Perhaps he might have, indeed, found himself in trouble.
But it was a battle that a brave lass had quickly ended. When Alexander should have been grossly irritated, he found that he couldn’t muster the will. He found himself looking into Christin’s doll-like face and seeing utter calm there. No hysteria, no fear. Simply the expression of one who did what needed to be done, just like she’d done with the French king’s spy. Truly, it was remarkable for a woman to be so composed in the face of death.
A seed of respect for her sprouted.
“Are you well, Sherry?” Bric, winded, came up beside him. “We should leave. Now.”
Alexander was still wiping his face and eyes, but he was already heading for the door. “We shall return another day when the company in this place is better,” he said. “Let us depart.”
He was through the entry when he realized he had Christin by the wrist, pulling her along to ensure she followed him and didn’t somehow rush back in and start braining men. He wouldn’t have put it past her, courageous as she was. Peter was right behind his sister, followed by Bric and finally Kevin covering their rear.
Once outside in the damp night air with the smell of fish and the river heavy in the air, Alexander let go of Christin when he realized he probably should.
“Take your sister and go, Peter,” he said. “We will meet you at the livery across from The Duck and Dribble at dawn, so be ready to depart.”
Peter had hold of Christin, much like Alexander, as if afraid she might run off to do battle again. “Come with us,” he said. “London abounds with danger tonight, Sherry. We should stay together.”
Alexander waved him off. “If there are more d’Aubigney knights, I will keep them off your tail,” he said. “Take the lady and hurry. Get into a room at the inn and remain there. I will be on the streets tonight, making sure no danger follows you.”
Peter nodded and hurried off, towing Christin by the arm. But her gaze was on Alexander, and his on her, and for a moment, they couldn’t seem to tear their attention off one another. There was just something about the woman that made Alexander take a second look. He only pulled his attention from her when Bric and Kevin came up on either side of him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bric said. “I think the only knight killed is the one Lady Christin took down, so his friends will be out for revenge.”
Alexander knew that. “That one is a spitfire,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve never liked working with a woman other than Susanna, but de Lohr’s sister… I’ve not yet decided.”
“She probably saved your life,” Kevin said. “You were in no position to fight that knight as he took the offensive. I tried to get to you but I had my own problems.”
Alexander lifted a dark eyebrow. “I was in perfect control,” he said, which was probably true. Alexander was always, and completely, in control. “And no woman is ever going to save my life. Come on, now. We need to separate. Bric, you take the wharf. Kevin, get over to Bridge Street but stay out of sight, both of you. When d’Aubigney’s men move, see where they’re going and make sure they stay away from The Duck and Dribble. As for me… I’m going in through the rear of The Pox. I’ll watch them from there.”
They had their directives, so they began to move. The primary objective was simply to make sure the d’Aubigney men remained away from Farringdon House and the inns up on Ropery Street. Truth be told, Alexander might have agreed that Christin had saved his life because he’d been in a bit of a bind, but no one else needed to know that. To them, the man they knew as Sherry was never in trouble.
Except he might have been.
Saved by a slip of a woman who looked like an angel.
No matter how much he fought them off, thoughts of Christin de Lohr and her fearsome courage poked at him all night.
CHAPTER THREE
On the road to Norwich Castle
The first day’s journey to Norwich had been long and wet thanks to a series of storms that had blown in from the east. The roads had been marred with holes and puddles, the horses up to their ankles in mud.
It made for slow going.
But Christin didn’t say a word about the discomfort of the icy conditions or vertical rain. Not a gasp, a sneeze, or a complaint as she plodded along on her robust warmblood with Alexander, Peter, Bric, and Kevin. The knights were dressed in full armor, including mail which became soaked, and by nightfall when they stopped, the armor was cold and heavy with moisture. It was a most uncomfortable way to travel, but if they weren’t complaining, then she wasn’t going to, either.
Even if she was soaked to the skin.
In fact, she already felt as if she was on some kind of probation after the events of the past few days. First, she killed a French spy and at The Pox, she killed a man who had been trying to murder Alexander. She certainly didn’t enjoy killing but she’d grown up around knights. She knew their code and their sense of honor, and if someone was trying to kill you or a friend, then you had every right to fight back. She’d seen that in her father and uncle too many times to count. Even her mother wasn’t afraid to use a dagger if necessary.
Lady Dustin de Lohr had instilled that fearlessness in her daughter.
Still, Christin received the distinct impression that Alexander was irritated at her for killing his opponent.
The first day’s journey began before dawn and ended just as the sun sank below the western horizon. The rain had started to fall again, gently this time, by the time they reached the village Peter had been planning on. He set his sights for an inn called The Buck and Boar.
It was a rather large establishment with three stories of whitewashed walls and brown cross-beam architecture. The second and third stories were larger than the first story, giving the building a substantial overhang onto the street.
Light emitted from the shuttered windows, giving the place a warm glow, as the five of them rode into the livery around the side. The livery was mostly full but a few coins from Peter had the livery master shoving horses out of the way to pull the big warhorses in so they could be dry. Confident the animals would be well-tended, the group entered the establishment through the rear kitchen yard.
The Buck and Boar was different from most inns in that it catered to a higher class of clientele. The serving wenches were dressed in clean clothing and were somewhat groomed, and the place didn’t reek of the usual vomit and smoke and unwashed bodies. It smelled like fresh bread and baking apples.
It smelled inviting.
Even the common room was different. There was a small common area with tables and chairs that were in good repair, a massive hearth that was blazing against the wet night, and several alcoves that had tables and chairs, lamps for light, and curtains that could be closed for privacy.
Peter led them into one of those secluded alcoves that could accommodate at least eight people. In this alcove were a clean table, two lamps, and an iron brazier with glowing coals to warm the area. There was even a window with precious diamond-glass panes looking out over an alley, but part of the window was open to let out the fumes from the brazier. As soon as the group entered the alcove and began settling in, serving women came on the run.
Rags to dry off with were brought along with hot wine. The knights began to strip off their tunics to let them dry in the warmth of the room but they stopped short of removing mail or any protection. When in a public place, they maintained their uniform appearance at all times, especially for protection.