Chapter 19

The conflicting range of emotions assailed Ford. Happiness at finally having Triss—Grace—in his arms again. Anger toward her lies and deception. Worry over being hunted like animals.

He held her close to his chest, his arm resting over her waist, her bottom bracketed by his thighs. This is where she belongs. The unruly thought came to his mind, and he shook it away.

They were from different worlds, although, at the moment there was no one closer.

She is a harlot, his mind nagged at him grimly.

Why does it matter? His heart sang the response.

She lied to me.

To protect herself.

She doesn't trust me, then.

Does she have a reason to?

The opposing thoughts whirled round and round in his mind.

The cold rain continued assailing them from above, adding to his misery.

It didn't show any intention of slowing down either. It was as if the clouds were traveling in the same direction as them, and if they stood still, they would have been dry a long time ago, but they remained under the same clouds, traveling the same speed as the rain.

Grace shivered in his arms; her hands that gripped his forearms were cold even through her gloves.

Ford paused under a lone tree by the side of the road and took off his coat.

"W-what are you doing?" Grace asked through her chattering teeth.

He gave his coat a few sharp shakes, shedding droplets of collected rainwater before draping it across her front, the heavy wool spilling over her lap and legs. Careful not to dislodge her secure position seated on the saddle between his thighs, he slowly wrapped the coat around her torso, meticulously tucking and arranging the coat's open panels, cocooning her until only her head remained exposed to the chill air.

She glanced at him, the crests of her cheeks reddening from finally feeling warm within his coat's embrace, or was it a blush?

"You are going to freeze," she admonished him. Ford just shrugged. He would. But he'd rather she was warm. Without saying a word, he nudged the horse back into a gallop.

Grace's stiff posture didn't last for long. Soon, she relaxed against him, her head resting beneath his chin. It was a testament to how cold she truly was that she didn't argue with him. The obstinate woman rarely gave up easily without a fight.

He hoped that it also meant that she'd finally started trusting his judgment, and by extension, him.

Although the cold wind blew into his face, he felt oddly warm. At least for a while.

* * *

It took them hours to find a suitable inn.

They had passed a few small villages, but all beds were taken. The best they could manage was a cup of hot broth, a few minutes by the fire, and a change of the horse.

Ford didn't want to go to a bigger town. They ran a risk of being recognized. Even if they weren't identified, someone might remember two strangers sharing a horse, looking like drowned rats in the heavy rain. Such gossip could spread quickly from a big town inn.

If Ford wasn't quite memorable, there was no way people wouldn't notice Grace.

Her looks were exotic enough that she stood out. No doubt, she used to be a popular harlot in the brothels before she managed to hide her features with paint. His own features twisted, and he pushed the thought away. He didn't know her history. But the shape of her foxlike eyes, her wide cheekbones, and ink-black hair easily told him that she wasn't from this land.

He hadn't even questioned it before. He wasn't interested enough. He knew she was Hades' trusted friend, and it was enough for him to dislike her. Now, he wanted to know everything he could about her.

The bottom line was that if they strolled into a packed inn on a busy road, someone would notice her. They would talk and spread rumors about a beautiful stranger stopping at an inn accompanied by a large man. These rumors would spread until they reached the King's men's ears, leading to Ford and Grace being captured.

Ford was also certain that guards were placed along the major routes on the way into London. They would stop any conveyance entering the city and ask for information regarding a man and a woman fleeing on horseback.

He was a fugitive now.

He couldn't believe his luck. He'd gone from an upholder of the law to a criminal in less than a day. He shuddered as the cold wind whipped him in his face, chasing gooseflesh down his neck and soaking his arms.

His hands were as cold as ice blocks beneath his gloves, shaking and barely holding on to the reins. The horse was tired and in need of warm shelter as well.

Just when he started to despair, thinking they would have to spend the night out in the elements, a small village came into view with an inn situated right on the edge.

Crowded or not crowded, they were going to stay there. He would cover Grace's face with a cloak. Perhaps, people will not pay attention to them at all in such miserable weather.

