If Ever I Should Love You by Cathy Maxwell

Author:Cathy Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

They stopped for the night at an inn not far from the Post Road, the Hound’s Breath. It was a busy house with travelers from all ranks of life.

Leonie was exhausted, hungry, and not feeling particularly herself.

While her husband arranged with the innkeeper for their rooms and hiring a vehicle for the morrow, she sat on a bench in the reception room and watched people coming and going in and out of the open doorway of a large taproom. Most were genteel folk but there was a group of soldiers who were well into their cups. They were drinking tankards of ale but they also had a bottle that they passed freely amongst themselves.

She caught herself watching that bottle as it was shared.

A gnawing discomfort grew in her. She’d noticed her hands trembling slightly earlier in the coach and she felt them tremble again now. She folded them in her lap. She didn’t think Roman had noticed. She wondered if the trembling would stop if she could have a wee sip of the bottle the soldiers shared.

The bottle had stopped its movement. She lifted her gaze to the solider holding it.

He’d noticed her staring. He was a ragged sort, with several days’ growth of beard along a pudgy jawline. He grinned, showing alarmingly yellowed teeth.

The whole table now turned and ogled her in the boldest way possible.

Leonie dropped her gaze to her folded hands, heat burning her cheeks. She had been indiscreet.

“Hey there, lovely,” one of them called. “Come join us.” He had an Irish accent.

Leonie studied the bench as if she could conjure a wall between herself and them. Where was Roman? He had stepped outside with the innkeeper.

“Don’t be embarrassed, miss. There’s room at this table for you.” The jibe was met with laughing agreement—until Roman’s boots stepped into Leonie’s line of vision. He had returned and placed himself in front of her.

Silence fell.

Indeed, the whole taproom had gone quiet. Leonie feared she would succumb to the mortification. She knew better than to give any attention to soldiers. For some reason, male vanity took it as an open invitation—as if she would look twice at the likes of them at that table.

However, Roman’s solid presence shut them up quick enough.

She was both relieved and furious.

Roman offered her his hand. “The innkeeper has a private room for our supper.”

“Yes, please,” Leonie murmured, and took his hand. She did not glance at the soldiers as he led her through the taproom. She prayed they would be gone by the time she and Roman finished their meal.

The good-sized private room overlooked an evening garden and a small pond. Several ducks were nestled in the reeds around its bank. Leonie spent time watching them, conscious of Roman’s strong presence as the maid quickly set the table with pewter plates.

Another knock on the door and the innkeeper’s wife, who introduced herself to Leonie as Mrs. Stoddard, carried in a huge tray of food. While the maid dutifully placed the dishes on the table, Mrs.

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