Chapter 40 Maeve
Maeve
Maeve somehow was still surprised the small village a few miles from Whitebury was unfamiliar despite her mind bearing the consistency of wet sand.
She was certain she’d been here before, but as they wound their way through the labyrinthine streets, she was shocked to find absolutely nothing jogged her memory.
Not the tightly packed buildings, the cobbled streets, or the frost-rimmed windows of the bell tower peeking up over the expanse of shingled roofs.
And especially not the guards they passed on their way into the village. She’d held her breath as they’d picked through their bags, thankful she still had a coined icon tucked into one of the side pockets. Proof of devotion to cling to, one final time.
Elden led the way through the streets, checking over his shoulder to ensure they followed close behind. The motion was so frequent and so twitchy that Maeve was tempted to ask if his neck was all right. Even his steps seemed stilted, jerking along as if pulled by an unknown force.
Jude’s hazel eyes shone dark and watchful over the edge of his scarf, more fixed on Maeve than where they were going. If Elden’s anxiety manifested in twitchy glances and a quickened pace, Jude’s lay in a careful stillness, the weight of his focus like a tangible presence around her.
So far, they’d blended in well enough with the crowds of pilgrims and residents filling the village’s cramped streets. She’d thought she’d felt a few lingering eyes but passed them off as no more than human curiosity.
Or so she hoped.
Luckily, and as far as she knew, she could remember everything of the past day, stemming from when she’d awoken in Caleb’s barn.
Even the moments when she’d lost her vision in the church weren’t entirely erased.
There had been times during the walk where gauzy buzzing had filled her ears, nausea curdling her belly alongside it, but largely, she’d felt…
good wasn’t the word. But it was manageable.
For now. She didn’t want to think about what might happen when they got to the Abbey.
‘This’ll do,’ Elden called, fumbling with a door under a rugged sign labelled INN. The chains screeched as they swung back and forth, rusted where the links connected.
Inside smelled strongly of sour ale and too many bodies, but it was mercifully warm. After two days exposed on the moors, Maeve would gladly sleep here if it meant she didn’t fear for the safety of her toes.
She and Jude hung back as Elden sorted the rooms and arranged a meal for them in the tavern. Jude peered around with hawklike concentration, lingering on every face that looked up at their entrance. He stood close behind her, heat washing over her back.
Elden approached a few minutes later with a brass key swinging from his finger, which he handed to Jude. Maeve was relieved to see his posture had relaxed since entering the tavern.
He shifted to cradle his bag to his chest, casting a surreptitious look over his shoulder.
‘The innkeeper’s devout.’ He motioned to his neck, where Abbey followers often wore coin-like icons hanging from slender chains or cords.
‘Thought it awfully strange that a married couple would choose this hovel. Especially pilgrims. Might need to sell him on it a bit. Wouldn’t want word to get out anywhere, to the guards or otherwise. ’
Jude huffed. ‘Oh, for the love—’
Elden raised his brows. ‘Just an opinion. Anyway, I’ll go get us some food.’
Jude released another tortured sigh. He moved Maeve to stand in front of him, draping his arms over her shoulders and drawing her close to the front of his body like he had in that damned organist’s stall.
Also, like then, he kept his hips pulled slightly back from her body.
She closed the space, fighting a smile when Elden tossed a wink her way.
Was pretending to be married truly necessary? Maybe, maybe not. A woman travelling alone with two men would definitely stand out. But was Maeve enjoying the brief respite from the panic, the worry? Undoubtedly.
Jude’s heart pounded against her back. She turned to peer up at him. The strain in his jaw was evident at such close range. ‘Don’t look so pained about it,’ she whispered.
He relaxed enough to release a long exhale. His eyes flicked to hers before they returned to scanning the tavern. His throat bobbed. ‘That’s not exactly how I’d describe it.’
Maeve looked away. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry.
Elden reappeared, balancing three plates of dubious-looking meat pie. Jude released her, leading them to a table tucked into a shadowy corner, out of the eyeline of most of the patrons. He sat slowly, his back to the wall, gaze still roving across the patrons.
Maeve hovered by one of the stools. ‘Can we get a drink?’
