Page 25 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Aye, sir."

Matthew pushed through the inn's door, Mrs Archer a step ahead of him.

The common room was packed. Bodies pressed around the fire, steam rising from wet coats, voices loud with the particular energy of people trapped by weather. Matthew positioned himself between Mrs Archer and the crowd, the trunk still on his shoulder, scanning for the innkeeper.

A harried woman with grey-streaked hair was already shaking her head as they approached.

"One room left," she said before Matthew could speak. "Small, but dry. Only bed in the house that isn't already claimed."

"We'll take it."

"It's up in the attic. Bit cramped."

"We'll take it," he repeated.

She named a price, higher than it should be, but weather and desperation made their own market. Matthew paid without haggling, the trunk still balanced on his shoulder.

"Supper's in an hour," the innkeeper said, tucking the coins away. "Common room only, I'm afraid. No private parlours tonight."

"Can we take it in the room?"

She looked at him, then at Mrs Archer. Shivering, dripping, her shawl plastered to her head. Her expression softened.

"I'll have my girl bring something up. Extra charge."

"Fine."

She handed him a key and gestured towards a narrow staircase in the corner. "Top of the stairs, end of the hall. Mind your head on the beams."

Matthew shifted the trunk's weight and turned towards the stairs.

And stopped.

A man sat alone at a table near the door. Middle-aged, weathered face, a half-empty tankard in front of him. He wasn't looking at them. He was looking at the window, watching the rain.

But he was positioned to see everyone who entered.

Matthew's free hand found the knife at his belt. He shifted his weight, angling his body to shield Mrs Archer.

The man glanced up. Met Matthew's eyes.

And then the innkeeper's voice rang out across the common room.

"Thomas! You still here? I told you an hour ago the rain wasn't stopping anytime soon."

The man, Thomas, smiled. A rueful expression that creased his weathered face. "And I told you I'd wait it out, Mary. My Bess doesn't like thunder. Rather not have her throw me in a ditch on the way home."

"Stubborn old fool." But the innkeeper was smiling too, already moving past them with an armful of linens. "Another ale, then?"

"If you're offering."

Matthew let out a breath. Just a local. Not a threat.

He loosened his grip on the knife and nudged Mrs Archer towards the stairs.

"You saw someone," she murmured as they climbed.

"No one of note."