have a private space. “If Magge asks for me, tell her I cannot come down.”

“If you have a man in there again . . .” She shook her head but couldn’t help but smile at the other girl’s audacity.

“Please?” Mary blinked, her big brown eyes pleading. “I’ll owe you a boon.”

“Very well,” she said. The quick flash of a smile was the last thing Kathryn saw before Mary closed the door.

If she’d found the women at court bawdier than expected, well, they had nothing on Mary. Her well-meaning friend had hardly believed her when she’d explained she was still a virgin, and Mary was eager to see Kathryn initiated into womanhood. She didn’t understand the expectations of Kathryn’s past life, and her inability to throw them off.

Not that she would make a good marriage now.

Even if her situation were to reverse dramatically, her reputation was likely ruined beyond repair for the simple fact that she’d been working here these past months. But she cared about neither of those things, really. Staying alive was her primary concern.

Even so . . .

“Have you seen Mary?”

Of course it was the first thing Magge asked her when she passed through the hall.

Busy, though not unmanageably so, the inn not quite at capacity. They could easily get by without her for a time.

“She’ll be along. In the meanwhile—”

“In the meanwhile, fetch a pitcher of ale, and make it quick.” She nodded to a lone man sitting apart from the others in the corner. His head was down, so Kathryn couldn’t see the reason for Magge’s urgency. The innkeeper typically wasn’t quick about anything unless a royal visitor or important noble was underfoot. There were a few exceptions, this man obviously one of them. Well-dressed but not, by appearance, one of the king’s men.

Doing as she was bid, Kathryn filled a pitcher and grabbed a tankard, not seeing one already in front of the guest. Which was when her backside was rudely assaulted.

“Give it here,” said the reiver who’d swatted her so openly.

As she’d been taught, Kathryn took his measure. Hardened, strong, and more than a bit intimidating, he was not the sort who’d be put off by a few honeyed words. The only course of action here was to acquiesce, as much as it pained her.

Leaning down to place both the pitcher and tankard on the table, Kathryn gritted her teeth when he reached up to touch her breast, bold as could be. He’d gone too far. Slapping his wrist, she stood, prepared to make a hasty retreat amidst the howls of laughter from his friends.

But she wasn’t quick enough.

Kathryn found herself on the man’s lap, his padded gambeson the only soft thing about him, as she struggled to free herself.

“Let her go.”

She couldn’t see where the voice had come from, but something flickered in the reiver’s eyes—fear?—and he tossed her to the side and drew a dagger.

“Put ’em away, gentlemen.”

Magge.

Kathryn had leapt to her feet, but she still could not see the man who’d saved her. His back was to her, his stance rigid as he faced off with the reiver.

“Robert, you don’t want to be messin’ with a Waryn. Now sit down, keep your hands off my ladies, and drink your ale.”

A Waryn. Was it the earl or the lord of Brockburg?

The fact that the reiver instantly complied was a testament to the innkeeper’s reputation.

Magge’s attention turned to the newcomer. “Kathryn will be along shortly.”

He didn’t move, obviously reluctant to walk away from the fight. But Magge shooed him away, and he finally complied.

“Many thanks,” he said to Magge. His voice was as deep as his hair was black, curling just slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore only trews and a tunic, so she couldn’t tell his exact status just yet. But a glance over at the empty table confirmed this was the man she’d been bid to serve.