26. Liam

Chapter 26

Liam

T he sun had just peeked over the horizon when I groaned, stretched my arms as far as they would reach, and tossed back my thick woolen blankets. I shivered at the cold and frowned at the darkened coals in my bedchamber’s hearth, then blew out a sigh, stretched one last time, and set about my morning routine.

First, I had to do something with my bushy tangle of sandy hair. It had somehow found ways to tie itself into knots that would make any sailor proud. The first few pulls of my brush tugged at my scalp, and then—the successive pulls hurt, too.

My hair was a mess. Had I wrestled a bear in my sleep?

Once satisfied I was presentable for my father’s guests, I rinsed my face in the frigid water of my washbasin and donned my uniform, dove gray trousers covered by a pale blue smock embroidered with a sparkly silver crown. I traced a finger across the stylized symbol of the Kingdom’s royal household.

Years earlier, King Alfred and Queen Isabel visited our town and stayed at our inn. That week transformed the town of Oliver’s sleepy but reputable inn into a palace away from home for the couple. At least, that’s what my father told anyone who would listen. To hear him tell it, he laid marble in every room, polished the cherry wood (though the walls were oak) to a mirror-sheen, and sold his soul for a chef straight from the Isle of Vint.

In truth, we dusted and cleaned as best a family of common innkeepers could, but the boarding house was the same as before the royals arrived, if a tad less dusty. The King’s household provided the chef and foodstuffs for their visit. All Hershel, my father, had to do was help haul it into his storeroom and kitchen. The royal seneschal explained that only royal servants could attend their Majesties, which included serving food or wine, cleaning their chambers, or anything else that involved direct interaction with our vaunted rulers. Hershel and his household would be introduced to the royals upon their arrival, but there would be no further interaction once the King and Queen were settled into their chambers.

The day after the royals departed, I woke to a series of loud bangs outside the door of the inn— on the door of the inn, actually. My father had commissioned an artisan to create a new masthead for the business, one bearing our new name, The Crown’s Glory , in sparkling silver, complete with a stylized replica of the royal household’s symbol. He changed the crown just enough to comply with laws forbidding use of official marks but kept enough to make it clear to all that the royal couple had blessed his establishment with their presence.

The Glory , as the townsfolk called it, became the center of culture and entertainment in Oliver, such that it was in a small town. Traveling minstrels and players were present most nights, and the ale was never watered as it was in the lesser establishments down by the docks.

Most respectable nineteen-year-old men in Oliver were still snuggled in their beds.

But not me.

I was not a common commoner.

I loved to work.

I loved interacting with the minstrels and players, the cooks and washer folk, the farriers and stable hands. They gave the inn life, and I loved each of them.

Above all, I loved our guests.

Whether weary workmen, couriers traveling to some faraway destination, or wealthy nobles spending their time and fortune on leisure, I reveled in their tales, learning what made them laugh, and living vicariously through their journeys I longed to enjoy for myself.

Oddly, the other men of the town held no grudge for my passion, certainly not the way many women flung petty jealousies toward each other. Perhaps others accepted the royal blessing on our household. More likely, they were infected by my self-deprecating wit and ever-present smile.

Of course, that had to be it.

When I entered a room, even when laden with a tray of food and drink for a raucous table, heads turned. My bright brown eyes sparkled when I smiled, making most women—and even a few men—mirror my warmth. My laugh sounded like the rumbled gurgling of some ancient creature risen from the depths of the sea.

It was heartfelt.

It was infectious.

It was me in sonorous beauty.

I might not have been the handsomest man in Oliver, but I was surely the one folk enjoyed the most.

I splashed my face one last time with the wintry water and wiped my eyes, then padded downstairs toward the kitchen where vegetables waited to be chopped and eggs demanded cracking for the guests’ morning meals.

The common room was dark and chilly, though a small fire still danced in the hearth thanks to the night clerk. As I wove my way through the tables toward the kitchen door, I felt a tingle, that unsettling feeling I always felt when I was being watched.

I froze and scanned the room.

The stage was clear.

The bar, with its hefty marble top, stood silent.

The tables near the hearth were empty.

Maybe my mind was playing tricks and I had yet to wake.

I shrugged off the feeling and resumed my trek—only to be arrested by a cough from a darkened corner of the room directly behind me. The one corner, I now realized, I hadn’t checked.

“Hello? Is someone there? Breakfast isn’t for another two hours.”

A second later, a man stepped out of the darkness.

