Free The Poison Diaries: Nightshade by Maryrose Wood Page A

upturned, parted mouth, and wait for my reward.
    Practised healer that I am, I can feel his temperature rise. But he steps back and gives me a hard, searching look. Then he chuckles. “Did you, now? Can’t say I’m surprised. There’s something lethal about you, to be sure. Very well, man-killer Rowan. Someday you’ll tell me the truth. Sleep well.”
    He starts to go, but I reach for him and seize the front of his shirt. Wordlessly I fasten the top buttons, to hide the medal he wears.
    â€œLock the door after I go,” he says when I am done. “There are too many drunken rogues in this inn tonight. Including me.”
    He leaves me then, the feel of his stubble still rawon my cheek. Obediently I bolt the door and blow the candle out.
    That night, I do not dream of Weed.

8
    T HE NEXT MORNING I awaken early. I have only had a few hours’ sleep, yet I feel instantly alert, like a hunted animal.
    I light a candle, for it is still scarcely dawn, and wash my face with cold water from the basin. With each icy splash, it is as if I rinse away the memories of Rye’s presence here in my tiny room. His voice, his form, his warmth, his kiss – all fade until they are no more than the shadow of a half-remembered dream.
    My shame is not so easy to wash away. Whatwould Weed think if he knew how readily I welcomed Rye’s embrace? I am lonely and afraid, yes – but is my devotion so weak that I sought refuge in the arms of the first man who showed a moment’s kindness to me?
    After committing two murders, you feel shame over one little kiss? Really, lovely, you are very foolish sometimes. But the horse trader is right – it is time to move on. I would not have you rotting in some country jail, waiting for the hangman’s scaffold to be built…
    Oleander’s scorn only deepens my shame. But I will obey. As a hunted deer runs through a stream to make the dogs lose its scent, I too must change course often and step lightly, leaving no trail.
    I will gather my things and tell no one of my plan. Tomorrow I will slip away before dawn, and leave word with the driver that I have found other means of transportation, so that no one waits or looks for me. It is best not to offer lies and excuses; I wish to simply disappear.
    At nine o’clock I go downstairs to get a boiled eggand some bread from the kitchen. The inn is quiet, the dining room empty. Perhaps some of the guests have gone to church. No doubt many are still asleep, recovering from last night’s revels.
    I choose a small table for myself and pour a cup of tea. As I do, two women from our group enter the dining room. One of them yawns widely.
    â€œThe crying and moaning kept me up half the night,” she complains to her companion. “I hope the child recovers, of course, but I’ll tell you, I won’t spend another night in the room next door if it’s going to be another ordeal like that.”
    â€œIf the girl’s that sick, the rug sellers will have to stay behind tomorrow. Just as well, if you ask me. We’ll go faster and safer without them. That mule of theirs is slow as a barge! It makes us easy pickings for the highwaymen.”
    â€œAre you still dreaming of Robin Hood, sweeping you off to a life of thievery and romance?” Laughter. They have taken a table not far from me. I slide my wooden chair back and clear my throat.
    â€œExcuse me; I could not help overhearing your remarks.” I speak in a rush, before my better judgment can stop me. “Did I understand you to say that the little Persian girl is ill?”
    The bleary-eyed woman shrugs. “I only know because I rapped on the door this morning asking them to quiet down. Her mother was all apologies and excuses. She told me the child started burning hot with fever during the night and can scarcely swallow because her throat is so swollen. She claimed her husband was already out looking for a doctor, but