Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

T o say the man was handsome was an understatement.

Elisiana wasn't in the habit of noticing the patrons that came in and out of the Black Cock, but for some reason, she noticed him.

She had the moment he walked in.

Over the past few months, she'd gotten used to the clientele that the remote tavern attracted. Almost always, they were travelers moving from Tiverton or Yeovil or other points east to the wilds of Cornwall, its coves and port cities. Cornwall may have been remote, but it was quite busy with industry from the sea, including merchant ships and, most importantly, pirates. Because of its many coves and secluded beaches, pirates that roamed the western coasts of England and Wales could always find an empty spot to hide away in. Rumor had it that almost every little cove and cave along the western side of Cornwall had some kind of booty buried in it.

A treasure hunter's paradise.

But there was another side to it. Because of the remote area and the industry that Cornwall was known for, the travelers tended to be a little rough. They could be frightening and even brutal at times, as Elisiana had discovered along the way, so when Hobbes' well-spoken friend entered and was greeted happily, Elisiana found herself taking a second look at the man.

He was most definitely worth a second look.

When he first entered, he had been dressed from head to toe in a weather-worn cloak. Everything was covered up with the exception of his eyes. Hobbes had shown him into a private room, whereupon the man stripped off the cloak and the bags underneath, laying everything down as he made himself comfortable.

That was when his male beauty came to light.

He was quite tall, though she had seen taller. What she hadn't seen were shoulders that size, or arms that size, and when he finally removed his gloves, she caught a glimpse of hands that were as big as trenchers. She was positive one of those fists was the size of her head. And speaking of heads, he had a very nice one. His hair was dark blond, but traveling in the elements had bleached the ends of it. It was wavy and just a little past his shoulders, and when he removed his cloak, he ran his fingers through it to slick it back off his face.

And what a face.

His skin was tan from what she could see, from the time he'd spent in the sun and the wind and the rain, but he had a trimmed beard and mustache that covered more than half his face. He had a long nose and a square jaw, but the thing she noticed the most about him was the color of his eyes. They were intense and bright, and when she came closer, she could see that they were a shade of greenish gold. They were the most intense eyes she'd ever seen set within quite possibly the most perfect male face she had ever seen.

He looked like he belonged with those knights that visited from the training guild to the north. They, too, were young and handsome and had an air about them that suggested breeding and education. They weren't like the rest of the visitors that passed through the old door of the tavern, men who reeked of desperation or depression or greed.

They were much different.

Blackchurch knights.

Oh, she knew about them. Hobbes had told her that they were the most elite trainers of men in the entire world, trainers who had done more and seen more in their lives than most men would do or see in a dozen lifetimes. Though she'd not formally met them, she'd become familiar with the sight of Tay and Fox and the rest of them, including the big Scotsman who was forever trying to impress her. His name was Payne, so he'd told her, and he seemed nice enough, but she genuinely had no interest in him. He was a good enough sport about it, once he realized her disinterest, but that didn't stop him from trying. It had become something of a joke between them. He would come in, give her a big wink, and greet her as his "sweet," and she would impatiently ask him what he wanted to eat. He would always say something extravagant, something the Black Cock had never served, and she would insult him, but he always laughed at her insults, and, quite frankly, she thought he'd looked forward to them.

Truth be told, she looked forward to them, too.

In fact, Payne and his good humor was one of the more pleasant aspects of her life these days, the life she had chosen for herself when she fled her home those months ago. Taking her money and her chances, she had fled east, toward London, because that had been her destination. She reasoned that she could lose herself in the population of the enormous city, someplace where her parents could never find her. She'd had high hopes of making a living off her drawings, a life she very much wanted for herself, but it wasn't going to be easy. Running from home had been the simple part.

Staying away from her father's men had been a little more difficult.

