Chapter 12 The First Scratch is the Deepest
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIRST SCRATCH IS THE DEEPEST
I squashed my bedding outside Lilyanna’s door and then crammed one of the plump armchairs in front as well. It wasn’t much of a barrier, but it’d have to do. Hopefully, Clement wouldn’t be at the tavern tonight, or he’d spend the time admonishing me about leaving my post.
More importantly, I’d need to make sure no one recognized me or could associate me with the Sheriff.
My cloak had been freshly washed and hung from a solitary hook on the back of my door. It smelled faintly of roses, but still enough to make me gag. I slipped out and headed toward the kitchens.
The castle wasn’t fully silent. An energy hummed below the surface, the air thick and expectant. The walls were behaving tonight, no noises, no obstructions. It was as if the castle knew I would be returning and was content with allowing me passage to the outside. To freedom.
The penetrating cold air of the street hit me full in the face as I slipped out of the servant’s entrance.
The guard paid me no attention as I huddled inside my cloak with the hood low and my hands wrapped around my body for warmth.
My worn boots were silent as I padded down the cobblestone street, glancing up at the creaking wooden signs as I passed.
Every other house was a tavern of some kind.
The first had a smoky-red glow to the window, a lipstick smeared sign reading ‘women only.’ Another had thick, mottled glass.
The shapes inside were distorted, but strangely erotic as they glided around, merging into one another.
A faint, seductive beat vibrated the floor as I passed.
The Diamond Nightingale was disappointingly plain. Like every public house I’d ever visited, the windows were dirty and smeared and the sign above clung on by only one hinge. But the comfortingly familiar smell of wood smoke, rich ale, and meat pies lingered in the air. My mouth watered.
A few meager coppers bounced around in my pocket amid the collection of small silver rings I had worn at the fayre. I slipped one on, tugged my hood lower over my face, and pushed open the door.
The roaring heat from the fire swarmed around me, rowdy conversations and the chinking of glasses suddenly booming into life.
Games of dice were in full swing on the rickety central tables, men and women perching on the edge of long benches, craning their bodies over the die, their arms hovering ready to snatch their winnings.
Dice was a game of luck. I’d grown up playing and had lost years of earnings failing at it, until I realized that even luck could be forced.
I kept my hood over my face and walked to the bar. A glass with strong, brown ale was plonked in front of me, the liquid swishing up the sides, and I slid two coppers back across. Leaning against the rough countertop, I surveyed the room.
The Sheriff’s boots were the most notable thing about him. He changed his face regularly—hair color, beard, moustache, skin tone. I knew most of his disguises, but most importantly, I knew his addiction. The one thing he could never turn down. Information.
If I’d played it right in the market by setting myself up as the prince’s mistress, then he would be seeking me out tonight. There was no need to admit it had almost really happened.
I twisted the silver ring on my finger. It was heavy and irritating, causing my fingers to spread further than was natural.
A cheer went up from the closest table. Three die each showed only one spot.
A woman noisily raked the collection of coppers and oddities from the center of the table, scraping them into the gaping mouth of her purse.
The players shuffled around the circular table, a lithe man taking position at the head.
His dark beard crawled down his neck, a full day’s growth coating his chin and cheeks.
His eyes were bright, posture relaxed, and underneath the sapphire tunic, a perfectly honed torso waited.
My pulse accelerated, my body flushing both hot and cold.
Clement.
He scooped up the dice, cupping his hand around them and blew. They rattled, clinking together before he threw them across the table. While his eyes followed their tumbling progress, I slipped away from the bar and squashed myself into the far corner.
His back tensed in a brief reminder of his usual erect posture and for a split second, I thought he’d sensed me. Then he sighed, stooping with relief. A few patrons around the table whistled. A young man sidled closer, his hand resting lightly upon Clement’s shoulder.
I lowered my face into my drink, unable to stop myself from glaring at that man’s hand.
If he knew I was here, would Clement turn his attention to me?
Perhaps have me blow good luck onto the dice, a faint blush painting his cheekbones beneath that enticing stubble as my lips brushed his knuckles and our gazes sparked. ..
No. I had to behave. Clement found me infuriating, or so he said. He’d probably flee back to the prince, ratting me out for leaving my post without setting anyone to watch Lilyanna. And I had a job to do.
