Chapter 2
If the man were not of noble birth, Drake would have slammed him to the ground the moment the knave laid hands on the auburn-haired lass. As it was, Drake being a commoner, paired with his hope of becoming a knight, placed him in a precarious position.
Men who struck women and children were the lowest sort and ought to be subjected to the strictest punishment. He only wished he could be the one to mete it out.
The nobleman glared at Drake first and then Bean, the man’s haughty gaze assessing, no doubt tallying worth in an instant.
In an instant, he assumed Drake’s fine tunic made him as noble as all of the others parading in front of the palace, and the man pointed an accusing finger toward the woman. “She stole my purse.”
The lass’s green eyes were bright as sea glass and large against her slender face. She blinked. “I dinna take it. I found it laying on the ground next to him—”
The man’s upper lip curled as if he finally could smell the reeking piles of refuse littering the sides of the alley. “Lies.”
The woman’s pleading gaze swept to Drake. “’Tis true.”
It wasn’t. He’d grown up with three sisters and knew the look of feigned innocence when he saw it. While he didn’t condone lying, the red mark on her cheek encouraged his sympathy toward her. Even if she had stolen the purse as the man claimed, she did not deserve to be struck.
Drake folded his arms over his chest. “If the purse belongs to him, return it.”
The woman cast her focus to the purse. It was for a blink of a moment, but the longing there was palpable enough to strike Drake in the chest. One need only take in her coarse homespun dress and lack of adornment to know she did not have much to her name.
Still, she extended the small leather pouch to the man, cradled like something precious in the cup of her palm.
Her fingers were split at the creases, and it made Drake recall his own mother’s hands.
She’d taken in laundry from neighbors and strangers for years to keep them all fed.
Her own hands had appeared thus, worn and beaten down by the abuse of a hard life.
The man snatched his purse and stalked from the alley, muttering obscenities as he did so.
“Noblemen shouldna use such speech,” Bean chastised, earning him a glower from the man. “And ye could offer yer thanks.”
The nobleman tossed the lad a rude gesture, but Drake ignored him and went to the woman to assess her injury.
“Are ye well?” he asked, approaching slowly.
Those wide green eyes found his, and her chapped fingers went to her cheek where the skin bore the imprint of the man’s hand. “I’ve had worse.”
He didn’t doubt it. Life was hard for women of little means with no one to protect them.
Drake indicated the inn. “Will ye join me for an ale and some food?”
She lowered her hand from her face and studied him. Her assessment was different than the nobleman’s had been. She didn’t weigh him for wealth but for danger.
At that exact moment, Bean approached. “My lady, I pray ye are well.”
Her mouth pulled up in a tender smile. “Ach, I’m fine, lad. But thank ye for thinking of me.”
“I hope ye’ve offered aid to this elegant lady.” Bean regarded Drake sternly.
Before Drake could speak up, the woman replied for him, “Aye, he has. Can I trust him?”
Bean twisted his lips in thought before responding, “The king trusts him, and therefore so do I. He seems a good sort from the bit of time I’ve known him, my lady.”
“And how long have ye known him?” the woman asked.
“Less than an hour, my lady.”
The woman gave a good-natured laugh and ruffled Bean’s hair, receiving a besotted smile in return.
“Aye, I’ll join ye,” she said. “But ye need no’ call me a lady. Just Greer will do well enough.”
Greer.
It was a short, simple name for a woman who appeared to be curiously complex even in the scant time Drake had known her.
“And ye can call me Drake,” he said.
She nodded and allowed him to lead her toward the inn where the tavern was known for its lamb and vegetable stew. Once Greer’s attention was off Bean, the lad swiftly raked his hands over his hair to smooth what she had rumpled as he trotted after them.
The tavern was relatively empty when they entered, the hour too early to draw in a large crowd. Drake found a table in the corner near the open shutters. The slight breeze wafting in took the edge off the thick air that reeked of stale alcohol, sweat and oily tallow candle smoke.
The tavern maid approached them with a bright, friendly smile. “What would ye like?”
Drake waited for Greer to speak first.
But it was Bean who began ordering before them all. “I’ll have lamb stew and a loaf of bread. Do ye have a bit of cheese back there as well? And an ale.”
Spoken as a growing lad.
Greer pressed her lips together, appearing hesitant to order. It was a scenario Drake was far too familiar with—being surrounded by food and starving for lack of coin to purchase any.
“We’ll take two stews and ales,” he said for her. “And another loaf of bread to ensure this lad doesna bite our hands if we try to have some.”
Bean regarded him with horror. “I wouldna ever do something so crude.”
But Greer gave an easy laugh, and the offense relaxed from his features.
During the time they waited for their food and ale to arrive, Drake learned she was not from Dunfermline and, like them, was beginning the start of a journey.
“Where are ye going?” Bean asked.
“Back home,” she replied without specification. “And ye?”
Drake understood the immediate question, one meant to gently shift the topic from her by putting it back on the other person. Given people’s propensity to discuss themselves chiefly, it was an effective tactic. But one Drake did not miss.
“We’re traveling to the border to help train soldiers to defend Scotland better.” Bean’s thin chest lifted with pride. “They need strong warriors.”
The tavern maid appeared with their food and ale and set it all on the table before them. The thick gravy sent curls of savory steam up from the trenchers, and a light foam frothed over the ale. Drake hadn’t been hungry before its arrival but now found himself famished.
Greer tore a chunk off the bread with delicate care.
Though her actions were measured as she dredged the soft white insides of the bread through the stew, he caught the slight tremble of her fingers and the way her eyes closed when she put the food into her mouth.
It was brief, but Drake was suddenly glad he had insisted on buying her meal.
