Chapter Eight
The rain started a few hours into their journey and never let up. Niall shivered on the driver’s seat next to Penn, head hunched, arms crossed, and hands tucked close to his body. “Stupid mountain weather,” he muttered, the words barely intelligible through his chattering teeth.
Penn wasn’t much happier with their situation, but he didn’t think the mountains were to blame. “We should find somewhere to shelter,” he suggested, “until the storm passes.”
Niall narrowed his eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Give the soldiers time to catch up with us. No, we drive through it.”
‘Driving through it’ was easier said than done. The rain turned the roads into deep mud that clung to the wheels and the horses’ hooves, slowing their progress until it would have been faster to walk.
Through the gloom, Penn spotted a signpost ahead, and the distant glow of lights following a path from the road into a village. He started to turn down it when Niall grabbed his wrist. The other man’s hand was clammy and overheated.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re wearing the horses out,” Penn explained. “If we don’t let them rest, they may die from exhaustion or illness, and then we’ll have to walk to the next town in this.” He waved a hand through the rain steadily streaming onto their heads.
Niall hesitated, his grip on Penn loosening slightly.
“Besides, don’t you need to sell what you stole from Lord Edgar? Furniture is worthless on the road. You need gold, not candlesticks.”
Niall considered this for a long moment, then his hand tightened on Penn again and he leaned forward, his hot, sour breath blowing in Penn’s face as he hissed, “If you even think of playing us foul, I will slit you open and feed you to the fish like the worm you are.”
Penn stared placidly back at Niall until the mage finally unsheathed his claws and crossed his arms again for warmth. Then Penn focused on guiding the horses to the village. Once they saw the light, their plodding pace picked up speed.
The shops had closed early due to the rain, the residents remaining in their cozy homes. Ahead of them, the inn’s warm, welcoming light called to all weary travelers.
As they approached the stables, Niall warned, “If you say anything at all to make them suspicious—”
“I won’t,” Penn said, forcing himself to smile as a groom ran out to meet him. He hopped down from the driver’s seat and went to rap on the side of the carriage when Niall once again grabbed his hand.
“What are you—”
“Are you going to question everything I do?” Penn asked.
Niall glowered at him. “Yes.”
Penn sighed. “I was just letting Val—Alistair,” he almost choked on the name. The silly combination he’d come up with in his head was so much easier to stomach. “Letting him know the plan.”
“I will tell him,” Niall insisted, then knocked rapidly on the carriage door.
The old dog is jealous of the new puppy.
There was no reply to the knock. Niall tried again, louder this time. “Alistair?” The second time, he waited only a few seconds before yanking the door open.
Valistair leaned against the seat, his hand dropping quickly from his head. He glanced at Niall and demanded, “Why have we stopped?”
“It’s the rain, sir,” Niall admitted grudgingly. The wet hair and clothes plastered to his skin should have been explanation enough. “We’ve stopped at an inn to change horses and wait for it to pass.”
Valistair glanced at Penn, his lips twitching down in displeasure. “Very well.” He stepped out of the carriage and straightened his rumpled clothes. Then he reached back and grabbed a bag, dropping it into Penn’s arms with no explanation.
Niall retrieved his own bag from the carriage, and they all went inside.
Penn walked straight toward the innkeeper’s counter, only stopping when Valistair grabbed his arm. With as many times as they’re grabbing me, they might as well hook a leash to my collar.
“Niall will make the arrangements,” Valistair explained in a low voice.
Right, they don’t want to risk me exposing them as traitors and kidnappers. “Force of habit,” Penn drawled, keeping his posture relaxed. “I usually make the arrangements if I’m traveling on my own or with Archer.”
“Do you travel with your king often?” Valistair asked. His hand remained on Penn’s arm, the grip gentling until it was only a reminder of his presence.
Penn shrugged. “Where he goes, I go.”
“Yet he wasn’t with you at the estate.”
“Well, it doesn’t work the other way around,” Penn replied, lips quirking. “Or he’d never get any work done.”
“A messenger is an interesting choice for a companion.” Valistair cupped Penn’s chin with his other hand, lifting it to better examine his face. “Or does he have some other use for you?”
“I have many talents you haven’t seen yet.” Penn kept his voice low, eyes hooded, pouring suggestive heat into the words. Focus on me, not Archer or Silas or anyone else.
