Twilight Magic by Shari Anton Read Free Book Online Page B

qualities.
    ’Twas Emma’s fault he’d been exiled when he need to be in London. The longer he was away, the longer a murderer went free.
    He rose. “The cart driver appears ready to continue. Let us hope the weather does not worsen.”
    Despite the protection and warmth of a beaver cloak, Emma was both chilled and wet by the time they reached the Curly Goose. She was hungry, too. Stupid not to have thought about bringing provisions for the road.
    But then, she really hadn’t had time to visit the palace kitchen to beg for bread and cheese, worried that Darian might leave without her if she didn’t hurry. Upon arriving outside of the stables, hard on the heels of the footmen carrying her trunks, she’d looked for signs of his impatience and, to her amazement, found none.
    Oh, he’d been upset. What man wouldn’t be after all that had occurred? The murder accusation. Gaining a wife he didn’t want. Being exiled to Kent. Except for a couple of unkind remarks, he’d not proven himself intolerant.
    So things could be worse. Much worse.
    As she sat by the fire in the inn’s common room, a bowl of thick stew in her lap and a mug of hearty ale on the plank floor at her feet, she recalled the few moments when events could have taken a cruel turn.
    She hadn’t realized they must ford a river, and she’d almost panicked the moment she realized they were about to cross water. A
lot
of water.
    She’d thanked heaven and all of its inhabitants for sending the rain, not heavy enough to make the fording dangerous but enough to create ripples on the surface. Still, she’d taken no chances, pulling the cloak’s hood tighter to cover her closed eyes, preventing any possibility of being lulled into fixation.
    She was drawn to water. To look at a puddle or pond too long and become enthralled brought on the visions that caused her pain, both physically and emotionally.
    She’d learned as a child to close her eyes when doing something so ordinary as bathing or dipping her hands in a washbasin. Those effective actions prevented the visions and spared her the pain.
    The last thing she needed on this journey was to struggle with an oncoming vision and suffer the resulting headache.
    “More ale, milady?”
    Emma smiled at the fair-haired, apron-wrapped inn-keeper, who held a pitcher. Since their arrival he had done everything he could to make her comfortable. He’d recognized her nobility immediately, even before she’d removed her cloak to reveal her finely made bliaut. He’d even given up his private bedchamber for her use, the inn lacking private rooms to let.
    “I thank you, but no more. I compliment you on both your brew and victuals.”
    He beamed and bowed before he turned to Darian, who sat nearby, cross-legged on the floor, his stew gone, staring into the flames. The wavering light caressed his face, flickered over his features, played along his rugged jawline, and deepened the shadows around his eyes.
    She’d thought him lost in thought until noticing his brief, barely discernable reactions to noise. The man knew immediately whenever anyone came into or left the room, knew precisely where everyone was located. To all, he might seem preoccupied and vulnerable. He was neither.
    “What about you? Want more?”
    The change in the innkeeper’s demeanor was immediate and telling. He’d assumed her noble and that Darian was merely her escort. Nearly true, but she wondered how Darian felt about being relegated to the upstairs room lined with pallets, not offered any special accommodation.
    Darian raised his mug for the innkeeper to fill, not saying a word, not even of thanks. Not until the innkeeper returned to his place behind the plank counter did Darian speak.
    “ ’Ware how you smile at the man or he may forget he gave up his bed and pay you a visit.”
    Emma bit back a retort that
some
man should share her bed tonight. This was her wedding night, after all.
    Her appetite suddenly vanished. Sadness washed through her