Page 98 of Paladin's Faith

“I’d like to see you do better under pressure, paladin.”

“We could have taken them,” grumbled Wren.

“Yes, and that’s probably why he let us go,” Davith said. He knelt and laced up his boot. “Sounded like he’d had a few bad experiences, didn’t it?”

Marguerite bent down and picked up the coin. “I suspect we owe a prayer to the Rat for deliverance,” she said.

Shane exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders, and turned toward her. “Are you going to pray for him?” he asked.

Marguerite rubbed the coin between her fingers, the metal cool and faintly slick. “I think I will,” she said. “You never know who’s going to need it.”

The road continued to descend and by noon they stood overlooking a medium-sized village. It sat at a crossroads and boasted a public house, a general store, and a small stone church. Best of all, though, there was a bathhouse. Judging by the steam curling from the pools around it, it was built on a natural hot spring. A strong mineral smell filled their nostrils as they approached.

“I know we’re in a hurry,” said Marguerite, “but I am making a command decision. We’re staying here tonight and having baths.”

“I forgive you everything,” said Davith fervently.

“What, all of it?”

“Well, most of it. Maybe not the kidnapping.”

She snorted. Shane glanced at Wren and caught the edge of a glower, but she wiped it away as quickly as it had come.

His heart went out to her. She would never, ever admit that she’d been hurt, but it was obvious if you knew where to look. He wondered if his own feelings for Marguerite were as obvious to her.

By all the gods, living and dead, they better not be. His thoughts were not the sort that a man wanted his younger sister to know existed at all. Hell, if Shane had even suspected that a man harbored that sort of thought about Wren, he’d have bounced the fellow’s skull sideways off a stone wall. Twice. With prejudice.

They reached the public house. The sign out front had no writing, only a peculiar illustration. Shane couldn’t quite make out what it was supposed to portray. He paused to stare up at it, trying to work out what the brown thing in the mug of beer was supposed to be.

“Is that a turd?” asked Davith in an undertone.

“It does look like one,” Shane was forced to admit.

“This makes me worry about the quality of the beer.”

“The highlands are supposed to have excellent beer,” Shane said. “I’m sure it’s…fine.”

“Ah yes. Sign of the Drowned Turd, everyone’s favorite establishment.”

“Both of you shut up,” said Marguerite, pulling the door open.

“Welcome to the Happy Slug!” cried the innkeeper as they crowded in.

“Oh,” said Davith and Shane together, then tried to pretend they hadn’t.

Marguerite spoke to the innkeeper for five minutes, making expansive hand gestures, then returned to the group, her hands full of mugs and her face radiant with relief. “We have two rooms,” she said, sliding the ale mugs across the table. “He’ll bring out food. More importantly, there’s another bathhouse just behind the inn, although he suggests we use it one at a time.” She paused, looking at Davith. “Do I have to have someone stand watch over you? Are you going to run off?”

“Am I really going to say anything but no?” He raised a wry eyebrow at her. “I wouldn’t trust me.”

Which is exactly the sort of thing you’d say if you were trying to appear trustworthy, Shane thought. Marguerite evidently agreed. “Right. Shane, if you don’t mind guarding the door?”

“Oh, he can come inside if he wants. I’m not shy.”

She cut Shane’s retort off with a look. “You know what? I’m going to go have a bath now,” she said, sounding very calm. “Then I’ll come back. Then I will have food. Then, perhaps, I will be able to deal with all of this without screaming and bashing your heads together. How does that sound?”

There was a long silence, broken only by the innkeeper rattling mugs.

“Can I go second?” asked Wren meekly.