“My lord, if you but hold still,” Edwin said.

Richard cursed fluently. “How long, man?” he bellowed at the merchant cowering at his feet. Anything to cover his shaking leg. If he did not soon sit, his leg would give way and Richard would not fall on his face in front of this paltry man.

“Truly, I am sorry, my lord.” The man scurried about to finish his measurements.

“When you finish, see to tunics and hose for the men and boys. And gowns for the women and girls.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“Nothing too costly. We labor at Bainford.”

“Of course, my lord.” The man nodded and pulled out plain woolens in gray, brown, and greens.

The man had implored Richard to wear a more fashionable tunic, with the sleeves wide enough that he would trip. How could a man fight when he could not see his bloody sword? The merchant draped blue silk across Richard.

“At court, my lord—”

“I care naught for court. Bloody hell, do I look like a courtier to you, man?”

The man gulped. “Nay, my lord.” His hand shaking, he finished and scurried from the solar.

The tavern owner called to the servers to quit talking and get back to work, breaking up the gossip. Chloe gave the establishment credit: they’d done a great job on making the place look authentic. The dirt on the floors was a bit too authentic, but she was out in the middle of nowhere.

The outlandish stories the girls told her about the beast were so over the top that Chloe could almost see a pair of red glowing eyes in the dimly lit corner of the tavern. She rubbed her arms. Obviously, the scary stories were a ploy to get people to pay to visit the nearby castle. Someone was good at marketing. They knew their customers. Chloe was definitely going there next. After those stories? She had to see the place for herself. “Excuse me, miss? How much do I owe you?”

The woman told her an amount, but it didn’t sound right. To be on the safe side, Chloe handed her a credit card.

The girl frowned. “What is this?” She turned the card over and over, smelled it, and then bit the corner. She made a face and handed it back to Chloe.

Guess they only took cash. Chloe handed over a twenty-pound note and the same routine ensued. Was she supposed to have exchanged her money for whatever they used here before ordering? Inspiration struck when she noticed a few of the old coins her granda had given her had fallen out of the crossbody bag and were lying on the table. The drawstrings on the pouch must have come loose.

The server picked out a couple of the coins and laid the twenty on the table. “Best keep yer fortune hidden.” She nodded at the patrons. “There are those here would slit yer throat for what you have.”

Well, that was a bit more realistic than Chloe wanted. “Do you have a room? It’s too late to go back to the village.”

The girl held out a hand again, and, not sure how much to give her, Chloe fished out a handful of coins and let the girl take a few. She hoped the antique coins weren’t too valuable, or she’d feel awful for wasting them on a simple meal and a room.

“Come along.” Without waiting for a response, the girl led Chloe up a set of rickety stairs. They passed two doors before the girl opened the final door at the end of the hall. The room was rustic, the bed looked lumpy, and Chloe had never been so happy.

“I will see to the fire, mistress.” The girl bustled around the room, built up the fire, and turned to go.

“Is there someplace I can wash up?” Chloe asked. The girl pointed to a basin and ewer on a wooden board attached to the wall.

She paused in the doorway. “Bolt the door. Unless ye want company tonight.”

“Thanks.” Chloe hurried over and threw the simple latch, hoping the door was sturdy. Though surely the restaurant-slash-inn wouldn’t take things so far as to make the guests feel unsafe?

No toothbrush or other toiletries in sight—not to mention a bathroom. She used a finger to scrub her teeth as best she could. Mud spattered the tablecloth and her clothes, so they had to go. No way was she sleeping in dirty clothes.

At least there was what looked like a linen washcloth and a small lump of awful-smelling soap. Once undressed, she washed as best she could. The rag did a decent job of getting rid of the worst of the mud from her jeans and shoes. There was an iron stand near the fire, so she put everything there to dry and wrapped herself up in the tablecloth. The bright pink undies and bra looked funny in the old-fashioned room. A small stool by the fire beckoned her to sit and warm herself. Grateful and clean, Chloe nodded off.

The feeling of falling startled her awake as she landed on her butt next to the stool in an unfamiliar room.