The dice were scooped up, returned, and in the brief pause while odds were calculated and purses weighed, the clink, clink, clink I was waiting for sounded. I clenched my fingers around the half-empty drink, the silver ring scratching the glass.
The Sheriff carried a void around him. I’d never gotten close enough before, but I’d heard the tales.
He didn’t smell of anything, didn’t particularly look like anyone familiar, but if he let you near, people were sucked in.
Once you penetrated that inner circle, you were bound.
A kind of magic perhaps, or just well-crafted charm.
My knuckles blanched, and I rested the glass on the narrow table in front of me as sweat condensed on my palm.
“Quite the night.” The Sheriff eased himself onto the bench beside me. He crossed one leg over the other, the silver spurs flashing in the firelight.
There was no need to be subtle. He’d spotted me the moment he entered the room, a dog on a scent. It’s what I did.
“Can I get you a drink?” I moved toward my pocket, but he gripped my sleeve. His thumb slid over my wrist, massaging my pounding pulse.
“No need to be nervous.” His fingers slid down my hand, and he tapped the ring on my finger. “Unless you’re being watched?”
Clement threw the dice again and hissed low. The man’s hand dropped from his shoulder, and Clement moved to the side as another took his place. He glanced toward my corner, and I flicked my attention back to the Sheriff, but his gaze burned through my hood.
“Husband?” The Sheriff leaned back against the wall, his arm resting on the window ledge with his body still turned to me. His blond hair was long and tied at the nape of his neck, face pale, but full. Not the look of a man who had been running from half the bounty hunters in the country for years.
“Brother-in-law,” I whispered.
“He’s not particularly good at dice.”
“He doesn’t know how to gamble.”
The Sheriff’s gaze snapped back to me, one side of his mouth tipping up.
He leaned forward, his other hand swiftly moving aside the folds of my cloak to rest on my thigh.
“Does he always watch you this closely?” His gray eyes moved back and forth between mine.
The gap between us narrowed and his breath washed over me—tasteless, odorless, an unknown.
“He likes to remind me of my duty.” I gulped down the rest of the ale, grateful for the giddy rush of warmth that bloomed under my skin.
The Sheriff’s hand slid up my thigh, squeezing my loosening muscles. “He wishes you were his.”
I shrugged. My face was still turned, my clothing unidentifiable. Clement shouldn’t recognize me, but still, my gut twisted. “Is he looking?”
“He can’t take his eyes off you, but that’s half the fun.” He winked. “Two more, I think.” He strode to the bar, his shoulders pulled back, confidence palpable.
I kept my face turned to the side, but I knew Clement clocked his every step.
The Sheriff handed me another ale, and I buried my face in it, cursing the blush rising up my neck.
He turned back to me, angling his body so I was partially hidden, his hand returning to my upper thigh. His fingers stroked small circles as he talked, creeping tantalizingly higher. “So, I noticed that the prince buys you gifts?”
My answer was incoherent as he gently brushed my crease. My body pulsed in anticipation.
“How many women does he have on the go?”
“He’s currently unattached,” my reply was slightly breathless. “So, as many as he wants.”
“And your brother-in-law doesn’t like that.”
“He doesn’t like a lot of things.”
His fingers swirled again, and I took another deep drink.
“They’re very tight-lipped at the castle. It’s good to find someone who will talk. This town too, it’s full of secrets.”
“The murdered women? Were they linked to the deaths of the prince’s fiancées?” Did I sound too eager? My head lightened as the ale sloshed through my system.
“If you’re worried about your position in the castle, that is, you should be safe.
All the women had something in common, either wealth, or rare jewels, or magic.
However, when the prince was banished up here by the queens, there were rumors of one too many bodies piling up that even the palace couldn’t sweep under the rug.
” His fingers continued to circle, tearing my focus from his words.
“That’s not what the prince told me,” I said. “He’d said he left to forge his own path, to escape his royal duties.” Had I fallen for it? For him, so easily?
“I can imagine. I have a lot of ready information, and I’m always eager to trade, but I need access to the prince.”
So, he was after my bounty. I should be furious, at least territorial, but his hand was so warm, his fingers so enticing. Perhaps the Sheriff wasn’t telling the whole truth. He obviously had an ulterior motive.