Raven hair fell to his shoulders with slight curls at the tips; shadowed eyes bore into me. The chiseled features of his face marked him handsome, and the tautness of the fabric across his chest hinted at muscled strength beneath his shimmering robe.

I wanted to smile, to offer my traditional welcome, but something in the man’s bearing made me take an involuntary step backward.

“Child, do not be afraid. I am a Priest of the One, here to offer help and comfort to those most in need. I arrived late in the evening. There were no rooms. Your clerk allowed me the warmth of your common room. I will take my leave, but only if you will accept my thanks for such kindness.”

The man’s smile was easy, and he possessed a confidence that made me want to chat—and stare. Now that he stood in the dim light of the room, I saw deep brown eyes matched mine. They weren’t the pits of swirling black my overactive imagination had conjured when he first appeared from the shadows.

The Priest bowed as if he were a commoner attending a royal. Then he rose and grinned, winked once, and turned to exit. As he gripped the door’s handle, he turned back and smiled once more. “You really are handsome. Your wife is a most fortunate woman.”

My jaw nearly smacked my chest.

Me? Handsome?

My wife?

Before I could protest that I wasn’t married, the strange, striking man disappeared, leaving me dumbstruck with my brow furrowed.

Hours passed.

I cracked and whipped a hundred eggs, diced dozens of potatoes, and sliced more tomatoes than I cared to count. My smock remained spotless, though I still brushed and picked at it as if crumbs clung to its surface.

Why did I want to tell that man I’m not married?

He’s a Priest, for Spirits’ sake.

And . . . can a Priest even be with another man? Most folk are okay with our sort, but a religious man? Is that even allowed?

What difference does it make if he’s handsome, or if his eyes made my legs wobble, or a smile—

“Hon, you all right? What’s got into you today?” my mother asked as she tossed a fresh towel in my direction. “Help me wipe down the kitchen. We’ve a full house for dinner tonight. Your da thinks the duke might show up, though I can’t see why. It’s the normal troupe on stage playin’ the same old tunes.”

I woke from my daydream and tossed a devilish grin back at my mother. “You love those players, and I seem to recall you staring at a certain lead man last time they were here. You know, the blond with the tight pants that show off his—”

“Liam!” Ma swatted me with the towel still clutched in her meaty palm. “I’m a respectable, married woman of society. I would never—”

I barked a laugh. “Never? Oh Ma, you did , and I expect you’ll do so again—tonight!”

She swatted again, but I leaped out of the way, leaving nothing but air and another round of amused giggles in my wake. Ma couldn’t suppress her own chuckle and began whistling as we cleaned.

“See. You only whistle—”

“Not another word if you want to see another name day!”

My laughter rose again.

The rest of the day passed with the practiced routine of the simple life of commoners running a business in a small village. Cook for the guests, clean for the guests, cook for the guests again, shop for the guests, clean the stalls for the guests’ horses, cook for the guests, clean the guests’ rooms, cook for the guests, do the guests’ laundry, cook for the guests again.

Someone was always appearing in the common room asking for a bite to eat. We posted times for meals, but Ma wouldn’t hear of a guest being turned away. “The King wouldn’t have it,” she always said, as if she and the royal family remained in close touch after their decades-old visit. Most guests humored her, thankful she accommodated their stomach’s every desire.

As we prepared dinner, I heard the familiar swell of conversation and laughter in the common room as folk, both guests of the inn and families from town, streamed in to claim their tables. It seemed the usual players were even more beloved than I thought.

Maybe Ma wasn’t the only one to notice Blondie with the Bootie.

I chuckled as I chopped.

I’d lost myself in my thoughts when a strange feeling crept up my arms. It took a moment to realize that the raucous banter had quieted and only one voice rang out, loud and clear.

I recognized that voice.

The Priest?

For reasons I didn’t understand, my heart raced.

I strained to hear the man’s words.

“. . . from the war. We believe every life is sacred and come to serve those in need with love and peace in our hearts. Each of us in this room is blessed by the Spirits with wealth and comfort, else we would not be in this room. I ask for your help, for the people of this beautiful town, for the—”

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the sound of Ma’s cleaver slamming through the evening’s meat. “Gonna stare at that door all night or help me get these meals out?”

“Sorry. It’s just—”

“Chop now. Talk later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I resumed my work but reserved part of my effort for more strained listening, though the stranger’s tone had vanished in favor of the guests’ raucous chorus once more.

Hours later, the last guest finally retired to their room, allowing us to remove tankards and wipe down tables. The evening had been a success, with the players and Mr. Pretty Bum stealing the stage and more than a few hearts.