Within twelve hours of her leaving home, the situation had changed dramatically. Every road she needed to take east had been blocked by either her father's men or her uncle's men, which meant she had to take roads that she hadn't intended to. She didn't even know where they went, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that her father's men weren't there and she had to evade them, so staying to the trees but paralleling the road in order to stay out of sight, Elisiana took a lesser-traveled road that took her north into Devon, into the Exmoor Forest, to be exact, and that was where things went from bad to worse.

It had started out calmly enough. She'd left the pony tied to a tree, with her satchel still on the saddle, and taken soap and a rag down to the nearby creek to wash her hands and face. It was nearing supper and she had only brought what she could steal from the kitchens as she'd fled Fremington, so all she had left was some stale bread and cheese. That was to keep her going until she found a village where she could purchase more supplies.

That had been the plan, anyway.

Unfortunately, there were men who had been tailing her since she'd started on the smaller road, outlaws, to be exact, and they didn't care about her plans. When she'd gone to wash, they'd taken the opportunity to steal everything—the pony, her bags, her money. All of it. They'd almost captured her, too, as she returned from the creek, but quick thinking and hiding in the stump of a rotted tree had saved her. Elisiana had been forced her to hide for an entire night, and when morning finally broke, she was cold and wet and without anything but the soap and the rag she had collected from her saddlebag.

So much for her plans for glory in London.

But she still wasn't going to go home.

Determined to escape Adolph and her parents, Elisiana continued on foot. It was a walk that led her straight to the Black Cock tavern, where she had asked Hobbes if she could work for a meal. He'd let her, though he didn't normally do that sort of thing, but two days of work had turned into five months of a job. The truth was that Elisiana was a hard worker, good with the clientele, and she could carry on an intelligent conversation. That was rare among serving wenches, at least those Hobbes had experience with.

Elisiana had turned out to be an asset.

She enjoyed the work, and it showed. Every day, she met someone new, someone she could talk to and learn from. The merchants that traveled in and out of Cornwall may have been the rough sort, but they weren't unfriendly and had traveled to so many wonderful places. They even brought exotic goods with them from time to time, goods they were either taking to London or bringing out of London, and Elisiana had the opportunity to purchase some lovely things.

As it turned out, the robbery in the woods had been a blessing in disguise.

Between the tips she received and what Hobbs paid her, Elisiana had been able to replenish more than half of the money she'd had stolen. The Black Cock had become a good job. She'd accumulated things like jewelry and clothing from the passing merchants, much more than she'd brought with her in that little satchel, so the position was lucrative. As long as her father's men didn't show up looking for her, she saw no reason not to stay a little longer and earn more money before continuing on to London.

Quite honestly, the Black Cock had been a godsend.

Therefore, the appearance of Hobbes' friend had been a break in the monotony of what normally went on at the tavern, and to say that the man didn't have her interest would have been a lie. But Elisiana hadn't given a hint of that interest, instead remaining polite and professional, providing him with good service. He'd been polite in return, but there had been no conversations between them. He seemed to want to be alone, so she didn't even try. When the entire crew of Blackchurch trainers entered the tavern later that evening and descended on the man as if he were a long-lost brother, she realized her instincts about him had been correct. He wasn't the normal traveler that usually visited the Black Cock. She would have liked to have watched the festivities because the men were being fun and boisterous, something they normally weren't, but she had duties to attend to and several tables she was responsible for.

It was one of those tables that started some trouble.

Carrying a tray laden with a pitcher of watered ale and several cups, Elisiana was heading for a table of five men who had come in as the sun began to set. They'd kept to themselves, eating and drinking, and as the night went on and the drinking continued, Hobbes began to water down the ale they were ordering. That was usual with him when he didn't want his patrons to become ragingly drunk and destroy, defecate, or vomit in his common room, so he tried to taper them off a little. Putting the tray on the table in front of the men, she was busy collecting dirty wooden spoons they had been using when one man slammed down his cup, catching Elisiana with some of the spray.

"And ye're a madman for thinking so!" he shouted at one of his friends. " My sister? Is that who ye mean?"

Elisiana was trying to get out of the way, but the other man bolted to his feet and plowed into her, sending her sideways.

