For a rather infamous smuggler, the man had a fitting name.Morien. Meaning sea-born. It agreed with his dark hair and even darker eyes.
“Were you followed?”
Christian shook his head. “Nay. I was most careful.”
He sat down, stretching his legs beneath the scarred table. A serving wench sashayed over, eager to do Morien’s bidding. He patted her on the rump as she left, winking at them both.
“The ale is good, the food edible.”
When the food and drink arrived, Christian thought Morien had been rather generous in his pronouncement. For while the ale was drinkable, ’twas watered down, the bread was full of tiny rocks, and the stew was greasy. Somehow he choked it down, not willing to draw attention to himself, as the other patrons seemed to take no issue with what they were shoveling into their mouths.
“You are certain you will not be discovered?”
Morien leaned back into the corner of the wall so only his nose and mouth were visible in the light, giving him the appearance of a spirit.
“I’ve had men watching the river for a month. There is one day each week ’tis not safe, but the rest will be fine if we go at night, as I have planned. But what of the guards at Winterforth?”
“The two men I brought with me will guard the walls on that side of the river. The rest will not know what we are doing.”
“Secrets rarely stay so. Be prepared.” Morien’s gaze darted to the right. “I see the one with light hair by the fire with the saucy wench on his lap.” Then he looked over Christian’s shoulder. “The other is wagering; his blade gives him away. As does yours. No wealthy merchant would have such a fine sword. Only a noble such as yourself.”
“We will not draw attention to ourselves, and my men can be trusted. I do not wish anyone in Winterforth to be in danger from what I am doing, so I will keep this from them as long as I can.”
Morien studied Christian. “Why did you help me? You could have left me to die. Most would have.”
“’Twas five against one, and whilst those odds might be fine for a Thornton, you looked as if you were not ready to die that night. I thought you could use a man at your back.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
Morien picked his teeth. “Aye, you may be right. Still, you knew who I was and yet you aided me.”
“I could not leave you to die. Since we spoke, I have thought much on your plan.”
“Not that I care, but what will you do with all this gold? Is it true what they say?”
“What’s that?”
Morien leaned forward in the light so Christian could see his eyes. “That you can never have enough gold?”
Christian drained his cup. “Many would say such. I have uses in mind for the gold.”
He realized he had said too much, for Morien’s look turned speculative before a feral grin broke out across his face.
“’Tis you.”
Christian pretended not to know what the smuggler meant.
“You are the one who aids those in need. They speak of you throughout London. A poor widow finds the money she needs to pay her rent or put food on the table. A young boy finds he has been apprenticed to learn a trade; a pretty girl is married not to the old lecher but someone more appropriate. All those are you.”
Christian met his gaze. “As you trust me to keep your secrets, I must trust you to keep mine.”
Morien gazed at him for a bit longer and then nodded. “You have my word. Will you take the word of a smuggler?”
“Nay, not of the smuggler but of the man.” Christian held out a hand. They shook, and he knew Morien would not tell others of his deeds. He would be able to aid so many. What was the use of having money if one could not do with it as one pleased?
CHAPTER 7
“I can’t thankyou enough, Mary. How funny is it that a medieval dress is going to save a present-day job?”
“We have to work twice as hard in a man’s world to be taken seriously, don’t we? The trick is not to let them know we know we’re smarter.” Mary winked at Ashley.