He stopped right at the front door of the inn, tying the horse to a nearby post.

Ford helped Grace dismount, praying silently that there would be a bed and a bath available for them and an empty slot in the stables for their mare.

They walked inside, Grace huddled under her cloak and his coat, Ford quivering from the cold, his hair plastered to his head and neck, looking pitiful. The door closed with a loud bang behind them, but it didn't draw any attention from the occupants in the room because there were none.

Ford paused by the entrance of the empty establishment. There was a counter for visitors to have a drink right at the entrance, but it was empty. Not a single other soul in sight.

A heavy-set gentleman finally made his way from the side door, and his face split into a grin.

"Good evening, good sir," Ford called. "I hope you have a spare bed or two."

"Welcome, welcome," the innkeeper said, breathing heavily from the short walk toward the counter. Ford moved closer, Grace walking behind him, her head covered with the hood of her cloak. It didn't seem like she needed to obscure her identity, though. The innkeeper barely threw her a glance.

"You're in luck," he said, propping his elbows against the counter. "This is a slow day for travel, apparently. Even the heavy rains didn't bring any customers. To be truthful, we do not get many visitors on any day, but today we are completely empty. You can choose any bed you like."

Ford let out a sigh of relief. "Give us two of the best beds, please."

"The best beds?" The innkeeper eyed them suspiciously. "No disrespect intended, but they are not cheap."

Ford looked down at his soaked length. He couldn't fault the man for thinking the worst of them. In his current state, Ford looked worse than a vagabond. His boots and breeches were dirty, his single shirt soaked with rain, his hair… He didn't know what was going on with his hair but it felt as though it was plastered all over his face.

Grace attempted to step forward, but Ford extended his arm, shielding her. It would be better if she continued not being noticed. With his other hand, he reached into the pocket of his breeches, took out a small purse with coins, and shook them out on the counter. He always carried this purse with a few pennies on it. A pound was sewn into the lining of the waistband of his breeches as well.

He thanked the Lord for his habit. Otherwise, he shuddered to think where they would have been now. He'd been in too many unpredictable situations in his life not to know better.

He nudged the six-pence toward the innkeeper. "Is that enough?" He knew it wasn't, but despite his display of his wealth, he didn't want to overpay for a place to rest.

"For a single bed, perhaps," the landlord said, greed shining in his eyes.

Ford pressed his finger against the shilling and nudged it toward the man. "We'd need fresh water, hay, corn tops, or oat straw and a stable for a horse as well."

"That would be another shilling."

Ford pushed another coin toward him. "We need supper as well."

"And a hot bath," Grace chimed in.

"We don't have extra helping hands," the owner said stiffly. "As you can see, it isn't worth hiring when the patronage is so low. So, you'll have to wait for about an hour for the bath. And perhaps another hour if you want the second bath. Are you willing to wait?"

Ford looked at his miserable companion, then glanced down at his dirty length. "A bath for the lady is a must. Is there another way for me to clean myself?"

The owner grimaced. "I can offer you a bucket of lukewarm water to clean yourself behind the inn."

Ford shrugged. "That will do."

"The steamy bath will warm up your extremities," Grace tried to protest, but he waved her away. He wouldn't be waiting for two hours for a bath. He'd rather clean up quickly and climb into a bed.

"Just bring me some whisky with my supper. That'll warm me up quick enough. And bring us any dry clothes you've got."

The innkeeper studied them, then shook his head. "I have a few clean and dry shirts and my wife has a few extra dresses, but none of our clothing will fit you perfectly," he said. Ford studied the short but sturdy figure of the innkeeper. His trousers would be wide but short that was for certain. And the shirts, no doubt, would bare his forearms. But he had no other choice.

"We will take ill-fitting rather than none," he said.

"It will cost you extra," the innkeeper warned.

Ford pulled out another shilling and nudged it toward him. "Will that be enough?"

"Would you need the boots as well?"

