Chapter 8

E xhaustion settled into Rosamund’s bones as she gripped the reins. She held on tight, trying hard not to nod off in the saddle. She’d rode all night and was desperate for rest but knew if she stopped this soon, it would increase her chances of being found.

She thought of her parents and wondered if her absence was discovered yet. As the sun lifted and broke the horizon, it seemed reasonable to think they would find her gone by now. It wasn’t long before she approached the village, Briar Hill. It was the closest one to the castle.

People were just beginning to open their shops as she entered through the village gates. It was still early. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed and a dog barked. She paused, still on horseback, as she took in the surroundings.

Shops lined the main thoroughfare with everything from a baker to a butcher to a candlestick maker. At the end of the street was an inn with a tavern. Next to that was a clothing shop. Beyond that, rows of houses for the villagers. She glanced down at her gown and wondered if there was some way to acquire different clothes. Perhaps something more suitable and not befitting a princess. She needed to blend in, after all.

Unfortunately, she had no money. She didn’t want to give up her identity to the clothing shop owner and promise payment when she had no intention of returning to her father to ask for gold.

At the very least, she needed to get out of the saddle and rest before continuing. She pulled to a halt outside the tavern and dismounted. She tied up her horse and peered up at the swaying dilapidated sign boasting the name The Sleeping Dragon Inn in faded green letters.

She pushed through the door and entered.

On one side of the large room was a fireplace. The hearth was dark and cold. On the other, a bar lined with tall stools. Scattered throughout the room were more tables and chairs. No one was about. The place was deserted.

That was fine by her. She took a seat near the cold hearth, grateful to be at rest and not riding.

A woman bustled from the back room humming a nameless tune carrying a large stack of firewood. She headed for the fireplace. Rosamund sat up straighter in her chair as the woman approached. She dropped the firewood by the hearth. She hadn’t noticed Rosamund was there at all.

She watched the woman for a long moment as she stacked the firewood on the log rack, still humming. Rosamund thought she better make her presence known and cleared her throat loudly. The woman jumped and emitted a high-pitched squeak.

“Hello,” Rosamund said.

She placed a hand over her chest and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and then exhaling. “You gave me a fright! I dinna know anyone was here.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She resumed her task of building a fire. “Breakfast isn’t ready yet but will be in a bit.” When the fire started, she brushed the dirt from her hands and rose, turning to her. She placed her hands on her hips. “What can I fetch you?”

“Oh,” she breathed, and shifted in her seat. “Nothing. I…don’t have any money to pay. I just wanted to come in for a rest.”

The woman peered at her, her stern eyes examining her closely. “A rest, you say?”

“I’ve been traveling all night.”

“Hmm,” was her only response. She bustled away, disappearing once more in the back room.

Rosamund rested her back on the chair and watched as the fire took off, the flames increasing ever so slightly. The woman returned with a tray and paused at her table. She placed the tray in front of her that had a bowl of porridge, a spoon, and a tankard of mead. Rosamund stared at it then up at the woman.

“But—”

“On the house,” she said and then gave her a faint smile. “You look exhausted. Eat. Get your strength. Dinna worry about paying.”

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“You can. I run the place. I insist.” Again, she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a whisper.

She took the spoon and dug into the thick porridge. Despite the food in her saddle bag, it wasn’t enough to sustain her. This would get her through to her next meal, whenever that was.

A few others trickled in from the outside, taking seats at the bar. The woman returned to bring them food and drink. Rosamund didn’t miss her glancing her way as if to check on her. After serving a man at a nearby table, she paused next to hers and took the seat opposite her, which surprised her.

“So,” the woman said. “Who are you running away from?”

Rosamund peered at her as shock trickled through her. “What makes you think that?”

She looked her over. “I’ve seen enough runaways in my time to recognize the signs.”

Her mouth went dry. “What are the signs?”

“For starters, you have dark circles under your eyes,” she said. “Second, your dress.” She wagged a finger at her. “That’s not fit for riding. Is it?”