Blinking, she saw her clothes on the stand. “Right. The pub.” Chloe checked the clothes to find they were dry.

“No. You have got to be kidding me.” So that was what the smell was: a charred scrap of pink lay half out of the fire, and as she reached for it, it caught fire and was no more. The silky material of the bra and undies must have caused them to slip off the stand and into the fire.

She put on her t-shirt, thankful it came down over her bum, and left the jeans by the bed. With the last of the water, she washed the tablecloth and hung it to dry.

Exhausted, she climbed into the lumpy bed, refusing to think about bedbugs.

“Leave me alone,” Chloe mumbled, and burrowed deeper into the bed.

A rough hand on her bare hip jolted her awake. “Get off me,” she yelled, and elbowed the body next to her.

There was a man in her room. In her bed. She’d been so careful at the hostels to keep her valuables safe and watch out for creeps. All the girls watched out for each other. How had he gotten in her room?

It must have been when she’d gotten up to find a bathroom in the night. There was no sink, only a hole in the floor with cold air coming up. She’d never taken care of business and ran so fast in her life, once she’d checked that no one was in the hall. All she could think was that she’d hadn’t latched the door properly, she’d been so tired and disoriented.

“Hey, I said no.”

The man was heavy and only grunted before pawing at her again, so she did what she had to and kneed him. Hard. The man yelped and rolled off her.

In that moment, Chloe grabbed the sheet to wrap around her and leaped out of bed. But she wasn’t fast enough. The man jumped up so quickly that she never saw it coming as he punched her in the stomach. The air left her with a whoosh, and she fell back, desperately sucking in air, tears running into her hair. The pain was intense. She couldn’t breathe. Panic set in as the man leered at her.

Liquid fear replaced the blood in her veins as she saw the intent on the man’s face. There was realistic and then there was completely and utterly wrong.

“Ye may be addled in the head, but yer body is fine, wench. I will enjoy your favors and then give you to my men.”

He sat on her. The tiny bit of breath she’d managed to suck in whooshed out, and Chloe desperately tried to buck him off, which only served to make the creep laugh.

The alcoholic fumes coming off him were enough to set her eyes watering. He had on some kind of ridiculous top with the most enormous sleeves she’d ever seen. You could fit a small car in those sleeves.

Sucking in a bit of air, Chloe fisted the excess fabric in both hands and yanked as hard as she could. His drunkenness was what saved her, as he lost his balance and went tumbling off her.

A yelp escaped as she kicked him in the stomach and her bare foot connected with some kind of metal. She snatched her bag, shoes, and jeans from the floor. Then she ran for the door, hurdling the drunk like she was first in line at a Lilly Pulitzer sample sale.

He made a grab for her and got hold of the sheet, and she had no choice but to let it go. Ignoring the fact she was running downstairs clad in nothing more than a t-shirt, Chloe sprinted for the door.

There were people sleeping on the floor. She hurdled them, yanked the door open, and escaped into…a winter wonderland.

“What’s with all the snow? It’s supposed to be July, not November.” Why would a restaurant haul in snow? Was it some kind of festival? It had to have cost a fortune.

A small, sleepy-looking boy carrying a bucket of water in each hand stared at her, mouth open in the early morning light. Chloe looked at the bundle in her arms. Somehow she’d grabbed the guy’s coat along with her stuff. Grateful she had something warm, she yanked her jeans on, slid her feet into her sneakers, and wrapped what looked like some type of long cloak around her, making sure to hide the crossbody bag under the coat.

With a wave to the boy, she walked as fast as she could through the snow into the woods. She’d go to the castle the waitstaff had talked about last night. Who cared if the place was supposed to be haunted? It had to be better than being here and risking another assault. The castle would have a phone. She could call someone to take her back to the hostel and then call her family. A small voice told her perhaps she might not find a phone there. Or anywhere, for that matter.

“Shut up,” she told the voice, and focused on getting away before the creep decided to come after her.

What did it say about how rattled she was that Chloe was willing to face the Beast of Bainford and beg for sanctuary?