The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,40
longer.
Hold it.
Hold it until she was out of public eye.
Hold it like she had learned to do so well during the last seven years.
She lasted up the stairs and into the room at the end of the corridor, and then she couldn’t stand the touch of Wes’s hand at her back another step more.
She jumped away from him as the door to the room closed, moving to the pitcher of water and basin on the chest of drawers opposite the fireplace. She untied her sopping bonnet and yanked it off, setting it on the chest.
Wes didn’t leave, standing by the door, silent.
For moments, she tried to calm, scrubbing at her face and hands with the water and a cloth, trying to force sane breaths into her lungs.
Futile.
Calm was not to be her companion at the moment.
He still wasn’t leaving. Not intending to leave.
She exhaled a seething breath, unable to turn around to Wes for she feared the words that would fly from her mouth if she looked at him. “I’m not staying in this room by myself, am I?”
“No. No, you’re not, Laney.”
She whipped around to him. “Why am I not surprised?”
He leaned back against the door, his arms crossing over his chest. “I mean to keep you safe, Laney. And that means staying in this room with you. I’ll not apologize for it.”
“I don’t suppose you would.” Of course he wouldn’t. It was his way. Always his way. He knew what was best—never mind her having a thought in her own head.
She stepped away from the basin of water, cocking her head to it. He quickly strode across the room and cleaned his hands, splashing water on his face.
She stood by the door, staring at his back as she forced her voice to neutral. “You didn’t answer me outside, Wes.”
“About?”
“Where are we going? What danger are we in?”
His fingers froze above the water bowl for a long second and then he flicked his hands in the air, sending droplets flying. “There are things I can’t tell you, Laney.”
“Why not?”
He turned around to her, moving past her to open the door. “Things you cannot know.”
She grabbed his arm, her voice rising. “That’s not enough—not by far.”
“It will have to be. For your own safety.” He shrugged his arm, sending her hand flying off of him. “I’m hungry, Laney, and I’ll not argue with you about this now.”
Her lips drew inward, biting her words back. If the pit of her own stomach weren’t growling, angry for food, she’d grab him again and make him tell her.
He swung the door wide, stepping out into the hallway.
The argument would have to wait. Just another thing he’d decided for them.
Her feet heavy, her chest still boiling in irritation, Laney followed Wes down to the main dining area of the inn. They joined Rune in a private corner of the inn where the table and chairs were set close to the fire but partitioned off with wooden half walls carved with lions and stags. At least the fire would partially dry her off.
She didn’t know the man, but she made a point to sit in the chair next to Rune and as far away from Wes as possible.
Wes set the key on the table and his dark eyes shifted to her, his glare settling on her for a moment.
Her point delivered as intended.
Rune slid a silver tankard across the table to Wes and set a glass of claret in front of her. Wes’s stare broke and he sat as his look shifted to Rune.
“Food is ordered?”
“Aye.” Rune took a long drink from his own tankard.
“Fresh horses will be ready in the morning. We leave early.”
Rune nodded.
Silence loomed over the table, both the men taking sips of ale, their eyes wary on the surroundings in the dining room past the privacy walls. The rest of the tables mostly full, muted conversations drifted in the air about them.
Laney fiddled with the stem of her glass, then took a sip of the claret merely for something to do. The silence at their table didn’t cease. If anything, it grew more ominous, more stark against the sounds of the rest of the tavern. People laughing, plates clattering, forks clinking, muttered gossip.
But only heavy silence directly around her.
What was happening to her was unnatural. All of it.
Her brother’s murder in London. Finding Morton’s box. Mr. Filmore’s death. The attack against her on the bridge. Leaving town. Traveling to heaven knows where. Both Wes and Rune clearly believing they were in