“I look forward to discovering them.” The mage’s hands dropped away, and he stepped back as Niall intruded on their intimacy.
“The innkeeper says the storm isn’t expected to pass until morning,” Niall groused as he handed a key to his master. “I procured us two rooms, some baths, and dinner.”
“Well done,” Valistair replied.
“I will watch the boy—”
“No. He stays with me.”
Niall’s gaze skated toward Penn, who carefully examined his nails and pretended to be disinterested in the arrangements. Either way, he would have a busy night ahead of him. “Alistair, you need your rest to fight the mercenary.”
“Are you questioning my capabilities?”
“I question his motives,” Niall explained, scowling at Penn. “I will not leave you with him while you’re vulnerable.”
To Penn’s surprise, Valistair conceded. “You’ve shown me much consideration. Guard him well.” His gaze roamed over Penn like a physical caress. “I still need him.”
They separated into two rooms on opposite sides of the hall. The moment the door closed, Niall began bossing Penn around. “You will sit here,” he said, pulling out a wooden chair from a small table in the corner. “You will not move unless directed. Do you understand?”
Sit, stay, speak. Penn was tempted to bark. “Completely.” He sat in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. Folding his arms, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
“Now? It isn’t even nightfall yet. You haven’t eaten or bathed.” After a long pause, Niall declared, “This is a trick! You’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Let me inform you, it won’t work.”
Sighing, Penn straightened and said, “You woke me in the middle of the night, held me at knifepoint, then made me drive in the rain. I’m not lulling you into anything.
I am fucking exhausted. Since I assume you will wake me at the crack of dawn again to drive that stupid, overloaded carriage, I will take whatever opportunities I’m given to rest.”
Niall puffed up like a swollen toad, his chest expanding and face scrunching in fury. “How dare you speak to me that way!”
“I dare for one simple reason: you aren’t in charge. Perhaps you were before Alistair arrived, but now you’re his subordinate again. The way I see it, you and I share the same rank.”
Niall snatched the front of Penn’s shirt and dragged him forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “I will always rank above you.”
“But never above him,” Penn said, staring placidly back at Niall, “and he’s the only one who matters.”
A knock interrupted their standoff. Niall shoved Penn back into the chair and answered the door, inviting in two workers carrying a copper tub and a third carrying food.
The worker placed the trays of food in front of Penn, glancing at him under her eyelashes. “Your meal, sir.”
He smiled back at her, earning a faint blush. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
She bowed her head to hide a slight smile, then slipped out of the room. The door remained open as the other workers filled the bath with water.
Niall plopped down in the seat beside Penn and dragged both plates toward him.
He examined everything—flipping over the rolls, cutting into the meat, spearing the vegetables with his fork and holding them up to eye level.
Glancing at the workers still coming and going, he frowned, then shoved one of the plates toward Penn.
Would he try to drug me if there weren’t witnesses? Penn wondered as he took a bite.
The workers finished filling the bath around the same time Niall finished eating. He shooed them out the door and closed it, narrowing his eyes at Penn. “Don’t get any ideas. I’ve seen the way you look at Alistair—I won’t tolerate any funny business.”
Penn’s dinner threatened to come back up at the implication. He barely swallowed it back down. “If you’re so concerned, there’s a dressing screen,” he said, pointing to a trifold piece of wood leaning against the far wall.
“And give you an opportunity to wreak havoc? How stupid do you think I am?”
Penn refrained from answering.
Niall peeled his wet clothes from his skin, exposing the withered fruit beneath, long past its prime.
The dagger he’d held against Penn’s throat had been tucked into an interior pocket of his jacket, now laying in the pile of clothes on the floor.
He didn’t clink or clang with his movements, which implied he didn’t keep any potion bottles on him.
Penn glanced at the bag Niall had set on the bed, wondering if some potions might be inside.
Niall lowered himself into the water with a contented sigh, leaning his head back against the tub’s rim and sinking deep into its warmth.
“A shame they don’t have plumbing all the way out here,” he said conversationally, but the curl of his lip was disdainful.
“It’ll be cold and dirty by the time it’s your turn, but you’ll have to make do. I won’t waste money refilling it.”
Half the time Penn bathed in ice-cold rivers. A tepid bath didn’t concern him. He didn’t rise to Niall’s bait, responding only with a simple, “Mm.”
It didn’t take long for the warm water to work its magic. Niall’s mouth dropped open and he released a loud, snuffling snore.