An Honorable Rogue (17 page)

'Aye, the one the Duke uses.'

'It might be, for a price."

Returning to Rozenn, Ben's arm went back about her waist.

'All right, Rose? Legs holding up?'

'Yes.'

He led her to Irene. 'Rose, this is Irene, a friend. Irene, meet Mistress Rozenn Kerber."

Irene murmured Rose's name softly under her breath and held out her hand. 'I am delighted to meet you. Please, do come in."

While the boy took charge of the horses and their baggage, Rozenn entered the inn with Ben's arm about her waist. It seemed perfectly natural that she should wrap her arm around his waist too.

The room Ben and Irene had referred to as 'the private bedchamber' was, as Rozenn soon discovered, a curtained recess set a little to one side in the loft above the inn's main room. The space was almost completely taken up by the grandest bed she had ever seen; it had a bedhead and bedposts, richly carved with fruit and flowers.

How Rozenn had managed to force her overworked limbs up the wooden stairway from the hall below, she never knew, but somehow she did manage. Once in the bedchamber, she gave the room a cursory glance and crawled on to the bed. Feather mattress. Soft. Rolling on to her back, she groaned with relief, closed her eyes, and let her limbs relax. It was some minutes before she stirred.

The bedchamber had a sloping ceiling and what light there was entered via a couple of narrow slits at the gable end. On the right stood a brazier, empty of coals. Rose smiled; it was so warm that it would certainly not be needed tonight. And she would
not
permit herself to think about her and Ben lying entwined in this bed.

Two thick tapestry curtains did duty for walls, and while they did not insulate the room from sounds coming up the inn below or from the public sleeping chamber next door, in winter they would keep the worst of the draughts at bay. Now, in July, the bedchamber was stuffy and airless. Still, if this bed was good enough for Duke Hoel. it was good enough for her; indeed, it was better by far than any she had ever slept in. Candles stood ready on shelves on either side of the bed. Peeling back a corner of the embroidered coverlet. Rose found that the bed linens were white as snow and scented with lavender.

The loft overlooked the main room of the inn. With its central hearth and fire, and the grey smoke wafting up to a roof-vent, it reminded Rozenn of the Great Hall at Hellon Castle, except that here, of course, everything was built of wood and was on a much smaller scale. Below, Irene's customers sat on stools grouped around the fire; they sprawled on various benches beside an assortment of trestles.

Experimentally, Rozenn moved her legs--yes, they still worked--and grimaced. She should not be lying in her boots on such a beautifully embroidered bedcover. Forcing herself to her feet, she stooped to examine it. It was a lightweight wool and every inch had been covered in a loose, looping design of curling vines and flowers, which echoed the carving on the bedhead and bedposts. Why, this bed rivals the one at Castle Hellon. she thought, awed. Finding a loose thread, she deftly tucked it back into place. Not wanting to be the unwitting cause of any more such damage, she carefully folded the cover out of the way and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Her legs were still shaky. She dragged off her boots.

Was Ben intending to sleep in this room with her? And if so, where? Of course, she wanted him to be close at hand, but the uncertainty of their sleeping arrangements was very unsettling. She had left him below, happily haggling with Irene over the cost of their night's lodgings. Almost. Rose wished she had insisted on going by sea with Ketill and his son. but, no... it had to be better to travel with Ben. Ben knew how to find places like this, places with beds fit for Dukes, and--if the mouthwatering smells floating up through the floorboards were anything to go by--food fit for them too.

She liked the look of Irene. How long had Irene known Ben? Many years by the easy way they began bartering with each other. She ran her gaze over the room, the bed. How many times had Ben slept here? How many women had he...

No, she must not think such thoughts! But before she could stop herself, she seemed to hear Ben's voice, laughing, as he said, 'I have to maintain my reputation as a flirt... I need to be notorious..."

'No!'
Startled, Rose realised she had spoken aloud. She sighed. She must be realistic. Ben was a showman, flirting was his stock in trade. Why, even while he was bargaining with Irene, he would be romancing her a little as he persuaded her to let them use this chamber if he entertained her customers. Ben, the minstrel. Ben, the entertainer. Ben. who was
never
serious. Her dearest friend. But why, oh, why could she not shake off the thought that he did have a serious side to him that he never revealed it? She bit her lip. Lately, there was something about him, something that did not quite ring true... He was like...he was like...a sleeping lion, she thought. Ben might have such power, but he never uses it.

What if one day the lion wakes and discovers he is hungry? What then?

Staring blindly at the rush matting, Rose dug a stockinged toe into a gap in the plaitwork. Ben did little to disprove his reputation, though. Indeed, judging by the women who flung themselves at him, one might say he worked most assiduously to keep it.

'Notoriety guarantees a crowd for every performance.'

Ben himself had told her as much.

'People come to hear me because they think me a devil.'

'Not a lion, but a devil." Rose muttered, pulling off her stockings and wriggling her toes. 'A handsome, heartbreaking butterfly of a devil who would not be pinned down for all the gold in the Duke's treasury. And that should not matter to her. But it did. It made her sad.

