Chapter 29
Later that afternoon, Ian watched the busy road between the city and the castle for the messenger that Onric had mentioned.
With the day’s festivities nearing a close, many townsfolk were moving down the hill away from the events in the field and back into the town to eat at a tavern or travel home.
Most of the travelers were on foot, but several nobles also rode down the hill from events in the castle.
Ian leaned his back against the stone wall of the storefront, keeping his face relaxed as he looked at every rider coming down the hill.
The messenger was easy to spot. He was not one of the usual Iseldis couriers, which made sense as Gareth would only use his own trusted men for certain communications.
But the man clearly looked like a courier.
He wore the perfect mix of comfortable, well-made travel clothing that was not soldier’s livery but still bore the seal of the king.
But the simple clothes contrasted with the quality of the horse he rode.
The couriers of the king were always given access to the finest and fastest horses in any stable.
And the man riding down the road toward the city hit all of those marks. As he drew near, Ian could even make out the defining scar that Onric had mentioned.
It was a crime punishable by a hefty fine to interfere with a king’s rider, but Ian stepped forward anyway. He looked across the road, catching Robin’s eye to let her know that this was the one.
From her place across the street, Robin nodded her understanding, then looked down to unfold the fabric package in her hands. Ian could smell the tantalizing aroma of fresh-baked pastry rich with apples, spices, and honey.
He looked back up the hill to the approaching courier. The road was too busy for the man to push his horse hard, but his sense of purpose still helped him to clear a path through the laid-back merrymakers.
Timing his step, Ian stumbled into the center of the street just as the rider approached, forcing the man to slow down and swerve his mount to the side.
Ian grabbed the horse’s reins as he pretended to stumble, righting himself and stopping the animal in one motion.
“Move, peasant,” the man said. He had extricated his foot from the stirrup and used it to kick Ian in the shoulder. Ian only clung harder to the bridle and rolled himself into the horse.
“I’m not a peasant,” he said, intentionally stumbling over his words as though he were drunk.
“A bite of sweetbread for a half coin?” Robin’s voice rang out cheerily from the other side of the horse.
“No,” the courier said. He dug his heels into his horse’s side. “I am not here for your sweetbreads and ales.”
The horse stepped forward, pressing against Ian’s hold on the bridle. Ian held firm, twisting his body to stand more in front of the horse. He swayed a little to sell the movement and stroked the horse’s forehead.
“Perhaps you should be,” Robin said.
From his new angle in front of the horse, Ian could see Robin place one hand on the man’s knee.
This got the courier’s attention. The man looked down at her. His eyes no longer held the annoyance from moments before as he took in Robin’s eager, upturned face. Then he dropped his eyes down the rest of her body.
She was clad in trousers, as usual, but Ian did not think that made her any less appealing.
“Sweetbread?” the courier asked, but the tone of his voice did not match the simplicity of the word. His horse stilled beneath him, sensing the change in energy.
Robin lifted a piece of the loaf.
“For a half coin?” the man asked, taking it from her hand and lifting it to his nose.
“For you?” Robin said. “No coin.”
Watching the exchange, Ian wanted to step around the horse and slap its backside until it carried this leering man far, far away from Robin.
“Join me for a drink?” Robin asked, gesturing with her head toward an inn further down the road.
The man looked down the road. His eyes appeared to spot the inn, then lifted farther toward the horizon.
“Surely you can enjoy the festival for a few moments before whatever journey is pulling you away?” Robin’s hand slid further up the man’s knee.
Ian wished they had come up with any plan other than this.
“A quick drink, then,” the man said. He slid from the horse, dropping down onto the road beside Robin, his eyes once again scanning her body.
Summoning a strength of will that he was far too used to relying on, Ian stepped away from the horse. He swayed gently as he slipped into the crowd.
The man did not even spare him a second glance.
Imagining himself besting the courier in the sparring ring, Ian let the crowd surge around him. He kept his eyes on the back of the horse as he trailed Robin and the courier to the inn.
The man may have been shirking his duties, but he was no fool. After tying his horse to a post outside the inn, he gathered the leather pack containing the correspondence and carried it with him after Robin into the inn.
Ian had expected that, but he had hoped the man would have been distracted enough to leave it on the horse. Or, perhaps, Ian reminded himself, he should be thankful that the man was not that distracted.
Giving them a few minutes, Ian waited outside the inn before following a crowd through the door.
Robin and the courier were seated at a far table. Ian could see all of Robin’s face, as she had situated herself to be facing the door, forcing the man to put his back to the rest of the room.
Robin was all smiles, her eyes shining bright, as she leaned across the table giving the man her full attention.
Ian cursed himself for ever having suggested this stupid plan. He had been elated when Robin had agreed to it, saying it was well thought out.
But looking at her now, even knowing that she was just playing a part, he realized it was clearly not thought out at all. Next time, he would let her come up with the stupid plans.
She laughed.
Ian fought the urge to walk up behind the courier and forcibly remove him from the establishment.
He needed to focus. The sooner he got those papers, the sooner this would all be over.
The courier still wore the leather satchel around his shoulder.
Ian moved closer, but he remained in the thick of the crowd moving toward the innkeeper’s counter.
Robin half stood, lifting her chair along with her. She stepped around the table and set the chair back down, now sitting very close to the man.
The courier leaned over the table, bringing his head closer to her, his satchel now almost directly behind his twisted back.
Ian stepped forward, thankful for the opening Robin had created but cursing himself as well because she had moved closer to this all-too-eager stranger.
Ian dropped down, sitting back on his heels to keep his body small as he unclasped the satchel.
Robin lifted the man’s cup from the table, offering him a drink. “I never waste good ale,” she said.
Ian froze as the man turned his head slightly to accept the cup. He hoped the man would not see him out of the corner of his eye.
But Robin quickly drew his attention back to herself. “I never waste a good time, either,” she said.
The man lifted the cup to his lips and threw the rest of the ale back in a single swig.
Ian used the movement to slip his hand inside the satchel. He grabbed a piece of folded parchment.
“Neither do I,” the man said, slamming his cup back down on the table.
Ian hopped back, standing in a smooth motion and slipping into the crowd.
His heart pounded in his ears. He had not felt this strong a propensity toward violence since Onric and Aden had used underhanded tactics to beat him in a sword fight when they were still children.
“You can finish mine,” Robin said. Ian looked back to see Robin slide her own cup across the table.
Ale splashed from the still-full cup, drawing the man’s attention.
Robin stood and stepped away from the table before he could register what had happened.
“Hey!” The courier stood as well, yelling after her. But Robin was already slipping through the crowded room, moving among the people faster than even Ian could follow her.
Outside of the inn, she stood near the door, waiting until she caught sight of him before she sprinted into the busy street.
Ian followed her, unable to move quite as quickly as she did.
Ahead of him, she moved through the crowd like water but stayed within sight, glancing back every so often to make sure Ian was with her.
Several buildings away from the inn, she slipped out of the crowd and into a side alley.
When Ian joined her, she was grinning. Not a fake, sickly sweet smile like the one she had been giving the courier but a real, ecstatic grin. “That was perfect!” she said.
The pounding in Ian’s heart turned to relief, and he grinned back at her.