Chapter Twelve
Christian startled at the urgencyin Willow’s tone. Did she know those men? He glanced at the two who had entered the inn. One soldier trailed the leader. Christian ground his teeth. It was the leader he knew, the one in black chainmail. He would recognize that pompous display of armor anywhere. It had cost him a fortune to have the chainmail blackened. As the man began to turn to them, Christian looked at Willow, praying the man didn’t notice them. He shook his head, hoping she didn’t move or draw attention. What a fool he was. That would be like asking the sun not to shine.
“You there!” the leader called.
Christian silently groaned.
Willow’s eyes widened. She jerked as if to rise.
Christian grabbed her wrist and shook his head again.
The black-armored man and his frowning guard walked up to their table. The leader’s stare was not on Christian. It was focused on Willow.
Christian scowled slightly. He had thought they were here for him.
“Did you think you could escape me?” the black-armored man demanded and laid a hand on her arm.
Just seeing the leader touch Willow sent a wave of anger through Christian. “Don’t touch her,” he instantly commanded. His instinct to protect her was immediate and threatening.
The black-armored man’s gaze swung to Christian with a frown of displeasure. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and delight replaced his anger. He smiled. “Dalcop!” He removed his hand from Willow.
Willow scowled at the insult.
Christian pursed his lips. It was a term he had often been called in his youth, meaning dull-headed or stupid. “Simon,” he greeted tightly.
Simon chortled with glee. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“I agree. It is unexpected.”
Simon laughed out loud before turning his attention to a confused Willow. “Unfortunately, I’m not here for pleasure. This lovely woman has something I want.” He held out his hand, palm up.
The frowning guard placed his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Christian glared. “She has nothing for you.”
“Oh, by the contrary, dear brother,” Simon replied. He lowered his chin and looked at Willow in a threatening manner. “She does.”
“Brother?” Willow echoed, her head flinching backward. She swung her gaze to Christian.
The innkeeper came out of the backroom holding trenchers and mugs. When he saw the two newcomers, he paused.
Willow licked her lips and straightened.
Christian wasn’t certain if it was in dread or defiance, but he prepared for action, relaxing his muscles and clearing his mind.
She tilted her head to examine Simon. “You look nothing like Christian. How could you be his brother?”
Simon grinned. “We have the same father. Don’t distract me, love. Give me what I want.”
The innkeeper returned to the backroom.
“Perhaps different mothers?” she asked.
“The book. Hand it over to me,” Simon commanded.
Christian’s gaze locked on Willow. She didn’t have it. She was not in possession ofanybook.
“I don’t have it,” Willow answered, staring at Christian.