Light footsteps sounded on the landing outside; the curtain rings rattled and in strode that very devil. As devils are, he was achingly handsome--straight of limb, with shining dark hair and soulful eyes fringed with black lashes. A heartbreaker. Where was he intending to sleep?

'Madam, your belongings.' the devil said, depositing Rose's pack next to the brazier. Incongruously, she noticed he was standing on the last of Mark Quemeneur's mallow flowers, which had fallen to the floor unnoticed.

'My thanks, kind sir." Holding herself very straight, Rose unpinned her veil and began to loosen her braid.

Ben remained motionless for a moment with a lopsided smile on his lips, before slowly approaching the bed. Irene's best bedchamber seemed to shrink to one tenth of its size. 'You are welcome, little flower."

He was looking at her mouth and she wished he wouldn't. It made her want... Wrenching her gaze away. Rozenn smoothed her hair and swiftly began to re-plait it.

'Rose, are your legs very sore?"

She nodded.

'I have a cure for that...' Taking the half-finished braid from her, he gave it a gentle tug, urging her to meet his eyes. They were very dark; his pupils looked enormous.

A c-cure?" Oh. Lord, he was staring at her mouth again, and he was still smiling that lopsided smile that never failed to melt her insides. Out of nowhere the urge to run her fingers over his chin came over her. She wanted to test the roughness of his beard. Dear heaven, a devil indeed.

'Mmm, a cure,' he said, on a small sigh. Giving her plait one final tug, he released it. 'There's a bathhouse at the back of the inn--would you care to go?'

Rose blinked. A bathhouse? His cure was that she should take a bath? For a moment she had thought...

'Rose?'

'A b-bath?'

'Yes, Rose, a bath.'

'In the town bathhouse?'

He shrugged. 'Where else?"

Her mind reeled. Only Ben would have the gall to make such a suggestion. Rose was a respectable girl and respectable girls did
not
frequent public bathhouses, tempted though she was by the thought of a bath. Of course, the bathhouse in Hennebont might not have quite the reputation of Genevieve's in Quimperle...

Ben frowned, but his voice when he spoke was amused. 'You'd be quite safe. Rose, I'd see to that.'

Ivona would be furious! But Rose was hot and sticky and uncomfortable and the idea of a long soak in a tub of water was tempting. Besides, Ivona was a day's ride away, and who in Hennebont did Rose know who would care whether she went to the bathhouse or not?

No one. The only person hereabouts whose good opinion she cared about was the unshaven devil standing in this room with her.

A feeling of liberation such as she had never felt came over her.
No one would know.
It was a heady feeling. Lifting her eyes to Ben's, she smiled. 'A bath sounds heavenly. Provided that you will be nearby,' she added hastily, for the thought of disrobing amongst strangers
was
alarming. 'I shouldn't care to go alone.'

Stepping back from the bed, Ben bowed. 'My lady, I am yours to command. I can be your body servant, if you wish.'

'My body servant!" she exclaimed, shocked, before she saw the wicked laughter gleam in his eyes. She got up and hobbled over to her baggage with as much dignity as she could muster. 'Do they provide linens in bathhouses, Ben?'

'Towels, soap, oils..." he lowered his voice suggestively '...massages, whatever you wish, little flower. I will command whatever your heart desires.'

She gave him a quelling look. 'Privacy, Ben, that is all I shall need.'

Unabashed, he lifted a brow. 'Are you certain?'

She folded her lips together. 'Privacy. Will you grant it?'

Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded. 'Of course, my lady. As I said, I am yours to command."

Rozenn let Ben take her hand and lead her through the warm evening to the entrance of the Hennebont bathhouse. The moon was high and bats were flitting about above them, scraps of sooty blackness that made the stars flicker. Ben halted before a one-storey wooden building where a double door yawned wide. Behind the fire, a row of stalls had been set against the back wall.

'It looks a bit like a stable,' Rozenn murmured, lingering doubtfully in the doorway.

'Not once you get inside,' Ben said, smiling.

Indeed, closer inspection proved him right. Great swathes of cream cheesecloth were draped over hooks in the ceiling. Rose eyed them with some misgivings. Here and there lights shone through the cloth and it was a moment before she realised what she was looking at. In each stall a light was burning--the white cloth ensured privacy from its neighbour. Behind one of the screens came a giggle that was unmistakably lascivious and the sounds of splashing water. Someone--a male someone-- groaned with undisguised pleasure.

'Oh, n-no, Ben,' Rozenn stammered, hastily backing away from the threshold. 'I... I think I'll wait for you back in the Bridge.'

Shaking his head at her. Ben gave her hand a tug.

Stumbling over the threshold, Rose realised that inside it was far from the scene of great debauchery that she had imagined. Lights glowed from behind the flimsy white curtains and shadowy figures moved about in the stalls. Lanterns hung on hooks on the walls. There was plenty of light to chase the night away and not a speck of dirt in sight. Orderly. Rose began to relax.