Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) Read Free Page B

spite him.
    His attention fell to the dagger in his hand and he lifted her precious Wolfkiller into the weak light to inspect it.
    “Viking,” he murmured.
    “Yes.”
    “You wouldn’t know its name, I suppose?”
    “Wolfkiller.”
    His brows rose. One corner of his mouth lifted. “Where did you come by it?”
    If she said nothing, he might well believe she’d stolen it and assume it only fair to take it from her. But if she admitted she inherited it, he might learn who she was. And her secrets were the only things she could keep from his control.
    “It’s mine,” she finally said, in the same tone she’d used with the stable hand in Sedan.
    He nodded, as if he’d just worked something out in his mind. He laid the weapon on the table as if it had become too much of a distraction for him, then flipped the triangular hilt once so one of the three edges of the blade lay flat.
    He glanced briefly at her skirts in a way that made heat flush through her body to the roots of her hair. But when she realized where he was looking, she suspected he wanted a close look at Wolfkiller’s scabbard, and that was all.
    She folded her arms in what she hoped was a clear message— someone will get hurt if ye try.
    He shook his head and shooed the idea away with his hand, smart man. A lock of hair across his forehead vied for her attention, but she resisted.
    And there they stood, facing off. Her back was to the door that would not open. His back was to the small window that looked out upon the stable yard, or rather, would have if one could see through the dirt. As the only covering for the window, however, the dirt was fine where it was.
    The bed was small and wedged against the wall to allow enough room for the door to swing wide. Her large bag sat at the foot. She might have hidden it beneath the bed if she didn’t fear small animals might make off with her things while she was out during the day.
    The hearth was a square of blue miss-matched tiles that barely reached her knee. The hole in the middle had no grate and might hold a single log, though it didn’t look like it had been used for quite some time. The only other piece of furniture was the small table. The only source of warmth was the candle.
    Well, the candle and the tall man standing beside it.
    She was suddenly embarrassed by the room, as if it defined her somehow, and not as someone who would ever have conversation with her noble visitor.
    He turned his head to the side. “I feel it my duty to inform you, lass, that by holding your cloak so tight around you. . .”
    When understanding dawned, she let the cloth loose and leaned back against the wall, refusing to show her mortification, hoping her knees would hold out until she could get the man to leave. Then she would drag her bed over to the door and tie the knob to the bedpost. She’d no ken how he’d gotten inside—
    Unless the attendant had let him in! No wonder the other man had smirked at her when she’d asked for her key. She’d laughed at his advances, then turned out to be the sort of woman a rich man would seek out for. . .
    Well, no wonder.
    “I’ll take my dagger, if ye please,” she said, bringing his attention back to her. She realized he’d looked away while she’d adjusted her cloak.
    Ever the gentleman. Well, the gentleman had bloody better give her back her weapon!
    “You may have it when our business is concluded,” he replied. “I would not leave you defenseless.”
    No, of course he wouldn’t leave her that way, but as long as he was there, it was how he wanted her.
    “Oh,” she said, “and haven’t ye done just that?”
    He waved away her concern.
    She wanted to break his flippant fingers.
    He lowered his chin and stared into her eyes as if he knew exactly where they were in the shadows of her cowl.
    “You have been following us since we reached Reims. You will tell me why.”
    Blair’s wee spit of anger died. She didn’t have the strength to keep it up. But no matter, it