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“About time you show yer face.”

Though Gillian had never been to The Wild Boar, or any inn, she’d heard of the place before. And its owner. Everyone on both sides of the border knew it was the one inn they could rely on for neutrality. Somehow, even though she was widowed, the owner and her son managed to keep trouble from their door.

“And you’ve brought yerself a wife, the men tell me.”

Graeme stepped aside to allow the innkeeper to get a full view of her.

“Mistress Magge, I’d like to present my wife, Lady Gillian, daughter of Lord Lyndwood. Gillian, Magge is the owner of this fine establishment.”

“If I could reach yer handsome cheek to pinch it, I would,” Magge said.

Gillian stared at the woman in awe, shocked that she would speak in such a way to Graeme, a chief and obviously a warrior, and the largest man she’d ever met. This small, plump woman didn’t seem to care if he were a commoner or the King of England.

Fascinating.

A shout from deep within the inn took Magge’s attention away from them.

“Is yer wife the sort who dines in the hall or in private?”

What did that mean?

“We’ll take a meal in our room,” Graeme answered for her. “The men have already—”

“They told me yer needing a room. Yer usual is available. But it’s the stable for them. More and more men every day,” she muttered, leaving them alone in the entranceway.

“What’s that smell?” Though dark, the inn did not smell as poorly as she’d expected. In fact—

“Magge’s famed meat pies,” Graeme said. He took her by the hand and led her back out the door and around to another entrance.

“The private rooms are back here,” he said, releasing her and popping a key into the lock.

“But”—she looked at his hands, baffled—“where did you get the key?”

He moved his hand, just slightly, and opened the door. The key disappeared before she could process what was happening.

“Wait, where did the key go?” Gillian turned his hand around. Empty. “But it was there just a moment ago.”

He lifted his other hand, the one that had not moved at all. An iron keychain lay flat against his palm.

“But how—”

“I’ve quick hands,” he said, his voice low and meaningful. She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly. But somehow Gillian didn’t think he spoke only of his ability to hide keys.

“Where—”

“I took it from Magge. She was about to offer it to me.”

Gillian looked from one hand to the other and shook her head.

“After you, my queen,” he said, standing to the side.

Once they were both inside, he locked the door once more, tossed the keys to the floor and reached for her before she could even take in their surroundings.

Gillian breathed in deeply, taking in his drugging scent—fresh water and man, that was what he smelled like.

He brushed her lips with his thumb, and Gillian resisted the urge to open her mouth. She had no idea what they were doing. What she was doing. All she knew was that she forgot all her manners around this man. Her training. Everything save his touch.

“My lord,” a voice called from the hallway. “I’ve got firewood and—”