Stand and Deliver

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication www.ellorascave.com

Stand and Deliver

ISBN 9781419912115

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Stand and Deliver Copyright© 2007 Leda Swann

Edited by Briana St. James.

Cover art by Jinger Heason

Electronic book Publication August 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Stand and Deliver

Leda Swann

Bess sat down at her dressing table and kicked off her slippers with a sigh, wriggling her toes to ease the ache in them.

Her father’s tavern had been busy tonight. The customers had kept her going for hours, running backward and forward between the tables, carrying tankards of good, foaming ale and plates of her mother’s fine rabbit stew. As always, half a dozen customers new to her father’s inn had tried to grab her around the waist and steal a kiss—or more. The palm of her hand stil stung a little from where she had given one of her more persistent admirers a crack across the jaw. A couple of his teeth were now looser than they had been this morning, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Growing up in a tavern, a girl learned to protect herself from a young age.

She pul ed the pins out of her hair and unwound the crown of plaits about her head. Once loosened, her hair fel in a thick black braid to her waist. Moving quickly, she untwisted the strands, combing them with her fingers as she went. Fifty strokes with her brush to keep it soft and shiny, and it was off to bed with her.

She was already in her nightgown when she heard muffled hoofbeats on the cobbles and a smart rat-a-tat on the inn door. Her parents would never hear it. They slept soundly these days, their deep snores rattling the very floorboards. A whole troop of King George’s men could come up to the front door and demand admittance and they would never know.

Wrapping a thick robe around her, she hurried to the casement window, cursing the latecomer under her breath for keeping her from her bed. Stil , she did not dare ignore him. Her father would tan her hide if she turned away a paying guest.

The moon was a mere sliver in the sky, al owing her only to make out the figure of a man on a horse standing quietly in the courtyard. “What do you want?” she cal ed softly down into the yard, not wanting to disturb the other guests.

“Shelter for the night for me and for my horse.” He jingled a bag of coins, and the horse gave a snort as if to add weight to his master’s argument. “I wil pay you wel .”

“Toss me the fee for the night, and I wil let you in,” she said cannily.

“You do not trust me?” His voice was deep. Amused.

“I trust no man who arrives alone, after dark, with his horse’s hooves tied in rags,” she said stoutly. “A silver penny, if you please, or you wil sleep in the fields tonight, for I wil not unbar the door for you.” The price was steep, but not outrageously so.

“You drive a fair bargain, lass. Come, catch.” He tossed a coin into the air. It caught the moonlight as it arced toward her, landing on the casement sil . She grabbed it quickly before it could rol back off and tucked it into her bodice. Tired though she was, for a silver penny she would see that his horse was properly stabled and dig out the remains of the rabbit stew and a heel of bread from the larder for him.

She hurried down to the inn door and drew back the heavy iron bolts that kept them safe. Even in the dim moonlight, he cut a fine figure. His leather boots had deep cuffs and reached almost to mid-thigh, while on his head sat a fine plumed hat. He was quality and no mistake.

With a piercing whistle, she cal ed up a sleepy stable lad, who staggered out , straw in his hair and rubbing his eyes.

“A fair measure of oats,” the stranger ordered, giving his mount a friendly slap on the rump as he passed over the reins. “And see to it that she isn’t stinted on the hay. We’ve a long way to go come the morn.”

Only when his horse was seen to did he take any notice of Bess. His eyes widened at the sight of her bare feet and her hair loose about her shoulders. “You’re a comely wench to be minding an inn. I swear more customers must come here for the sight of your pretty face than do for a taste of your ale.”

“They can look al they want,” she replied tartly. Quality or no, she was not to be had for the asking and it were best he learned it now as later. “It’s nothing to me. But the last man who tried to do more than look has three teeth fewer than when he woke up this morning.”

“Fierce words for such a beauty.”

She sniffed. Men like him were al talk. “Come, fol ow me and I shal show you to your room.” Passing through the public room on the way to the stairs, she took a glowing ember from the stil -warm fireplace in a pair of fire tongs and carried it with her.