"I'm going to make her my wife!" he shouted at his companion. "I've offered ye sheep and money for her. What more do ye want for a woman who has already been used?"

Elisiana narrowly avoided being clobbered when the first man launched himself at his comrade. The entire table, and nearby tables, deteriorated into a fight as cups, pitchers, and even spoons and knives began to fly. Chairs flew over the table, hitting people at other tables, and those people retaliated.

Elisiana ended up on her hands and knees, crawling away from the brawl. She scooted under one table, whose occupants were joining the fight, before leaping to her feet. Racing over to the area where trays and cups were kept, she pulled out an enormous club used for moments just like this. The club that Hobbes called the "Lion Tamer" had iron spikes sticking out of it, and Elisiana wielded it with confidence. It wasn't the first time she'd had to. Heading back over to the fight, which was now growing exponentially, she began swinging the Lion Tamer at knee level.

Men began dropping as the club made contact.

But they weren't exactly moving out of her way. One man saw what she was doing and came at her with a pitcher over his head, clearly intent on hitting her with it, but Elisiana swung the club at his groin before he could lower his arm, and he went down in a heap. Another man grabbed her and tried to take the club from her, but she managed to hit him in the face with the back of her hand. When he faltered, she swung the club around and hit him in the neck.

He fell like a stone.

Hobbes was on the outskirts of the brawl, standing on a table and demanding that everyone stop fighting. He had frightened serving wenches bring him buckets of water, which he tossed on the brawling patrons in an effort to stop the fight. The water helped, but it didn't stop it altogether. He was particularly upset when someone tossed a man through one of his windows.

The fight spilled out into the street.

Elisiana was still in the middle of it, swinging the Lion Tamer, knocking men down and yelling at them to stop fighting. Most ignored her, but some cleared away, licking their wounds. She was so focused on what was in front of her that she didn't see what was behind her. A man with a dagger in his hand, one she'd already bashed in the knees, was up and staggering toward her. The closer he came, the more her life was in danger because it was clear that he meant to do her serious bodily harm. He was nearly upon her, dagger lifted, when she raised the club, tipping it backward so that she could get some momentum in her forward blow. But that backward tip hit the man in the forehead and he howled, enough to startle Elisiana when she heard the cry. But the time she turned around, the man was screaming in agony because someone had planted a knife between his ribs. As he fell away, Elisiana saw the Blackchurch trainers breaking up the fight behind her.

And the mysterious traveler was the one who had killed the man stalking her.

His hand shot out and he grabbed her.

"Come with me," he said.

With her club still in hand, Elisiana let the man lead her out of the skirmish. The Blackchurch trainers, all eight of them, excluding the one who had her by the arm, were making short work of the combatants. Even Payne, the big Scotsman, was settling men down with shoves and shouted threats. But Elisiana was removed from all of it by the man she'd been eyeing all evening.

Maybe that was why she'd let him remove her.

It was difficult to refuse that face.

He'd taken her back to the private chamber where he and his comrades had been supping. Coming to a halt, he reached down to take the club from her grip.

"Let me have that," he said, laying it on the table before looking her over. "Are you injured?"

Elisiana shook her head. "Of course not," she said. "You did not need to help me, my lord. I am sorry you felt the need."

His brow furrowed. "The man I killed was about to put a knife in your back," he said. "I should have let him?"

Elisiana shook her head quickly. "That is not what I meant, my lord," she said. "I simply meant that I was sorry to cause you such trouble."

He shook his head. "No trouble," he said, his gaze lingering on her. "But you use that club as if you have done it before."

She grinned. "In a place like this?"

"I made a foolish statement, I know."

Over in the common room, the fight was mostly over and Payne had shoved someone back into a chair, which promptly split. They looked over at the commotion as the man ended up on the floor and Elisiana was preparing to go back into the room to help, but her savior waved her off.

"Nay," he said. "Let the men settle the room before you go back in."

