Page 54 of Ruthless, But for Her

When she nodded, he laid out the pallet between the bed and the door. She smiled. He was always protecting her.

“There was a commotion outside,” she said. The window was shuttered against the cold, with only a small square of oiled cloth above the latch to let the light through. She had heard men shouting and boots on packed earth, but had seen nothing at all.

He said nothing. But something about his expression told Cassia Ashton knew precisely of what she spoke.

“Do you know what happened?”

“I do.”

Somehow, she'd already known he was involved. And if Cassia pressed, Ashton might have told her. Instead, she let it be.

Did it concern her in some way? Something told her that it did…

She was not unaware of the attention she'd caused below in the hall.

“Did you harm anyone?” Even though she’d intended not to ask, Cassia couldn't resist.

“The man isn't dead, if that's what you're asking.”

It wasn't, not precisely, but 'twas good to know.

“There is mulled wine,” she said, reclaiming her position by the fire.

Cassia watched as Ashton bent down to finish arranging his pallet, a straw tick and two coarse blankets Magge had sent up with a serving boy. He was taller and more muscled than Roland, moving with an ease her husband had never quite mastered. He'd wanted so badly to rise above his station that he'd forgotten how to move when no one was watching.

She looked away quickly when Ashton stood and caught her staring. Striding over to the chest, Ashton took the second cup of wine and joined her.

“I spoke with a man named Hob. He walked the roads with a pack until his hip gave out and he's not left this inn since. Magge feeds him. He pays her by passing along what he hears. If any beyond Magge have heard whispers of Roland's death, it would be him.”

“So he's heard naught?” she guessed from his expression.

“Not unless learning the miller's wife has taken a lover is worthwhile information. Does this chamber suit you for a sennight? By then, we should learn something.”

He grinned. It changed his whole face…and then it was gone, almost before she'd finished noticing it.

“It does,” she said, meaning it. Though she guessed, glancing at his pallet, it suited him less.

She took a sip of wine. It was not as fine as the French variety at the Daisy, but not as sour as she'd expected from a borderlands inn.

The silence, though not an uncomfortable one, stretched. She was content to watch the fire, listening to the logs protest their demise.

She suddenly envisioned Roland, protesting the situation.

Had she seen his head, his hand, break through the water? Or had she imagined it? One memory did break through her mind for the first time—her husband's eyes widening as he fell. Had he known he was falling to his death?

Her eyes welled, tears threatening for the first time since it happened. She had caused him to fall. And now, Roland Heron was no longer for this world. And she was a widow. Wiping the tears away, Cassia took a deep, steadying breath and peered into the wine. Her father would have had Cassia put aside the wine and not drink it, as though sorrow might somehow taint it.

She drank anyway as Ashton watched her silently.

Neither said another word. They finished their wine, then Cassia rose and put the candle out. She climbed into bed, pulled the coverlet over her and listened to the straw shift beneath Ashton as he settled onto the pallet. Then she closed her eyes, praying for sleep.

CHAPTER 33

Ashton

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for her to rise. Because Cassia was sleeping, she couldn’t bar the door behind him, and Ashton wouldn’t take a chance with her safety by leaving it unbarred. She’d not gone unnoticed, as he feared, and this was not the sort of place to take any chances.

After he spoke with Hob last eve, a drover out of the Tyne had followed him into the yard. He wanted to know what a wool merchant’s widow was doing on the road with a man who wore no lord’s colors. He asked it twice. The second time, he put a hand on Ashton’s arm.