Page 49 of Ruthless, But for Her

Cassia

“You’ll need a name. An identity.”

As the Wild Boar came into view ahead just as the sun began to set, precisely as Ashton had predicted, “Are you saying the widow of the recently deceased deputy warden will not do?” she asked.

Ashton grinned. He’d done more of that this day than any before it. But Cassia supposed she had, too. She’d caught herself, envisioning Roland at the bottom of the North Sea, his body bloated and rotting. And she felt guilty for the events around his death. But the fact remained…Cassia had enjoyed the day. She should not have, nor had she expected to. But riding a mare such as Maude…

With him.

Chastising herself, Cassia pushed away the thought and focused instead on the task at hand. She needed a name. An identity.

She waited.

He slowed, bringing his mount to a stop well before the inn. She brought Maude up beside him.

He would give her a name. A false purpose. But she’d become accustomed to as much. Men had told her who she was her whole life.

“Do you have any thoughts on the matter?” he asked.

She patted her tired mare’s neck.

“On an identity?”

“Aye.”

She did. Of course she did. But…he waited for her to choose.

“Alys,” she blurted. “’Twas my mother’s name.”

He nodded. “You will need a surname and a purpose for being with me at such a place. There are women here. One owns the inn, in fact. But other than the Wild Boar’s owner and some serving girls…few women pass through such dangerous territory without a reason.”

“I could be a cloth trader,” she said. “I met a woman once who peddled her wares in the village market. She spoke often of her travels.”

“You’ll be Alys Mercer, then. A fine name. You are a wool merchant’s widow out of Berwick, traveling south to settle her husband’s accounts. You hired me to protect you.”

That wasn’t so far from the truth.

Alys.

She hadn’t said the name aloud in years. Her father never did. He’d put her mother’s things away, out of sight, and did the same with her name. Eventually, Cassia had stopped asking for both, asking for some way to remember her when it was clear her father wished for the opposite. Perhaps, he’d not wanted to be reminded of a painful memory. According to Nell, the two had come to love each other, in their own way.

And now, she was Alys, a wool merchant’s widow from Berwick. Everything else was Ashton’s. The surname, her “husband” and his accounts, along with the reason she rode with him.

But the name was hers.

“I’ve been to Berwick, though I cannot easily recall it since the visit was many years ago.”

“Few will trouble you to ask.” He frowned. “Except Magge. The innkeeper is…you shall see for yourself. Come.”

With that, they rode the final distance to the inn, which had been built among trees and fields. It was an unlikely spot for an inn, except for its position by the river.

Built of stone below the height of her mount and timber above it, the thatch was dark with dampness, with smoke rising from both ends of it. Behind the inn, there was a stable and a midden heaped with ash and kitchen leavings.

Ashton dismounted and took both sets of reins. He led the horses around to the stable, loosened the girths, and let them drink before he tied them off.

Cassia stared up at the wooden sign, swinging lightly in the wind. The sign creaked as it swung to and fro. She was so intent on watching it, Cassia didn’t realize she was no longer alone. Two men had come from around the back, but no sooner did they spot her than the men’s eyes widened and they backed away.

She quickly realized the reason for it. The deep sound of Ashton’s voice broke the silence, asking if she was hungry.