She looked at him in puzzlement. "Truly, my lord, I've faced this kind of thing before," she said. "Hobbes will need help cleaning up."

"Not yet," he said, watching his comrades break up a new fight. "We will wait a moment."

Elisiana wasn't so certain. She wasn't used to staying out of the action, which had caused her bruises every once in a while. This one might have cost her substantially more had her self-appointed protector not intervened with the man who was intent on stabbing her. She supposed that she should honor his effort and not jump back into the fray so quickly.

"I do not even know your name, my lord," she said. "I should like to know the name of the man who rushed to my aid."

He sat back down in the chair he'd been occupying. "Sinclair de Reyne."

De Reyne. That sounded familiar to Elisiana.

"De Reyne," she repeated. "Your family is from the north of England?"

"Aye," he said. Then he eyed her curiously. "What do you know of my family?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really," she said. "It is simply that I've heard the name."

His gaze lingered on her for several long moments before he spoke. "Where are you from?"

"Cornwall."

"You are not a servant."

"I am a servant."

"That is not what I meant," he said. "I mean that you come from nobility."

She averted her gaze. In fact, she noticed the empty cups and pitchers at the table and began to clean them off. "I do not know why you would say such a thing, my lord," she said. "I certainly do not look like I come from nobility."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He watched her gather all of the dirty utensils. When she came near him to collect an empty cup, he reached out and grasped her wrist. Startled, she tried to pull away but he wouldn't let her. He met her gaze for a moment, his pale eyes glittering, before focusing on her open palm.

He studied it.

"These are not the hands of a servant," he said quietly. "It is true that they are rough and chapped, but your callouses are minimal. These hands have not spent a lifetime working back-breaking tasks."

Elisiana didn't try to yank her hand away again, mostly because she was starting to feel something else. Wherever his hand touched her flesh, a wildfire sparked. It was only her hand, but the heat was undeniable. It made her feel… strange.

Heart palpitations.

Quivering in her knees.

Clearly, she was becoming ill.

"That does not mean anything, my lord," she said, managing to slide her hand out of his grip. "It could mean I worked in the kitchens or in the keep. Mayhap I was not subjected to heavy labor so that it wouldn't ruin my hands. Or mayhap my sole purpose was to play with the children. You cannot judge a woman by her hands."

"Mayhap not," he said. "But you do not speak like a servant. You have fine diction."

"Mayhap I was once a servant of a lady who wished that I speak well."

He eyed her, scratching his beard. "So you have a past you are hiding," he said. "I suppose everyone is entitled to their secrets."

"That is an excellent way of looking at it," she said, gathering all of the used things she had collected and piling them into her apron, using it like a basket. "Surely you have secrets of your own that you do not wish to share."

The warmth seemed to leave his eyes. "All men do."

She nodded as she collected the last cup. "Working here, I have come to see that," she said. "But I am grateful to you for saving my life. The next time you come here, you will let me provide your drink free of charge. It is the least I can do."

"How do you know I will be back?"

She nodded her head in the direction of the Blackchurch trainers who were now starting to filter back into the chamber. "Because you clearly know these men," she said. "They serve at Blackchurch, so either you do, also, or you have in the past."

"What do you know about Blackchurch?"

"Nothing, really," she said. "I only know what Hobbes has told me, that it is a training guild for warriors. Are you a trainer, then?"

"I am many things."

He was being evasive, but it didn't offend her. She had been the same way with him. In fact, it amused her because he had a rather impish look as he said it. With more men filtering into the chamber, she began to back away.

"I would believe that, my lord," she said quietly. "Thank you for the conversation, but I must return to my duties. I will bid a good eve to you."

Sinclair simply nodded his head, pretending to be uninterested in her departure until she went through the door, her back to him, and he knew she wouldn't see that he was watching her. His focus returned to her, the way she moved, the way the light glistened off that dark hair. Servant or not, she was a woman well worth watching.

Perhaps coming home would have some unexpected advantages after all.