She had evidently not eaten in some time.
The lamb’s meat was so tender that it practically melted against Greer’s tongue.
She tried to maintain a casual air as she ate but wished nothing more than to cram each bite faster into her mouth.
She’d subsisted on meager rations of ale, stale bread and cheese to preserve as much of her coin as possible.
In the sennight she’d been in the village trying to gain an audience with the king, she had finally run out of coin and hadn’t eaten anything in two days.
Now that she had food—a proper, hearty meal—she wanted to be chewing and swallowing even as she was bringing more to her lips. It took nearly everything in her to slow her pace.
Especially when Drake’s eyes were trained so carefully on her. She ought to have been disconcerted by how clearly that he seemed to understand her. But there was something fascinating about the way he read her so easily—he had a story of his own to be told, no doubt.
And one she didn’t have time to learn.
It was kind of him to purchase her meal and ale, but with the exception of that quality sword on his hip that she’d like to sell, she had no more use for him or the lad. Not when Mac awaited her.
She glanced up at the boy and found him working a piece of the stale bread trencher free before popping the bit into his mouth. A line of foam showed on his upper lip from where he’d drank deeply of the ale.
She lifted her brows. “Ye’ve quite the appetite.”
“Beathan.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “My name’s Beathan. My da always says the same thing, but he says ’tis good for a growing lad. And I’m hoping to eat enough to grow as big as Drake.”
Drake nudged aside his own empty trencher. “Everyone calls him Bean.”
The boy scowled. “I dinna like being called Bean.”
“Ach, but Bean is a fine, playful name,” Greer said encouragingly to put him at ease. She tousled his soft hair the way she did so often with Mac.
The action pulled at her heart and brought to the forefront all the thoughts she’d tried so hard to push from her mind.
Was Mac being well cared for?
Was he safe?
Was he scared?
No doubt he was terrified, wondering when she would come for him. Already she had taken far too long. The trip to Dunfermline had not been easy when done on foot, especially with limited means. Likewise, the return journey back would be equally as long.
She wished she could snap her fingers and be there with Mac in a moment’s time.
“I dinna mind if ye call me Bean,” the lad said, bringing her back to the present and drawing her from things she’d rather not ponder. He flushed and gave her a besotted smile.
“Where did ye say ye’d be traveling?” Drake asked.
Greer studied Drake, unable to help the rise of suspicion. In her experience, someone asking where she intended to go was seldom an innocent question.
“South,” she answered simply.
“We’re heading down that way as well,” he said. “Ye’re welcome to join us if ye like.”
The rise of suspicion became a spike.
Ah, so this was how it was to go. Rescuing her, offering a meal paid with his coin, then a generous suggestion to travel together. She was no fool. She knew what came next.
Men didn’t do anything for a woman without expecting a display of appreciation. One that they were not shy about trying to exact when not given freely.
And it would never be given freely. Even for a man as fine-looking as Drake was. She’d never been that kind of lass.
Nay, she would stick to her nights on the cold ground before she would accept the “generosity” of a rich man.
Suddenly, she wanted to steal his sword and did not feel a lick of remorse for her intent.
“Please say ye’ll join us.” Bean’s sky-blue eyes lit up with excitement.
She paused, considering. If they thought she meant to join them, it would present an opportunity to sneak away with Drake’s sword. “Aye, mayhap for the day.”
“We intend to leave once we are finished here.” Drake surveyed the table of empty trenchers and mugs.
“That was also my plan.” Greer stood up, eager to encourage the start of the journey. The sooner they departed, the sooner they would be alone, and she would have the opportunity to relieve him of his sword.
She could practically feel the weight of coin from its sale in her purse. It would be considerable indeed.
Together, they went to the palace stables where Drake and Bean both had horses.
Yet another boon that would prove beneficial for her.
If she could take one of their horses as well, she could reach Lochmaben in only a couple of days rather than the weeks it’d taken to arrive.
Once there, she could sell the animal for more coin.
Between the sword and the horse, she would be well on her way to securing Mac’s freedom.
“Where is yer horse?” Bean asked her.
Were he not so serious, she might have laughed. Clearly, he had no idea the cost of a horse and how many months of food that might otherwise purchase.
She shook her head. “I dinna have one.”
“No’ everyone has a horse, Beathan,” Drake replied.
At the use of his full name, Bean grinned despite the light chastisement. It was a kind consideration. Drake indicated his steed and looked to Greer. “Ye can ride with me.”
She hesitated. Bean’s horse was little more than a pony that could doubtless only carry the weight of one person. Drake’s destrier, however, was a beast meant for war, the kind that could withstand a warrior’s weight as well as that of another person and more.
Except that Greer and Darke would be pressed close together. Her stomach clenched with dread for any accidental brushes of his hands with them being in such proximity.
Mac.
The reminder of her brother steeled her resolve, and she acquiesced. Drake helped her up first. The massive horse sat higher than any of the few she’d ever ridden and made it seem as though the world were smaller from her vantage point. An unexpected heady excitement swept over her.
The large warrior swung up behind her, and she tensed in preparation for the heat of his groin settling against her bottom. But it did not.
Instead, he shifted slightly in the saddle, not moving nearer but farther away.
He smelled pleasantly of something clean and spicy, tinged with the quality leather he wore at his waist and on his feet.
When his arms came around her to take the reins, he did not once brush against her.
Nay, he kept his touch removed from her person as he issued a soft click and his war horse began to walk alongside Bean’s steed.
Greer’s heart hammered with uncharacteristic anxiety. Usually, she was able to maintain her confidence, free of the jitters of her actions. Why then was she suddenly so very nervous?