“You are right,” she said, moving her horse aside and letting him pass. “But just to ease your worries,” she called to his back, “you are perfect.”
He paused and turned to her. “I’m not worried, Rose.”
“Oh, forgive me then. I’m inexperienced at understanding other people’s behaviors.”
He smiled a little. “That is a good thing. Ye are more genuine than anyone I know.”
She grinned at him. “And so are you.”
He kicked his mount to ride faster and took off. He was pleased to find her keeping up or not far behind.
They reached a small cathedral town a few hours later. Tristan had been here quietly once before to buy some water but, this time, he wore his kerchief around his face. He made sure Rose had a mask to cover her face, made by him tearing a piece of wool from her mantle.
“Do we have to wear them?”
“Aye,” Tristan lied. According to Lily, once a person recovered from the pestilence, they were immune to it. Tristan simply didn’t want any fights to break out over her. The mask covered parts of her beauty, not nearly enough though.
Supper was roasted rabbit, turnips and fresh bread and two cups of hot water for Tristan’s tea. They ate with no interruptions, and he even agreed to them keeping their masks off after they ate.
“Do you think you might want to ask the innkeeper if he has two spare rooms?”
“Nae. I dinna think I want to ask the innkeeper that.”
“Just this one night, Tristan. I know ’tis costly but my body aches from sleeping on the hard ground and since I left home, the only inn I slept in was the one I stayed in when I thought I was dying.”
Tristan was too tired to fight her on it. He feared it would be just another loss for him if he did. She was difficult to deny, especially since she didn’t ask for anything unreasonable. Supper at a table. Sleeping in a bed. So he called the innkeeper over.
There were rooms above stairs. Tristan only needed one—and two basins of water for their hands.
“I have no intention of lettin’ ye oot of my sight, lass,” Tristan told her, when she objected to one room. “If any of these men knew ye were in a bed alone, ye wouldna be there alone fer long—and then I would have to kill some people.” He scowled at her and then followed her and the innkeeper up the stairs.
He wondered when had he begun to feel protective of her. Or, when had he started feeling like he would rather not kill some people?
What the hell was happening to him? He felt his face, his head. No fever.
It wasn’t that he wanted to kill anyone. When he was in the wars, it was stand and fight to kill or death would surely find you. He grew hard to doing it. He had to, else all the death would chip away at his soul until it destroyed him. He wanted to survive, so he protected himself with a shield around himself and made himself stop caring.
But—he was beginning to care about her.
He hoped that since he’d saved her life, mayhap he felt like she was his charge. He didn’t care why he felt it, if someone touched her, it would be the last thing they ever did.
The innkeeper showed them to the room and went around it to light the two lanterns on tables by the bed and the door. He cast Tristan a knowing grin when he looked at Rose. Tristan didn’t smile back. He paid for the room and ushered the innkeeper out of it.
“There is only one bed,” she said, turning to him as he bolted the door.
“I will sleep on the floor.” Grass was softer than wood.
“I will not hear of it!” she declared with a stomp of her foot. “I trust that you will not rape or harm me in any other way. You would have done so already. But no! Because of me, you have probably spent all the earnings you received for killing Walters. You gave in to my every whim because, whether or not you want to admit it, you are kind.”
“Nae,” he said, shaking his head. “I did it because ye beguile me.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth and softly bit her finger.
He smiled and then turned away, afraid of what was happening to him, of what she was making him feel.
She took his wrist to stop him. “You will not sleep on the floor, Tristan. Sleep in the bed with me.” She smiled at him, sealing his answer. “We can talk and cuddle, but nothing more! Aye?”
He didn’t care about sleeping in a bed, or talking for that matter. But the invitation to hold her was too strong a temptation to resist.
“Ye are innocent, lass. Ye dinna know what ’twould do to yer honor—”
“No one need ever know we slept in the same bed.”
He nodded, needing little convincing and began removing his coat. While he sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, he thought about what was happening here. Was he truly going to get into a bed with her and think he wouldn’t want more than a cuddle?
She tossed her mantle over a small chair and then stepped out of her outer gown, drawing his attention. She was slim in her ankle-length, loose-fitting chemise. His eyes roved over her bare arms down to the outline of her round rump. He swallowed and looked away. Hell, she was so bonnie with all those dark locks against her fair skin…
“’Tis not so bad,” she said, climbing into the bed. “’Tis actually soft.” She rocked to and fro, moving the bed.
He wanted to smile at her. “I should sleep on the floor.”
“Nonsense,” she said behind him. “There is plenty of room. Come, Tristan.”
A siren song. He stood up and pulled off his bow and quiver over his
