Silent Knight by Phillips Tori

Author:Phillips, Tori [Phillips, Tori]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2011-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

The promised inn proved to be one of the fouler establishments they had encountered. If snow had not begun to fall just as they arrived at its sagging door, Guy would have urged the party onward. Unfortunately, he knew there was little chance of a better place between here and York. As they led their horses into the run-down stable, Guy plucked at Gaston’s sleeve.

Set a guard, he wrote on his slate.

“Oui, my friend.” Gaston’s brown eyes blazed in the semidarkness of the dank stable. “I smell danger, as well as a bad privy. Stay close to my lady.”

I would have her as close as my heart.

Pip stopped Celeste and Guy before they crossed the yard to the taproom. “My master is John Coldshanks, and he’s nae used to fine company. Take care, good lady. He cheats.”

Celeste placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you for your good advice, Master Peep.” She gave him a shilling, and before he could stammer his thanks, she kissed him on the cheek, which left him speechless.

Guy offered her his arm. Celeste held it tightly, clutching the saddlebag that held her precious dowry in the other. They picked their way across the dung-spattered yard to the taproom. Gaston, Émile and René followed close behind, leaving the others to stay with the horses and baggage.

The taproom stank of unwashed bodies, fried onions and a poorly drawn fire. The minute Celeste entered the room, all talking ceased. Bellowing in French when his English failed him, Gaston made short work of expressing their needs to the innkeeper, Coldshanks.

Without moving his head, Guy scanned the room with his eyes. A rough-and-tumble lot with light fingers, he judged, but none who looked to be an out-and-out cutthroat. For the first time since hanging up his sword and lance, the monk wished he had a weapon at his belt. He draped his arm protectively around Celeste’s shoulders as their skulking host conducted them to a room at the end of the upstairs hall. Celeste said nothing, but held her head high until after Guy closed the door.

“By the warts on the devil’s nose, what a way-stop to hell this is!” Gaston knelt by the cold fire grate and tossed a few rotted logs onto it. “It’s that knavish waterfly’s fault we are here, my lady. I’ve a good mind to thrash the boy soundly.” He struck a spark with his tinderbox, then tried to coax a reluctant blaze.

Celeste flung open the window and drew in a deep breath of the snow-filled air. “Non, Gaston. He meant only to help us, I am sure.”

“He’s a coney-catcher, and I intend to sleep with both eyes open this night.” A weak flame licked at the logs.

“I fear this was the only inn on the road. Is that not so, Brother Guy?”

Turning from the window, Celeste gazed up at him. Her midnight hair, released from her furred cap, blew about in the wind, framing her delicate features.

Guy nodded. How beautiful Celeste looked—and how tired! The day’s journey had been particularly difficult.

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