“A good room, too. I will know if you fob me off with anything less.”
The landlord’s mouth was still open in protest, but his fist tightened around the purse as if involuntarily.
“Of course, my lord. At once.” He looked at Baldbeak. “Is that your, ah …”
“My dearest sister”—Patrick turned to me, ignoring the landlord—“could you stoop to dinner in the shared dining room, just for one night? My stomach is complaining, and I fear I cannot wait for our private room to be prepared.”
As if awakened by his words, my own stomach gave an embarrassingly loud grumble. “That would be acceptable,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster—and then, as the landlord genuflected away, and my brain caught up to my ears, I hissed, “Sister?”
“You would prefer to be my wife?”
“What?No.I …”
“Sister it is, then.”
Patrick took my arm and drew me towards the sounds of clinking glass and cutlery coming from the dining room. When he had mentioned an inn, I had imagined a tavern—something rough and loud and anonymous—but this was the kind of establishment frequented by nobility.
The shared dining room was no raucous pub, but instead a dimly lit, discreet space where the patrons talked in low voices. He pulled out a chair for me at one of the tables, and I sat.
“And what is the poor former owner of our room supposed to do?” I murmured.
“I know not and care less,” said Patrick.
“I would rather not share a room with you.”
“Baldbeak will be there to play chaperone,” he said with the hint of a smile. When I crossed my arms, he added, “Netta, I will not touch you. Is that your worry?”
My treacherously thin skin flared in a blush. “No.”
“What, then? You heard the man. Would you prefer to sleep in the stable? I will not prevent you.”
I opened my mouth to say yes, I would much prefer to sleep in the stable, but closed it again. A bath and a soft feather bed … a fire … I hated myself for it, but I could not resist their appeal.
“Youcould sleep in the stable,” I said instead.
“My sense of honor doesn’t extend that far. Besides, the innkeeper might find it rather suspect if Lord Foley bedded down among the horses.”
“Fine.”
He gave an exaggerated seated bow from across the table. “I’m so pleased. At any rate, we won’t be here for long. We will need to leave before dawn—I don’t want to give Morin the chance to catch up to us.”
“Then why take a room at all?”
“There are a few things we need to do that can’t be done on the road.”
The landlord reappeared, looking harried. “The maids are cleaning the room as we speak, my lord.”
“Excellent.”
We sat in silence—awkward on my part, seemingly comfortable on his—until the barmaid arrived with our food. I found that I was starving and tucked in immediately, but Patrick pushed his food around his plate, making a face at the gristle on the ham slices. I couldn’t help but smile at the expression on his face.
“Always ham, in places like these,” he groused.
“You don’t like it?”
“I prefer not to eat ham, if I can avoid it. You?”
“I haven’t had the luxury of being picky,” I said pointedly.
