Free The Tavern in the Morning by Alys Clare Page A

– a hot, thick soup with some pieces of chicken in it and some sort of mushy pulses, accompanied by bread – and gave him a very welcome mug of mulled wine. Then she presented him with another little cupful of water.
    He pushed it firmly away. ‘No, lady.’
    She met his eyes. She didn’t try to deny that the water was drugged; she merely said, ‘You need to sleep.’
    ‘I shall sleep,’ he assured her. ‘Ex-soldiers have the knack of sleeping to order. Didn’t you know?’ She answered his smile with a faint quirk of her lips. ‘I need to wake up to order as well,’ he added, his voice too low for Ninian to hear. ‘Don’t I?’
    Her eyes widened as she understood. ‘Oh, no! Don’t even think that!’
    ‘Face the truth!’ he hissed. ‘He’s close. Isn’t he?’
    He had half hoped that if he pretended to know more than he did, she would lower her guard and tell him everything.
    She didn’t.
    Instead she raised her chin, stared him out and said haughtily, ‘You have not the least idea what you are talking about, and you won’t trick me into telling you. I’m no fool, Sir Josse.’
    ‘I didn’t think you were,’ he said. Then, for she was angry now and he knew the moment for confidences was past, he added, ‘I intend to sleep until first light. Then I shall leave. I suggest you escort me to some place where I can find my bearings. I will allow you to blindfold me again, if you wish it.’
    ‘I do,’ she said frostily. Turning away, she said, ‘Until first light. Come, Ninian.’
    The boy gave Josse a wistful look – you’re here, and I’m so glad, but you’ve got to be going again! it seemed to say – and then meekly fell into step behind his mother. They disappeared up a narrow staircase which had been concealed behind a hanging in one corner of the room, and for a short time he heard their footsteps overhead.
    Soon, the whole house was quiet.
    As he had promised, Josse lay down his head and went to sleep.
    *   *   *
    In the morning, he was awake before her.
    He made his way outside, where he found a water butt. The top couple of inches of water were frozen solid, and he had to break the ice with a stone. He filled a bowl, and took it in to heat it over the fire, which he had fed on waking, tickling it into a good blaze.
    He had brought his small saddlebag in from the barn, and now, for the first time in three days, he enjoyed the luxury of a wash and a shave. Before dressing again, he brushed down his tunic as best he could. He gave his boots a shine, and tried to get some of the forest floor vegetation out of his hair. But it was difficult to do so without disturbing the poultice and its linen tie, and he soon gave up.
    By the time the woman came down, he felt almost presentable.
    ‘You look better,’ she said, looking him over.
    ‘I feel better.’
    ‘You should keep the poultice in place for another day or two. But it has probably done its work already.’
    ‘I’m grateful.’
    ‘No need to be.’
    They shared a light breakfast, then she stood up, raising her eyebrows at him.
    ‘Ready?’
    ‘Ready.’
    They went out to the barn, and he tacked up Horace while she saw to the pony. Why not her own horse? he wondered, if that was what the other animal was. Too conspicuous? Better to ride her son’s sturdy pony? There was no way of knowing for sure. He stood before her for the blindfold, and, once he had mounted, she secured his wrists as she had done before.
    ‘I’ll go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ve attached a leading rein.’ He didn’t answer. There didn’t seem anything to say.
    *   *   *
    It was a far longer ride this time. Trying to work out their direction from the way the sun’s rays were falling on his shoulders – not easy, with a weak winter sun – he had the distinct impression she was taking them round in circles.
    Finally, she drew rein. ‘This will do,’ she said.
    He heard her dismount and approach. His wrists untied, he reached up and took off