‘Aye,’ Elden nodded. He turned to hold up three fingers to the watching barman.
Before she could sit on a stool of her own, Jude cupped his hand on the side of her hip and pulled her down into his lap. His grip loosened slightly as she settled, palm shifting to span her lower stomach. Maeve tried to steady her breathing, certain he could feel its shallow rhythm.
The barman, a grizzled man with an alarming amount of hair growing from his nostrils, slammed three tankards down. His gaze hung on Maeve’s face as he waited for Elden to fish coins from his pocket. Even when they were tucked away in his belt, he lingered, still watching her.
‘Need something?’ Jude barked.
Maeve jumped. He tucked his chin over her shoulder, bringing his pint to his lips. The barman grunted, turning and lumbering back to the taps. Jude drained half his ale in one go before setting it back on the table. His lips went to her ear. ‘Perhaps the charade is necessary after all.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she replied dryly, lifting her tankard. She swished the bitter ale over her teeth. ‘If you weren’t here, the barman and I would be headed upstairs as we speak.’
Jude’s hand tightened on her hip.
‘Your type, then?’ Elden said, grinning. He’d shed his cloak and hat, rolling up his shirtsleeves. A flush already lit his cheeks under his beard. ‘Like them leering and decrepit?’
‘As long as they’re bringing me drinks, I don’t much care.’
The three of them made short work of their dinner.
It was hot and filling, more than Maeve could’ve hoped for after days of scanty provisions.
She set down her fork and adjusted herself on Jude’s lap.
He huffed a quiet breath in response. The thumb against her stomach brushed in a steady circle that wiped her ability to focus on anything that wasn’t him as clean as a slate.
Her desperation peaked, consuming every remaining thought but her desire to go upstairs with him. She needed to see where this led. They could have one night, couldn’t they? It wasn’t selfish to want, was it? Before tomorrow came. Before it was too late.
Elden downed the remainder of his pint in one smooth gulp, rising to his feet. He swayed slightly, steadying himself with a hand on the table. His skin looked slightly grey in the scant tavern lighting. Sweat beaded on his temple. ‘I’m going to have a look around. You two are going up to the room?’
‘Yes,’ Jude replied. ‘You okay?’
‘Barman had a heavy pour. Fresh air will help, I think.’
Maeve felt Jude nod against the side of her head. His hand on her stomach tensed. ‘Keep an eye out. We don’t know who could be watching.’
Elden studied them in silence, his mouth partially open. He gave himself a brief shake as a smile overtook his face. ‘Always am.’
‘He finished my pint too, didn’t he?’ Jude muttered after he’d left. His hand shifted from her stomach to cup the side of her ribs. He pulled her closer into his chest, her backside into his lap.
Maeve strained to focus on his words. Every sense was trained on the feeling of him beneath her. On his lap, to be accurate. On which she was still perched. She inched backwards, squirming against him.
Jude took a strained inhale before abruptly bracing both hands on her hips and levering them both to their feet. He picked up the bag Elden had left behind and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
All she could do was nod.
If Maeve hadn’t known him so well, she’d have guessed it was nerves lurking behind his carefully blank eyes, a different variation than the watchfulness he’d employed in the tavern.
But he was always so controlled, self-possessed in a way she wasn’t.
He couldn’t be nervous to spend a few hours alone with her…
Was he?
Better yet – was she?
Together, they ascended the steps of the inn, stopping in front of a door on the second floor. She noticed Jude’s hands trembling as he nudged the key into the lock. Maeve wiped her own on her trousers, conscious of the sweat slicking her palms.
The room was small and neatly kept, a fire already burning in the hearth.
Choosing to ignore the presence of the single bed entirely, Maeve approached the window.
The glass was cold against her palm, tempering the heat in her body.
The room looked out to a riot of rooftops.
Snow dusted the eaves and collected in thick drifts along the sills.
Chimney smoke puffed in white clouds against the blackness of the sky.
Even from miles away, she felt the Abbey’s watchful presence like a vapour sliding through the streets, haunting every corner with whispered tales of devotion and deviance.
She wondered if she would be tempted to fall back to her knees when she was back inside their halls, or if the reminder of betrayal would urge up a rage she couldn’t control.
Only one way to find out.