Ford looked at his soaked feet and then to Grace's half-boots peeking from under her skirts. "No, but some woolen socks would be ideal."

The innkeeper's eyes twinkled as he smiled, not taking his gaze off the coins on the desk. "My pleasure, sir and madam. Can I have the name, please?"

"G… Gregory," Ford said, stopping himself before rattling off his real name. They needed to be discreet. "Mr. and Mrs. Gregory."

Happily counting the coins, the innkeeper appeared to be in a generous mood, as he told them they'd get the best accommodations in the inn.

They followed him up the narrow staircase to the second floor, where he showed them two doors right next to each other.

"Here are your rooms," he said, beaming at them. He opened the door to the first room, revealing a tiny and cramped space with a single bed, a small hearth, and a little desk by the window. Without hesitation, Grace walked into the room, glancing around with interest.

"Thank you," she said with a tired smile. "I shall be awaiting the bath and supper."

Ford let out a quiet sigh as he stepped into his own chamber, which was exactly the same as Grace's. The thin curtains moved with a draft, the wind howling outside the window.

The most expensive quarters in the inn. Ford heaved a sigh. These will have to do.

He shut the door behind him, feeling the weight of the long journey finally catching up to him. He collapsed onto the hard bed, his eyes closing with the sudden need to sleep.

And he would have slept until the morning if the innkeeper hadn't returned to his room with supper and fresh clothing. He started the fire inside the hearth, bringing what little warmth was possible into the freezing room.

Ford stood. He might as well clean up before trudging mud all over his floor. He made his way downstairs, his limbs heavy. The innkeeper led him to the back of the inn and handed him a couple of buckets of cold rainwater.

Perfect.

Ford stripped naked and lathered himself with a simple soap standing on the wooden planks in the frigid cold. Scrubbing away the grime and dirt from his travels, he poured cold water over his head. Shuddering from the cold that seemed to seep into his bones, Ford successfully rinsed himself off.

Quickly drying off with a soft towel, he threw on an oversized shirt and loose trousers, securing them with a leather belt at his waist. As expected, his calves and forearms remained exposed, but it would do for the night. Shivering from the chill in the air, he handed his wet clothes to the kindly innkeeper's wife, who promised to clean and dry them by the next morning. He wasn't certain it was possible to do that in such a short time, but she said she'd hang them to dry by the large hearth in the kitchen, promising swift results. And who was Ford to argue?

Still cold and rather exhausted, Ford threw her a coin and padded back to his room.

Spending hours on the horse under the pelting rain, then washing himself with a cold bucket of water out on the street, didn't help the shiver that was ever present in his body. He needed a hot bowl of soup and a glass of whisky, and he wasn't even certain that would help him warm up.

He only hoped that Grace was having a better time.

* * *

Grace had never felt more grateful for a hot bath in her life. The warm water had soothed her tired muscles and washed away the road dust and grime. She emerged from the tub feeling rejuvenated and content.

She took her time drying off by the blazing fire in the hearth, brushing her hair with her fingers, singing the song her mother used to sing to her when she was a child.

She slipped into the comfortable nightgown the innkeeper's wife had provided before bringing the bowl of warm soup and bread on the comfortable rug by the fire.

Mmm… She enjoyed these simple pleasures in life when, after a long and tiring day, she was able to sit and enjoy a bit of food by the crackling fire.

There used to be days when this was considered a luxury.

She let out a contented sigh.

How was Ford faring, she wondered.

He had been completely soaked by the rain, spending hours on horseback in a single shirt. He'd shielded her body from most of the rain and supplied her with his coat, leaving himself to freeze. And he'd looked mighty miserable when they had finally reached the inn. She hoped he wouldn't catch some ailment from their adventures.

They needed to continue on their way to Dover. She wouldn't feel safe until they reached the house. And she definitely wouldn't feel safe if Ford fell ill.

He was still angry with her, she knew it. Angry that she'd lied, angry that she put herself in danger, angry that she didn't trust him to take care of her. Yet, despite the anger simmering beneath the surface, his priority remained to keep her warm and protected.

