No. He couldn’t let that happen. Maybe he’d fallen asleep with the lamp on and simply couldn’t remember. Deep in his heart, though, Peter knew better. He stared out his tiny window at the waking day. With bleary eyes, he dressed and climbed down the ladder.
“You’re a sight, you are,” Addie mumbled, rising on her toes to kiss Peter’s cheek as she came in the door with a laden basket. “Didn’t sleep at all last night, did ya?” She stared at him more closely. “And you’re not grinning, so you didn’t lose sleep for the only worthwhile reason.”
Peter snorted, taking the basket from her hands. “You stay awake plenty of nights.”
“Someone has to help the wee ones into the world.”
“What do you do for the easy births? Hand the mum an ale and say, ‘Push.’”
Addie winked. “Something like that, I’d say.”
He followed her into the kitchen, placing the basket on the counter. “Chicken? Since when do you cook chicken more than once per sevenday?”
“Thought I’d give our guests a change of taste.”
“Were in a port town. Locals expect fish.”
“Ah, but your stranger isn’t local. A farm lad, do you think? He might like a bit of chicken.”
“You’re changing your normal fare for a man who rarely comes?” Though if chicken lured the stranger in, Peter might have to build a coop behind the tavern.
“He’ll be here tonight.” Addie smiled.
“Don’t tell me you’re sweet on him.” Should Peter be jealous?
Addie slapped his arm. “He’s too young for me, not that I wouldn’t like teaching the boy a thing or two. But I done gone and picked him out for you.”
“Me?” Peter’s mouth dropped open. Addie had become like a mother to him, but surely, she didn’t know him that well. “What makes you think—”
“He’s a pretty one, ain’t he? Got that mysterious outsider thing going on. And those eyes! I bet if he ever takes off those clothes—”
“Addie!” Peter did not need the image she’d planted in his head. Now he’d never get any work done. “He probably won’t even be here tonight.”
“He’ll be here.” Addie hip-bumped Peter out of the way. “Don’t you have mugs to polish and barrels to… straighten or something? Get out of my kitchen and let me work.”
Peter saluted like one of his father’s men, a former soldier, used to.
Despite his best efforts not to, every few minutes, Peter stared at the door once the sun set.
Addie brushed past with a tray full of ale. “He’ll be here,” she said, whisking across the room, full skirts rustling.
Chapter Twenty-one
Martinmetnoonewhile slipping out of the house. Faint lights shone from some of the windows across the street, simple lanterns or candles. For a moment, he envied those people, safe in their snug little houses, surrounded by loved ones, with no idea of what lurked in the streets.
Nor of the ones who stayed in harm’s way to keep them safe.
Martin reached out with his senses, combing the area, focusing on a dark shape slipping from the shadows.
“Good eve, Martin.”
“Good eve, Father Dmitri.”
Side by side, they strode down the street, Martin resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Dmitri,” Dmitri corrected. “And you don’t need your weapon tonight. We won’t be hunting physically.”
“How else is there to hunt?”
