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Thankfully darkness had settled, which meant the townswomen would not have an opportunity to be overcome with the sight of Rory riding through the dirt streets. The wind, which had followed them since they stopped at sundown to eat, became stronger.

“A storm.” Rory chuckled. Isaac looked at him oddly, and Freya merely scowled at him. Unaffected by her displeasure, he dismounted and came to her.

Ignoring his hand, she dismounted as well.

“You will find accommodations in the inn?”

“Aye,” Isaac said, “and will see to the mounts. Will I find you at Pucker’s Mark in the morn?”

“Aye,” Rory said, and left Isaac to speak to the stablehand. “Come.” Rory crooked his arm. “For this one eve let us speak not of revolt or the king. I know well enough where we might enjoy a bit of respite after today’s journey.”

Indeed, though the weather held, the terrain had not been kind. An overgrown path and no small matter of a mountain they could not go around without adding a fortnight to their journey ensured Freya was forced to pretend a calm she did not feel at times.

“I did not hide my trepidation as well as I’d hoped?” she ventured.

“Well enough,” Rory said. “This way.”

“If you’ve not been here before, how do you know where we are going?” She looked up to the manor house high atop the hill, just inside the north-facing town walls. “And why do we not stay there?”

“Its lord will not be sympathetic to your cause. Indeed, for a border lord, he is more a king’s man than most. Even if he is not in residence, I’d not chance him learning of you.”

They turned a corner and Freya knew precisely where they were heading. She could hear the sounds of a tavern. “Then why do we stay in this town?”

“We’d have been forced to ride through the night or sleep among the stars otherwise, something to which I’m sure you are unaccustomed?”

“Sleeping among the stars? Aye. ’Tis nothing I’ve done before.”

“I would have you meet someone one day, a woman such as yourself, who was forced to do just that on her journey north. You’d get along well, I believe.”

“Who?” Freya asked.

Instead of answering, Rory stopped, opened a door, and then stepped aside. “Let us leave our animosity on the doorstep for this one night.”

Freya looked up to the green wooden sign hanging above them. A bow and arrow and mug of ale. The sounds inside, of music and of laughter, beckoned.

“I’ve no animosity toward you,” she lied.

Rory’s laughter followed her inside. Freya smiled, knowing he’d not see it.

Though she’d been inside an inn before, a tavern such as this one was the kind of establishment her father had avoided on their travels. Though most taverns were nothing more than a room in the local brewer’s home, others, like this one, were much more. There were several rooms inside, one seemingly rowdier than the others. Music competed with men telling tales.

And then, there was her companion. Rory strolled through the front room as if he’d been to this place a hundred times before with a smile at one and a wink at another, as if daring for anyone to defy him such a mood. In response, he was met with raised mugs and offers to join discussions.

“Has Pucker found his mark?” he asked a serving maid. She pointed to a man in the corner of the room. Freya followed, Rory glancing back quickly to be sure she was behind him. “Stay close,” he whispered.

“Who is Pucker?” she asked.

By then, however, they’d reached an elderly man, his beard as long as any Freya had ever seen. It was both bushy and thin at the same time. Sitting, he looked up at them, his face wrinkled but his eyes clear.

“Has Pucker found his mark?”

All those around them stopped talking. Narrowing his eyes, the old man looked at Rory, from his head all the way down to his boots. He then peered at Freya and did the same.

“Who asks?” he finally said, his voice surprisingly strong for a man his age.

“Sir Rory Waryn, son of Sir Bryce Waryn of Bristol Manor and Lady Catrina of Clan Kerr.”

If it had grown quiet when they approached, it was more so now. Though he seemed quite comfortable in the oversized chair, the man rose and stood before Rory. He bowed to him, snatched a lantern from the table as well as a candlestick, and then nodded for the two of them to follow, handing Rory the candle.