At The Warrior's Mercy. Denise Lynn

       Chapter Two

      While the noisy, smoke-filled inn had been an unexpected find, Gregor of Roul had been glad for the warmth and shelter it had provided him earlier when he’d sought to escape the company of his men for a few hours of time alone and had no aversion to being once again beneath its thatched roof.

      He raised his cup, only to find it empty, and signalled one of the maids over to his rough-hewn table in the far corner near the fire.

      She placed a jug of ale before him, then lingered to give him an assessing gaze—a look signalling that she didn’t know anything about his reputation or his identity.

      He wondered idly what women saw when they looked at him before they realised who he was—when they gazed upon him as if he were just a man instead of a treacherous beast. Did they see that his once coal-black hair had started turning silver too early, making him look far older than his twenty-eight years? Or did the strand of silvery-white hair hanging across his forehead make them think of the wolves that populated his ancestor’s demesne lands in Normandy, giving them the name Roul?

      Did they notice that his nose was crooked from one too many fights? Or the jagged scar that ran the length of his jawbone, accentuated now by the stubble from not shaving these last three days on the road. Did these imperfections make him appear a warrior to be pitied, or one to be feared?

      He knew the very second she realised who she might be serving. Men would instinctively reach for their weapon and willingly choose avoidance if possible. But as happened more often than not with women, her smile vanished and the tell-tale shimmer of fear brightened her widening eyes and enlarged her pupils.

      ‘Will you be needing anything else?’ Her previous warmth cooled, leaving her tone curt and distracted as if she couldn’t get away quickly enough.

      Gregor sighed. Had he been anyone else, she’d have followed her query with a saucy wink and lingering touch on his shoulder to let him know that if he was so tempted, she’d be more than willing to keep him company this night.

      She was a fine-looking young woman, with blond hair that tumbled in loose waves down her back and a gown laced so snugly that nothing of her curvaceous form was left to his imagination.

      But it wasn’t a blonde serving wench who filled his thoughts at the moment. Instead a dark-haired, headstrong, wayward lady flitted around in his mind. One with the take-charge spirit of a warrior, flashing green eyes full of curiosity, an impertinent mouth that begged to be kissed and a lack of fear that both fascinated and intrigued him.

      He’d been intrigued from the moment she’d grasped his hand. Had she felt the same shocking spark of warmth flow through her at the contact as he’d experienced? Or during that brief moment when she’d rested against his chest, had she been struck by the rightness of it, as if that was where she belonged?

      Even though it would make no difference, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she discovered who had come to her rescue. A small part of him wished that, just for a moment perhaps, her impertinence could be far stronger than any fear.

      He blinked. What was he thinking? The last thing he needed was a woman, especially one who had caught his interest, distracting him from the task at hand. It was bad enough that when he’d seen her tumble down the hill, then slip into the water he’d felt strangely compelled to lend assistance. It had gone from bad to worse when he’d grasped her hand to pull her from the water and had looked into her eyes—something inside him had sparked to life—something that was best left alone. He didn’t need to make things impossible by imagining things that could never be.

      Forcing his attention back to the waiting maid, he added a couple of pennies to the charge for the ale, something extra for her, and shook his head. ‘No, there’s nothing else I require.’

      She reached down with a trembling hand, scooped up the coins quickly and nearly ran from his table.

      ‘Please, someone, help me.’

      Ah, he recognised that voice. She’d chosen to accept his protection after all. Not that she’d really had a choice as his intention had been to let her stew for a short time, then go and find her.

      He shouldered his way through the now-gathering throng of men surrounding her and grasped her elbow. ‘Come with me.’

      She followed him without hesitation, until he paused before his table and waved her to take a seat on the bench.

      ‘No. I cannot. There is no time.’ She paused to cast a furtive glance towards the door, adding, ‘I need to hide.’

      Gregor adjusted his cloak that was still about her shoulders and pulled up the hood to conceal her features. He waved the maid over again to ask, ‘Is there an available room above?’ At her nod, he placed more than enough coins in her palm and said, ‘You’ve not seen either of us.’

      Her eyes bulged at the amount in her hand, but finally she replied, ‘I’ll let the others know.’

      Thankful for that bit of assistance from one so reluctant, he added more coins to what he’d already given her. ‘I thank you. See to it that everyone has a full cup.’ He paused for a quick glance down at the woman he sought to hide, then handed the maid even more coins, saying, ‘If you have any dry clothing available, it would be more than welcome.’

      The woman’s eyes once again grew wide, but this time with shock instead of fear. She closed her fingers tightly over what must seem to her riches in her palm and nodded.

      Gregor turned his focus back on the woman shivering at his side and placed a hand on the small of her back. ‘Come. You can hide above.’

      She hesitated. He read the uncertainty in her piercing green gaze. He understood her indecision—even though they’d spoken by the stream, she truly didn’t know him and couldn’t be certain that he didn’t pose an even greater threat than those she wanted so desperately to avoid.

      The door to the inn opened once again, letting a cold gust of wind enter and whip through to swirl around his ankles. Her stare jumped towards the door. Gregor leaned slightly closer to ask, ‘The wolves at the door, or the one at your side who has yet to have offered you harm?’

      And her gaze darted once again, this time, as he knew it would, to the shock of silver now hanging low over his forehead. For whatever reason, she hadn’t been afraid of him before, but now he saw the flicker of fear in her eyes. He caught her uncertain stare with his own and held it, promising, ‘You can trust me, my lady.’

      As three men entered the inn, she bolted for the stairs. Not wanting her to draw attention, Gregor draped an arm across her shoulders. ‘Slowly, as if we’re simply two lovers headed above.’

      She stiffened momentarily at the insinuation, but slowed her steps.

      Once they reached the upper landing, he lowered his arm and pushed open the first door. Ushering her inside, he closed the door behind them and then dropped the thick locking bar in place.

      Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat at the sound of the timber falling securely into the iron holders. What had she done? While it was true that for this moment she was safe from Charles and his companions, she was now locked into a bedchamber with a man she did not know.

      Outside of this inn he’d been oddly easy to talk to, but now the fear she’d not felt then welled to life.

      He had jumped to her aid so quickly. Too willingly, perhaps? Had he done