This innocent treasure hunt to delve into her family history was not as it appeared. He ran his hand through his hair. What had Andrea gotten them into?
Andrea waited for Bette inside the inn door, struggling with her good hand to keep the hem of her day dress off the floor, afraid she would leave puddles.
“Here, let me help you.” Bette returned from the kitchen, took her satchel, a handful of her skirt, and helped her down the long hallway. The woman opened the only door in the passageway to a well-appointed room.
She faced a fireplace with two chairs in front of it. To her right was a large bed. To her left and across the corner was a dressing screen.
“Excuse, Mademoiselle.”
Andrea moved to the side. A young boy entered carrying two buckets of water. Bette put her satchel on the bureau and moved the screen to reveal a servant’s pallet and a tub. The boy poured the water into the tub and hurried away.
“I’ve brought you soap and linen. Leave your clothes by the door and I’ll have them cleaned and ready for you tomorrow.”
Bette left closing the door quietly behind her.
You’re not going to think of the incident at the river. No. you’re going to enjoy a warm bath.
Andrea unfastened her clothes and took them off. She ran her hand in the tub water, then stepped in and slid down into the water resting against the back of the tub. Her eyes closed, she let the warm water soothe her.
The ride had been tiring. Donald’s company was pleasant. More than pleasant. He was a good companion. She took a deep breath and quieted her mind. Her head lolled to the side as she drifted in a half-sleep.
“I’m returning some personal items of a fallen soldier to his family. Finding the family was like a treasure hunt. It was Maurice Cantrelle’s desire—”
Her eyes flew open as she sat up in the tub. That was what she’d told Mother Simone. She mentioned Maurice had brought the gems to her.
That was the only time the jewelry was mentioned.
It must have been why the thieves thought the gems were in her satchel.
There must have been a direct connection to the abbess’ interview and the thieves.
She picked up the cloth and washed her arms.
The thought of the abbess being involved in the attack bothered her almost more than the incident. Her betrayal was sacrilegious.
Andrea threw the cloth into the tub, sending splatters of water over the side. Who was she to speak of betrayal? Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. She should have told Donald from the beginning, all of it, the prophecy, the relic, the urgency. But something kept the words behind her teeth. No. She could not undo that now. Perhaps there were ways she could make amends, but confession was out of the question.
Her elbow on the rim of the tub, she held her forehead. If he knew the truth, he would leave her. She couldn’t let him abandon her now. They were close to seeing this through. Just a little longer and she would tell him everything. A little longer.
There was no use trying to relax in the tub. She got out, dried herself with the linen and dressed.
Her hand on the latch, she stopped. Donald had taken her to Mother Simone. Was he involved? The idea was a stabbing pain in her chest.
It was an absurd thought. He had access to the jewels. If he was involved, he could have let the attackers do their job, or worse, he could have done it himself.
Enough. Next she would have her uncle involved.
She opened the door and put her wet clothes where Bette could gather them. After navigating the hallways, Andrea stood at the tavern threshold scanning the room for Donald. She had on a clean dress and her hand was freshly wrapped. Eager to speak to him, she had let her long, damp hair fall around her shoulders in a riot of curls.
A smile lit her face when her gaze found him. He stood and waited while she made her way across the room. His face bright in one of those smiles that made her insides tingle as he helped her to her seat and handed her a goblet of mead.
“Is Ebony badly hurt?” She sat and took the goblet from him.
“No. Étienne assured me the wound will heal quickly. And your hand?”
“It feels much better. I have learned my lesson. From now on when I go riding, I will wear gloves.” She wiggled her fingers and sipped the wine for courage. There was no getting past her concerns and he was the only one she could take into her confidence.
“I told Mother Simone I was returning personal items to Lady Abadia.” She took another sip and looked at him over the rim of the cup.
He sloshed the ale around in his tankard and stared at the table.
“Did you hear me? I said—”
“I heard you. I’ve been thinking about the attack.” He put the tankard down and looked at her. “It’s all I can think about.”
“Mother Simone said Maurice showed her jewelry, but she was unable to help him.” She bowed her head, not wanting to face Donald. “I… I don’t believe her. If she didn’t know who the jewelry belonged to, she had a good idea.”
“What makes you say that?”
She lifted her chin and was surprised to see his confusion. He was as taken back as she was and encouraged her to go on.
“It was a little thing. A tremor in her voice when she told me to take care. From her tone and expression, her concern was for more than just my hand.”
He still said nothing. No teasing, no smart reply. Instead, his brows drew together in an angry frown.
“I should have told you sooner. I thought it was my imagination.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I am as much at fault. I knew someone followed us. I
