Ilet Torin gather our things from the tavern hall and lug them after the innkeeper’s wife, who carried a tallow candle in a stubby iron holder. The single flame barely lit beyond her hands.
She led us into a little room just off the main chamber, and set the candle on a small table. “Tis the best room in the house. Ye break the bed, ye must sleep on the floor and pay for it in the mornin’.”
Torin said, “This is the best room? Yet tis practically in the tavern!”
The woman said, “We only ever hae drovers, sire. They sleep wherever we let them. Ye’re fortunate we hae this room at all — ye might hae been on the rushes under the table wi’ them.”
He waved her away, “Tis fine, this will do.”
She gave a curt bow and left the room.
This ceiling was lower even than the hall. Torin had to duck, shoulders hunched, the whole time. He grunted as he dropped our bags in a heap against the wall, then pushed the door shut and slid the wooden bar across the door to lock it.
A single shutter covered a tiny window. He pushed it open an inch. “For Dude.”
I was rubbing the back of my thighs gingerly. “Can you remember which sack has the balm for my ass in it?”
He chuckled, rummaged through a bag, and pulled out the little horn pot. Dropping to one knee, he held it out solemnly. “For yer arse, Princess.”
I laughed. “My ass says thank you. But you don’t need to kneel, I promise.”
“Och, but I do, I canna stand straight without gettin’ a crooked neck.”
He rolled to sit against the narrow bed, its wooden frame creaking and leaning to the side, precariously. He frowned, giving it a shake, the whole thing rattling, and a leg fell off. “Och nae. There’s nothin’ holdin’ it taegether.” He jammed the leg back in place.
I said, “Needs some nails. Have nails not been invented?”
“Och, we hae nails, but seems this inn was skimpin’ on them.”
The bed stood barely a foot off the ground, more pallet than furniture. Torin balanced the frame on the legs until it was square. Then he leaned on it carefully, bracing it against the wall.
I cautiously sat down on the edge. The frame creaked ominously under my weight. “I don’t think we’re both going to fit here.”
“I wouldna dream of it, Princess. I will sleep on the floor, between ye and the door.”
I didn’t argue, instead I just nodded in the darkness —poor Torin.“Seems a shame you have to pay for a room when you don’t fit on the bed, even the ceilings are too short.”
He chuckled. “I am nae payin’ for the bed. I am payin’ for the lock upon the door, Princess. This will be the first night of sleep I will hae for many nights where I winna need tae lie with one eyeopen. Tis worth the last coin in m’purse, but I am fortunate tis not the last coin. Andthatis also why I need the lock.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of it that way. So this luxurious bed is just extra.” I wiggled, and the frame gave another alarming creak. “Don’t put any body parts under there, Torin, it could collapse at any time.”
He chuckled. “Aye, I will be cautious.”
The mattress was nothing more than a linen sack stuffed with straw, scratchy and rough. A coarse wool blanket lay folded across it, and a limp square of cloth passed for a pillow. I missed my grandmother’s quilt. My thick pillows. The smooth cotton of my sheets.
I turned away, lifted one leg at a time, and rubbed balm under my thighs. The stuff stung, and because I was readying for bed and needed good restful thoughts, I was not going to think about how filthy my fingers and thighs were, much less the fingers of the medieval man who used to own this balm.
In the darkness, Torin’s face outlined by the flickering candle stub. “Yer skin is feelin’ better?”
“I think a good night’s sleep will make everything feel better.”
“Aye, I agree.”
He turned his head well aside. “I will look away and hold the bed steady while ye undress and get under the covers.”
I unpinned the brooch from the cloak at my shoulders, then the pin from the plaid wrapped around me, until I was down to the now-dry tunic. I slid under the heavy wool blanket.
I asked, “Do you want the plaid to cover you?”
