The Quest. Lyn Stone

Iana said. “He is quite large, but there are two of us.”

      “Then we should tidy up. The landlord will not be pleased by this, I am quite certain.”

      Iana agreed with that. Even if they could prove the man intended to rob them—which they could not—they would have to stay here until there was an inquiry into his death. She did not want to think what might happen to them, since they could not prove he had meant them harm.

      Together they struggled to drag the man toward the window that opened to the back of the building. With the greatest of effort, they managed to get his upper half through the opening, then tumbled him out and watched him land upon the ground between the inn and the stables.

      “Do you think anyone will guess we threw him out this window?” she asked in a whisper. “What of the stable lad?”

      “Busy inside there with our mounts. There’s no one about to have seen us do it,” Ev assured her. “Likely whoever discovers him will believe he was accosted down there in the back dooryard.”

      Iana stared down at the man for some time to see whether she might have been mistaken and he would bestir himself after all. When he did not, she finally turned away.

      Everand was grunting, diligently trying to prop the door back into place, so she went to assist him. Together, they got it upright within the opening, though they had no way now to secure it. At least it would afford them a bit of privacy. If anyone else came along, they would stop and scratch or knock, instead of walking right into the chamber.

      “What of the blood on the outside of the door?” she asked, wringing her hands to keep them from shaking.

      Ev patted her arm. “Do not worry. There was little on it. He mostly bled when I took out the knife. There by the window where we lifted him is the worst of it.”

      “I will take care of it,” Iana declared, gathering up her scattered wits and berating herself for her weakness. If a mere lad could deal with all this, then so could she.

      She unpacked the remainder of the rags she had brought for use as bandages, and wiped up as much of the gore as she could. So stained the raw wood was after many years of occupancy and abuse, the smears left were hardly noticeable.

      Amazingly, wee Tam had slept through the entire incident. All in all, Iana felt things had worked out much better than they might have done. They had given a right good account of themselves, she and Everand, and Iana decided not to bemoan the fact that the cursed lout had met his end here. Had they not been successful, they might be the ones lying dead.

      “The chamber pot was a fine idea, Ev,” she told him, her voice less steady than she would have liked.

      “It was, was it not?” he acknowledged pridefully.

      “Aye, I admit I was not quick enough to consider it. And your aim with the blade was true as a marksman’s arrow. I commend you.”

      “Resourceful, that is what Sir Henri says I am.” He shrugged as he helped her pick up the pieces of broken crockery that littered the floor. They tossed the shards onto the small blanket she had spread upon the floor to collect them. “He always says that about me.”

      Iana sighed, feeling rather numb now that her heart had stopped hammering so hard. “Does he ever mention humility, by any chance?”

      Ev cocked his head, thought a moment, then shook it. “Not that I have ever heard.”

      She could believe that rightly enough. Finished with their task, they gathered up the ends of the blanket and carried it to the window. No sooner had they tossed out its contents than they heard a loud knocking.

      Suddenly the door fell flat into the room with a bang.

      Iana jumped clear off the floor and Ev cried out a warning.

      Henri stood in the opening, fist raised and mouth agape as he stared down at the unhinged panel of boards.

      Chapter Five

      As he entered, Henri dropped to one side the bundle of goods he had bought. “What the devil is this? What happened to the door?”

      “We had an unwanted visitor, sir,” Everand announced cockily, “but we managed to entertain him without you.” He nodded toward the window.

      Henri rushed across the room and looked out. A man lay in the rear dooryard unmoving; another knelt over him. Had the injured one jumped from the window?

      “Did he harm either of you?” Henri demanded, still looking down upon the intruder, watching the one who had found him drag him away.

      “Not at all,” Iana answered, “though I fear the chamber pot is done for.”

      “Makes a fine weapon, sir,” Everand said proudly, “and our lady wielded it well.”

      Iana nodded, accepting the compliment.

      Henri turned, incredulous. “You struck him and he leapt out the window?”

      Iana and Everand looked at each other before facing him again.

      She was the one who explained. “When we would not let him in, he broke the door down. I hit him, then Everand crowned him with a stool and sent a blade straight to his black heart. Together we tossed him out.”

      Henri’s awestruck gaze caught upon the unfamiliar short sword that lay abandoned in the corner of the room. A chill ran up his spine and he shook his head, still disbelieving. “You mean he…? Why, he might have…”

      “Aye,” she agreed. “But no matter. ’Tis done and he is gone now. I was thinking we should be away, as well. And soon,” she added.

      “Yes, that definitely would be wise,” Henri muttered, his mind still fixed upon the intruder and what could have happened during his brief absence. He would not leave them alone again for any reason.

      Iana was right. They needed to quit the inn and travel on immediately. Injured as he was and not at full strength, he was hardly geared for defending them against anything other than the most inept of miscreants. Certainly not the vagaries of Scottish law. There were certain to be repercussions.