Page 3 of The Knight’s Reward

He stood close enough for her to smell the ale on his breath. Kathryn glanced up and caught the innkeeper’s eye from across the room. Ignore, play along, defend. In that order. Magge had given her that piece of advice the day she’d come here seeking sanctuary, and she’d realized its worth a dozen times over.

“Not so fine as that, sir,” Kathryn said, spinning around and winking in a perfect imitation of Magge. No one dared to enter The Wild Boar and give Magge anything but the respect she deserved. This inn did not simply survive—it turned away patrons nearly every night of the week—and if the guests did not behave, she could and would make them leave.

The man who’d accosted her was an English knight, though not titled if the condition of his armor and roughness of his speech were any indication. His companions watched her as she smiled politely at each of them.

“A pitcher of ale for your troubles?”

The apology rolled smoothly off her tongue, as if it were her fault she spoke “so finely” or wanted to avoid the attentions of three men who’d likely been drinking ale all evening. But none would guess her thoughts by the smile she offered them. That was a lesson she’d learned well.

“What’s your name?” one of the Englishman’s friends asked.

Bearded and a few years older than the man who’d addressed her, this one was likely the leader of the group. Also untitled, most likely, but she’d guess he had a bit more coin than the others. None of which he’d spend this night as Kathryn had just offered to serve them free drink.

Magge wouldn’t be pleased, but she’d be even less pleased if a fight broke out.

Kathryn had inadvertently started more than one, and there was nothing Magge despised more. She’d built The Wild Boar’s reputation on maintaining peace, but even the innkeeper knew violence was unavoidable at times.

Like the time a Scots chief’s son had attempted to drag Kathryn deep into the stables for “a bit of fun.” That particular incident had ended with a local baron dumping the man and his father in the nearby river on Magge’s orders. The innkeeper had no shortage of muscle to assist her when it became necessary.

All of the locals loved Magge, as they did this inn, and they would fight to protect what was hers, including Kathryn. Unfortunately, those who were new to the inn, or too bold or drunk to care about the rules, sometimes had to learn the hard way.

“Kathryn, sir.”

“Does the maid have a surname?” he asked. Perhaps he simply asked out of curiosity, but Kathryn always expected the worse.

That he might know her, or her father. Might suspect the truth.

“Baird,” she lied. “Kathryn Baird.”

“Where are you—”

“The ale?” the third companion interrupted. Kathryn could always count on at least one person caring more for ale or wine than for her.

“Of course,” she murmured, hurrying off and breathing a sigh of relief. She’d not be back to their table this eve. When she reached Mary, she said, “Can you bring a pitcher of ale to the three Englishmen—”

Mary rolled her eyes, the young maid already knowing what she needed. It happened at least once a night when Kathryn worked the hall. Which was why Magge only brought her down here when necessary.

“Aye, I’ll trade yer tables,” the normally good-natured Mary muttered.

Kathryn blew her a kiss.

“Pucker those lips again,” Magge said, catching up with her and giving her bottom a little swat, “and ye’ll be givin’ ale to every goddamn man here.”

Kathryn couldn’t help but laugh at Magge’s expression.

“I learned from the best,” she teased. The older woman was a more notorious flirt than even the most skilled courtiers. And Kathryn would know. She’d spent more time in the English and French courts than she had anywhere else in her twenty years. Although her duties at The Wild Boar were a long way from attending the queen, another duty of her past life, navigating overly-amorous men and sometimes jealous ladies here in The Wild Boar was not overly different than being at court.

Only then, she’d had her father to protect her.

Now that he was gone, Kathryn had to protect herself . . . and her father’s legacy. Which someday, between ordering brews and swatting away prying hands, she vowed to do. Someday, she would learn who had killed him. Who had forced her into this life of hiding.

Chapter 2

“Just a bit lower,” Cora instructed.

Back at Langford Castle from Windsor, Neill stood with the woman who had been a host, mother, and confidante to him these past seven years. She’d challenged him to one final contest at breakfast, and since he could no sooner refuse her than he could ignore a challenge, here they were in the training yard.

This time, Neill was determined to best her.