Rosamund glanced down at the delicate gown with the pale-yellow daisies. She kept her eyes down. “No.”

“So, what or who are you running from?” the woman asked again.

“My parents,” she said at last.

“Ah, I see.” She got to her feet. “Come with me.”

Rosamund’s head snapped up in her direction, question flickering through her. The woman waved her to follow.

“Well, come on.”

She pushed back from the table and followed the woman with round hips and a kind face through the tavern to the back room. She led her past a kitchen to a narrow staircase. Up she went and still Rosamund followed. At the top of the stairs, she pushed open a door to reveal a small living area. Clearly the woman lived here.

“Have a seat.”

She motioned to a lumpy chair near the one window with threadbare curtains while she disappeared through another doorway.

Rosamund sat in the chair, her hands in her lap as she waited with her heart in her throat. She peered out the grimy window but there wasn’t much to see but the side of another building. The woman returned minutes later with an armload of clothes. She placed them on the nearby dining table that only had one chair.

“Do you live here?” Rosamund asked.

“I do.” She sorted through the clothes, holding up certain pieces, then folding and putting them aside.

“Alone?” Rosamund asked.

The woman paused to look at her over her shoulder. “Yes.”

Rosamund wondered what led her to this life. How did she end up as the tavern owner? The woman picked up a stack of neatly folded clothes and turned to face her. She held them out to her.

“Here. This will be better than that gown.”

“I don’t understand.” Rosamund slowly rose from the chair, eyeing the clothes.

“Traveling clothes,” she said, pushing them into her hands. “You can change in there.” She pointed to the doorway.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, gazing down at the material in her hands. “What’s your name?”

“Anne,” she said.

“Thank you, Anne.”

She took the clothes and entered the room, which was the smallest bedroom she had ever seen. It had nothing but a narrow bed and one wardrobe in the corner. A large box was on the floor open. Inside, there were other pieces of clothing shoved around haphazardly. Rosamund closed the door behind her and placed the stack on the bed to examine them piece by piece.

The stack included a pair of tan breeches, an ivory tunic that tied at the neck with cuffs that buttoned at the wrist, a padded vest, a soft jacket in taupe, tall woolen socks. She gazed down at the items, then stuck out a foot to examine her black soft shoe. She wondered where she would find something more suitable, but then decided to worry about that later.

Rosamund slipped off her cloak and quickly changed, folding her day dress neatly. She kicked off her shoes. Scooping them up along with her dress and cloak, she opened the door. Anne sat in the lumpy chair waiting for her to emerge. When she did, she hopped to her feet.

She looked her over, as though inspecting her, then paused on her stockinged feet.

“Ah, boots.”

Anne went to a narrow closet and flung open the door. She knelt, then rummaged around the bottom until she came up with a pair of worn black boots. She handed them to Rosamund.

“These used to be mine. I hope they fit you.”

“Oh,” she breathed, staring at the boots. “I shouldn’t—”

“Take them. I insist. I don’t have much use for them anymore.”

Cradling her items in one arm, she reached for the boots. Anne removed the dress, cloak and her shoes and waved her to the nearby chair. Rosamund sat on the edge and pulled on first one boot, then the other.

“They fit,” she said.

“Good.” The woman smiled, pleased with her handiwork.

“But I don’t understand. Why are you helping me?” Rosamund asked, looking up at the woman who still held her clothes.

“You appeared to need it,” Anne said. “Someone helped me once. A long time ago. Seemed fitting to help you out.”

Rosamund was touched and she vowed to never forget the kindness. Perhaps someday she would pay her back in kind. She got to her feet and reached for her things. Anne handed them over.

“Thank you for everything,” she said.

“You’re most welcome. Now you’ll at least have some comfort while riding.”

She nodded. “Well, I should be on my way.”

“Take care, lady. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said.

Not knowing what she was looking for, she merely nodded and said, “So do I.”