Ma chattered away, but I heard none of it.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the Priest.

I saw his eyes, his rounded lips, the curve of his chest beneath his clinging, silky robe.

Stop that, I chided, wiping my now-sweaty brow with a shirtsleeve. He probably lives by some code of celibacy or reclusiveness or self-loathing. Who knows? Just stop thinking about him.

I glanced down and realized I’d been cleaning the same spot for several minutes and laughed at my own silliness.

“Do you always laugh when you clean?”

I nearly jumped out of my smock.

“Forgive me,” the amused Priest said from the doorway. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did!” I said sharply, immediately regretting my tone. “Can I help you?”

He smiled and gave me a deep bow.

What is it with him and his bowing?

“I did not see you earlier. Were you able to hear my words?”

I eyed him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, unable to resist his gaze. “I heard a little from the kitchen. It’s noisy back there, so I didn’t get all of it.”

“The players were kind enough to allow me their stage before the show. I used it to introduce myself to the town, and to ask for their support in caring for those affected by the war. Their needs are great, and the Crown can only do so much.”

I stiffened. “I’m sure the Queen is doing all she can. She only took the throne a short time ago.”

“I meant no offense to Her Majesty. I am sure you are right.”

“I assume you didn’t come here to talk about the royal family. Is there something I can do for you, Father? What do I even call you?”

“Seth, please just call me Seth. I may wear the frock, but I am just a man trying to do his best in a dark world.”

I couldn’t decide if my suspicion rose or fell at that.

“All right, Seth, what can I do for you? We’re trying to wrap up for the night.”

He smiled and ducked his head— again . “I came to see you.”

A flush of heat ran through my arms and into my chest.

“Me?”

He smiled innocently.

I shivered.

“Yes, you. I understand you are not married, as I had . . . hoped. It seems no one in this town has managed to win your hand.”

Another flush.

I dabbed my cheeks with the towel, then tossed it on the table. “I . . . well, no, I’m not married. What would that matter to a Priest?”

He took a step forward, and my heart raced faster.

“It has nothing to do with the Priest, but has much to do with the nervous man standing humbly before you.”

I coughed a laugh. “Nervous? You? That’s not a word I’ve thought to describe you all day.”

His brow raised. “So, you thought about me all day?”

My eyes widened at the net tightening about me.

“Well, no. I mean, yes, I may have. Oh, bother, what do you want with me?”

“I would very much like to have a glass of wine with you and to learn more about the most enchanting man I have seen in all my travels. Would that be all right?”

“Enchanting?” I snorted, though something kept my eyes glued to his. “Well, uh, I have to finish—”

“Two wines, coming right up.” Ma’s voice cut through the tension in the room. “He needs a drink ’bout now, I can tell.”

Seth grinned as Ma chortled from behind the bar. I hadn’t heard my portly mother enter, nor did I realize she’d heard the whole conversation.

“Ma!”

“Hush. I’ll finish up. We wouldn’t want a man of the cloth—whatever cloth that is—to stand around waitin’, would we?”

I rolled my eyes. “I suppose I could have one glass.”

The thunk of a newly opened bottle slammed onto the wooden table before I had finished speaking. Two glasses appeared a second later.

“Take yer time. He’s off t’morrow, whether or not he tells ya that.”

And with a flourish, Ma vanished back into the kitchen, leaving me staring at the bottle and Seth shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

Later that night, as I lay in bed staring out the tiny window in my room above the kitchen, I thought the stars shone a bit brighter than they had all winter. I leaned forward and squinted at the pinpricks of light as they danced in the darkness, then shook my head at the boy who’d apparently had a little too much wine.

Still, thinking back to the hour or so with Seth, I couldn’t help but smile.

He wasn’t anything like I expected.

When we first met, he was cloaked in darkness and shadow, giving the impression his life would likewise be veiled in secrets, but that hadn’t been the case. A few sips of courage had him recounting a childhood in the countryside with his older brother and two younger sisters. He laughed as he described antics that must’ve driven his mother mad.

As we talked, I realized his life—at least his life before donning his robe—had been similar to mine. He talked of tending his family’s land and herds. I didn’t have brothers and sisters to terrorize, nor did I tend livestock or till soil, but I did have routine and duty to my family and our business. I understood his upbringing and admired his openness and quiet strength.

My mind wandered to his square jaw.

Enough of that , I told myself. You barely know the man.

But a flush flared through me again as I saw his eyes in my mind.

I pulled the covers over my head and laughed before rolling over and drifting off to sleep.