Tori Phillips - Silent Knight

“We want room for the night, yes?” Celeste smiled coquettishly at the ruddy-faced man and fluttered her lashes.

Hooding his eyes, Guy observed her. The little vixen might be young, but she knew enough tricks to befuddle a man’s wits.

The innkeeper appraised her with a shrewd glance. “Frenchies, by the look of ye.”

Celeste drew herself up to her full height, which put her at chin level with the man. “Oui, but we pay in the English silver.” She flashed him a brilliant smile, then nodded toward Guy. “And the goood brother ’ere is English and understands all you say.”

Stepping forward at this introduction, Guy loomed over the host. Taking in the monk’s height and shoulder width, the innkeeper stepped back a pace.

“Begging yer pardon, Friar, but we had a wee bit o’ trouble with the frogs afore, and a man can’t be too trust in’ with any o’ that lot.”

Before Guy could react, Celeste erupted with a sputter of French, followed by an equal torrent of English. “Frog? Mon Dieu! ’E says I am the frog?” A delightful blush of pink crept into her cheeks. “Bah! Imbécile! Am I green? Do I ’ave the face of the frog? Look you!”

Lifting the hem of her gown, she displayed a slim ankle and the lower portion of a shapely calf, encased in a bright yellow silk stocking. “Is this the leg of a frog?”

The landlord whistled through his gapped teeth at the unexpected sight, while the nearby patrons of the taproom craned their necks for a better view. Glowering, Gaston tugged at her hand.

“Lady Celeste! Drop your skirt!,” he muttered in rapid French. “What do you want these pigs to think you area woman of no reputation? Marguerite de la Columbiaire would have my brains served for a dog’s breakfast if she knew what you were doing.”

“My aunt will never know, Gaston,” Celeste whispered back to him, though she immediately let go of the velvet burgundy skirts.

Guy stepped closer to her and sent a scorching look at the jostling assembly. Jesu!, This was only the first night! He would be lucky to get her to Snape Castle in one piece, at this rate. And why did she have to possess such a fine leg? He promised himself he would sleep without bedding tonight in penance for the pleasure he took in the revelation of that dainty part of her.

Celeste smoothed her skirts, then cocked her head at the innkeeper. “Now, monsieur, do I ’ave the room?” Smiling, she fluttered her lashes again. “The best in the ’ouse, oui?”

“My pleasure, m’lady,” he all but slobbered.

“I also ’ave men, ’orses, and the wagon?” Her smile became broader.

“The stable lad will see to them. ’Tis a shilling a horse.”

Celeste looked to Guy for approval.

Glaring at the landlord, the monk shook his head. The man was nothing less than a highway brigand. Guy held up four fingers, then all ten.

“Ah, the good Brother Guy say three shillings for all our ’orses, and my men-at-arms—weeth supper, oui? ’E is a man of God, monsieur, and is très ’onest.”

Repressing a smile at her bargaining skills, Guy nodded in agreement. The landlord glanced at the giant monk, then to the grim-faced sergeant, and finally to the dimpled lady. He threw up his hands in resignation.

“I’ll be a-standing in line at the dole hatch yet, and no mistake, but seein’ that ye’ve men-at-arms, I trust ye to be a lady of—” He flushed and glanced at the hem of her gown, which now primly concealed the yellow silken leg. “Of quality. ’Tis me best room, at your service. Second floor, at the end of the hall.”

Celeste produced a groat from her reticule, which hung from her waist. Taking the landlord’s beefy hand in both of hers, she pressed the coin into his palm. “Merci, monsieur. And there will be ’ot water and a fire and supper, all in an instant, oui?”

“Oui,” the man gasped, not even noticing the size of the tip he grasped. Several of the onlookers thumped their wooden cups on the oaken table with noisy good humor.

“Lady Celeste, a wise soldier knows when it is time to withdraw. That time is now.” Gaston looked to Guy, who nodded his agreement.

Good for you, Gaston! Get her out of sight before she stirs up too much unwelcome interest. Slipping his hand under Celeste’s elbow, Guy guided her firmly toward the stairs. As they ascended, her smothered giggles surprised him.

“I did well, non?”

Guy looked straight ahead, though he curled his fingers tighter around her arm. He strove to ignore what his practiced touch told him lay inside the velvet sleeve. She felt warm and soft, yet a current of wildfire coursed through her being—a promise of passion that would set a man’s soul blazing. Jesu! He must kneel half the night in solemn prayer for harboring such tempting sweet thoughts.

The room proved to be surprisingly well appointed. Firewood lay stacked on the hearthstone, waiting to be laid. A tinderbox promised relief from the chill night air. A stout table and two plain chairs sat before the fireplace. Celeste gave a small chirp of pleasure when she spied the large canopied bed in one corner.

“C’est bon!” she pronounced as she prodded the coverlet. “Clean linen, and the mattress feels as if it has been newly stuffed.” Leaning over, she investigated the underside. “New roping, and the chamber pot is clean. This landlord keeps a good inn.”

Without further ado, she began to push the saddlebag under a corner of the mattress. Guy glanced at Gaston, his brows raised in surprised query.

“Lady Celeste’s dowry, good Brother.” Gaston knelt at the fireplace and began to lay several of the split logs on the iron dogs.

A thick piece of ice felt lodged in the back of Guy’s throat. By all the devils in hell, was the silly creature carrying a large bag of gold as if it were a change of stockings? What could her father have been thinking, to send her off with only a few men and such a fortune? And why wasn’t Gaston more concerned? Guy shot a fierce look at the sergeant’s back.

Celeste’s honeyed laughter rippled over him. “Oh, la, la, Gaston! If you could see what a fearful face our good Brother Guy just made!”

His glare at her only provoked more laughter.

“Hey-ho, mon frère! Now what have I done to so displease you? In truth, I have said all my penance, and I do not laugh at your... that is, at you again.”

Guy pointed at the saddlebag, which poked out from under the covering. Celeste arched one sable brow.

“My dowry? But surely you expected that I would have it with me.” Her lips pursed together into a delectable pout, though her eyes twinkled.

Such kissable lips! Guy caught himself wondering if any young nobleman of France had savored the sweetness of those lips. Frowning more to himself than to Celeste, he snapped his fingers, then pointed to the bag.

“You wish to see my dowry?” Celeste cocked her head. Gaston regarded Guy with a thoughtful expression.

“Let him see what you carry, my lady,” the old soldier suggested softly. “Since we have been given into his charge, he should know all. As you said, he is a man of God, and honest.” Gaston unsheathed his dagger, studying its keen edge as if he had never seen it before.

Celeste shrugged, then pulled the bag out from under the mattress. “D’accord. I agree.” She plopped it on the table, then slid it toward Guy. “I fear it is not the treasure of the Eastern kings.” While Guy fumbled with the buckle, she strolled to the window.

After opening the flap, Guy withdrew a blue leather box; neither its flatness nor its light weight denoted a chest of coins. Lifting the lid, he frowned at the contents with some confusion.

“Oui, good Brother,” Gaston remarked, in the same soft tone, though Guy detected a note of danger beneath it. “You see before you the worth my master has placed upon his youngest daughter.” The sergeant spat into the fire, causing it to hiss as if a small serpent lurked within the flames.