Even amidst his fury toward her actions, Grace had to admit she enjoyed being wrapped in the comforting embrace of his arms as they rode, bundled against the cold in his coat. The scent of him was calming and reassuring, allowing her to relax and lean against the solid warmth of his body. That feeling of being cherished, even when he was still livid with her, was priceless.

She hadn't known Ford for long. But something about him felt innately familiar, as if their souls recognized each other's presence. How else could their banter flow so fluidly, their ease around one another come so naturally despite her every reason to mistrust him?

Grace wasn't religious but believed in the concept of souls intertwined across lifetimes. It was the only explanation that made sense for the connection she felt, a bond that transcended circumstance and social class.

Perhaps she should have put more faith in him earlier. She should have told him the truth about who she was and what she was and not waste time hiding from him.

Her life of solitary struggles had taught her not to trust easily. And if anyone could understand that, she was certain Ford would.

Still, she needed to apologize. Not for trying to keep herself safe, but for hurting his feelings.

Her mind made up, she set aside the plates of food, swiftly collected her hair in a simple braid, and walked over to Ford's room.

She knocked on the door timidly at first, then more forcefully as no answer was forthcoming.

"Enter," his hoarse voice called from inside the door.

Grace frowned. His voice was raw… it sounded sickly. She entered and slowly approached him as he sat on a tiny rug by the hearth.

"Are you unwell?" she asked, seeing his grim expression. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth, looking like a little lost child. Grace had seen quite a few of those in her lifetime.

"No. I just can't seem to warm up." His voice was scratchy. "Even a glass of whisky didn't do the trick. I'd ask for more, but I don't want to get sauced tonight. I think we both need a clear mind for this journey."

Grace looked around the tiny room. The curtains on the windows moved gently, disturbed by a draft that seemed to seep in from every crack and crevice. To add to that, this room was a corner room with two windows, and corner rooms were typically more susceptible to drafts. She rubbed her arms, trying to generate some warmth, hugging herself tightly to fend off the chill.

The best beds in the inn, the innkeeper had said. She scoffed. Right.

This room felt colder than hers, which would have been fine except that Ford had been freezing before stepping foot into this dwelling. And she couldn't afford to let him fall ill.

"You need to warm up," she stated.

He sniffed. "Any suggestions?"

She tapped her fingers against her lips. "Actually, yes."

She walked toward the bed and collected the blanket, then turned toward Ford, who was looking at her with amusement shining in his eyes.

"Come," she said and tipped her head toward the door. "My room is warmer than yours."

He raised his brows. "I've heard this excuse before."

Grace pursed her lips. It was a good sign that he could still joke even though he looked quite miserable.

"Let's go." She led him to her room, laid one blanket on the floor by the hearth, and commanded him to lie down.

"On the floor?" His tone of voice was incredulous. Still, he lay down without awaiting her answer.

Lifting the blanket off her bed, Grace covered him with it and sat by his side, curling her legs under her skirt. "You shouldn't have given me your coat." She placed her hand gently on his chest.

He snorted. "Then you'd be the weak one right now, freezing and looking pitiful." He covered her hand with his icy one.

Grace shook her head. "Hide your hand under the blanket. You need to warm up."

"Don't you know that the easiest way to warm up is by contact with another human being? Apparently, people are warmer than blankets."

"You are delirious." Grace chuckled, tucking his hand under the blanket.

"No, it's true. I've read mountain guides telling people to snuggle up in tents with other people for warmth."

She raised a brow. "Were you preparing for an expedition into the mountains?"

He closed his eyes. "No, but I found the book to be fascinating."

Grace cleared her throat. "Well, if the mountain guides are saying this, then… perhaps we should do the same. Unless you mind sharing a bed with a harlot."

Another scoff. "We've shared a lot more than that already."

She raised a brow. "Have we?"

He raised his hand, creating an opening in the blanket. "Just get in."