She led the way to the best room in the house, luckily not occupied. The fire was laid in the hearth. She placed the glowing ember amidst the wood shavings and watched them burst into flames. “You wil be very comfortable here, sir,” she said, lighting a candle for him from the fire and placing it on the bedside table. “‘Tis the best room in the house.”

“It looks quite delightful,” he said, though his eyes were fixed on her and not on the room.

“Are you hungry? Can I bring you something to eat? We should have some rabbit stew left from supper.”

“Rabbit stew it shal be then. And a good bottle of red wine to wash it down.”

In the kitchen, she ladled him a good bowlful of stew and set it on the embers to warm while she fetched a decent bottle of wine from the cel ar. His manners were better than those of most gentlemen she’d met. She would see he was wel served for his silver.

He was lounging on a chair in front of the fire when she returned to his room with the tray. He’d removed his hat, leaving his long, dark hair to curl over his shoulders. None of their common run of customers had such silky-looking curls, nor such a handsome face. She felt a sudden urge to run her fingers through his hair and feel its softness.

Instead, she set her tray down on the smal table.

“Good evening, sir. I trust you wil find everything to your liking,” she said as she went to leave again.

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast, sweetheart.”

She smacked his fingers hard with her free hand, but he did not let her go. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, alone but for a stranger, and dressed in nothing but a night robe and a woolen wrap. “Are you itching to lose a few teeth, sir?”

she asked with false sweetness, putting a brave face on her unease.

“Come now,” he said with an easy laugh, “a pretty wench has no need of such dire threats. I merely want you to keep me company while I eat. I hate eating alone.”

A part of her wanted to stay just to drink in the sight of him in his deep red jacket, the color of the wine she had brought him, and the soft leather breeches that clung to his thighs like a second skin. The thought of staying with him in his room, while the rest of the household was fast asleep, sent a flicker of heat coursing through her body. Maybe he would even want to steal a kiss from her. Most men would earn a smack for trying, but she would al ow this man a kiss and welcome. His breath was sweet and clean, not stinking of garlic and sour cheese like most of them around here.

She was a practical woman, though, and not usual y given to flights of fancy. “I must to bed,” she said stoutly, setting temptation firmly aside. “I have to be up early in the morning to see to the breakfasts.”

His grip was like iron around her wrist. “I have a fine, fair bed here, big enough for the both of us.”

“I am the innkeeper’s daughter, not a tavern slut,” she said equably, too used to such propositions to be offended by them. “Your silver penny buys you a bed for the night, but not a companion to share it.”

He sighed gustily. “No matter, I wil not press you. But stay with me while I eat and then you may creep back to your own cold bed.”

Stil she hesitated.

“I wil not let you go until I have your word,” he said with exaggerated patience. “And in the meantime, my stew is getting cold.”

Heavens, men were such fools. “If you insist. I wil stay with you while you eat, and not a moment longer.”

“Thank you.” He let go of her wrist, poured a glass of wine, and handed it to her with a smile. “This wil help pass the time.”

“That leaves you nothing to drink from,” she protested, unwil ing to offer to run downstairs yet again for another glass. Her poor feet needed a rest.

“I have the bottle,” he said, tipping it to his lips and taking a long swal ow.

Shrugging, she took a sip of the wine, glad now that she had chosen a fair bottle for him. It slid down her throat as smooth as cream, warming her from the inside out.

Another mouthful and she scarcely felt the cold of the floor on her feet or the chil night air through the flimsy fabric of her nightrail.

“Who are you hiding from?” She hadn’t meant to ask.

The words just slipped out without her meaning them to.

The lazy look in his eyes was replaced with a sudden intensity. “What makes you think I am hiding from anyone?”

he asked, as if the thought amused him. By the stil ness of his gaze, though, she knew that al his senses were on high alert.

“For heaven’s sake, I’m not half-witted.” She took another swal ow of wine. “Nor blind. No gentleman rides late at night with rags around his horse’s hooves for fun.”

“And if I were on the run, what then? Would you turn me in?”

She shook her head. “Why would I? You have paid me a good silver penny tonight. If I turn you in, I wil never get another penny from you.”