The small stables at the rear of the ramshackle inn might have been able to comfortably hold six horses, if two of the stalls hadn’t been filled to the brim with hay. Fortunately, this inn had even fewer patrons arriving by horse than the last, judging by the sparseness of the stables.

Or perhaps Gray should call the inn a tavern. The moment he, Charlie, and Lieutenant Stills stepped into the two-story building, they found the common room filled to capacity with local farmers and their progeny. The second story housed the owner’s personal quarters, they were informed, and there was only a single room to be let. Gray suspected that had he not been the son of a duke, he wouldn’t have been offered that room.

Putting his arm around Charlie’s shoulders, he smiled tightly. “My wife and I will take that room, then.”

The stodgy innkeeper inclined his head and hunched his shoulders, the closest it seemed he would come to a bow. “Of course, my lord.”

Gray bit the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching. As the son of a duke, he had always been addressed as Lord Graylocke or Master Anthony, if one of his brothers was present. However, that had been an accident of his birth; his title as captain had been earned, and he much preferred it. Nevertheless, if it earned them shelter for the night, he would have to hold his tongue on the matter.

At least until the innkeeper added, “And what of your man, sir? I can offer him the common room if he’d like to stretch out in front of the hearth once the rabble has left.”

Gray gritted his teeth. “As I’ve said, my companion is Lieutenant Stills of the Royal Navy—”

Stills raised his hand, stalling Gray’s correction. “The common room will do,” he said stiffly.

The slosh of some liquid onto a floor that must be sticky with the leavings of the patrons made Gray wince. If Stills wanted to sleep on that, it was his decision to make. At least Gray could trust the floor of his room to be relatively clean. It had better be, or this son of a duke would raise a complaint to the innkeeper. After a day’s hard riding in the vain attempt to get back on track, he was irritable and ready for sleep. He only hoped it would come easier than it had the night before.

“Might we inquire about supper?” he asked, his voice curt. “A private room, if you have one available.”

The innkeeper wrung his hands as he confessed that they didn’t typically offer a back room to patrons. At Gray’s glare, he offered the family’s personal dining room, which Gray accepted.

Since Stills was destined to remain in the common room all night, Gray insisted he take the night’s meal with him and Charlie. She didn’t complain. When he asked if she’d like to go up to their room and freshen up before the meal, she raised her eyebrows at him as though he’d offered her one of the horse’s stalls instead. Every other woman of his acquaintance would have wanted to wash up before dinner—in fact, he would have as well if he’d had his usual change of clothing on hand. However, Charlie was not like other women. For instance, other women would not have held onto him without complaint as he’d pushed them so hard today.

Malnourished as they were, the horses couldn’t continue such a pace indefinitely. He’d had to walk next to his horse from time to time, leading it while Charlie rode or joined him on the ground despite his protests. She matched his long-legged stride, giving him no ammunition to use to convince her to ride. Although they’d taken frequent breaks at streams to water and rest the horses, the ten or fifteen minutes idled there hadn’t given them time for a proper meal.

Through all this punishment, Charlie hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. In fact, once or twice she’d even insisted she had rested enough and spurred them onward. She was made of sterner stuff than her delicate countenance suggested.

Nevertheless, by the time they three found themselves ensconced in the dining room, Gray barely had enough energy left to eat, let alone to attend to the conversation between Charlie and Stills. Stills, having gotten solid sleep in a bed, was much more alert than Gray and served the three of them their meal. Gray ate it without tasting it.

When Charlie tapped him on the arm, Gray was only too happy to bid his second-in-command goodnight and stagger above stairs, where their room awaited. It was just as cramped as last night’s room—more so, in fact, given that this one didn’t come equipped with a hearth. The air was stale. Gray opened the small window to let in some of the balmy summer air. It wasn’t raining today, and a dense humidity seemed to have curled around them, one that couldn’t be dispersed by the robust wind.

Charlie led him by the elbow toward the screen in the corner of the room. “You wash up first tonight. You look dead on your feet.”

He rubbed his face. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yes. You will be. Once you’ve had a solid night’s sleep. We did well, finding an inn not long after dark.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

After she bullied him behind the screen, she rummaged in his satchel and found some folded clothes. She offered them over the top of the screen, her eyes averted despite the fact that he hadn’t yet begun to undress. “Will these do?”

“I imagine they’ll do admirably, thank you.”

He changed quickly, lamenting the fact that the necessity to travel light meant that he had only one more set of clean clothes. He put them on, but as much as he wanted to air out his other clothes and render them wearable for the morrow, he didn’t think it was proper to do so in front of a lady. He folded them neatly and returned them to the satchel instead.

When he emerged, clad in shirtsleeves and breeches once more, he found Charlie curled on the bed, her knees tucked to her chest and her hand slipped beneath her cheek. She wasn’t even snoring. He considered waking her so she could change into her nightgown but decided against it.

She’d matched his pace so readily, but the day must have been grueling for her to have fallen asleep so quickly. In fact, he felt near joining her. He could barely keep his eyes open. Gently, he removed her slippers and tucked them behind the screen next to his boots. He set his pack next to hers beside the door and returned to the bed. Tucking his arm around her, he held her close and lifted her to strip down the coverlets and sheets. She roused as he set her gently on the bed again.

“Anthony?” Her voice was gravelly with sleep.

“Sleep, love,” he said softly. “I’ll rouse you in the morning.” He fought with the blankets, this time taking the thin sheet for himself and leaving her with the thicker coverlet.

As he draped it over her, she caught his wrist. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Yes. He licked his lips. What harm would it do? He was far too tired to endanger her virtue tonight.

But tomorrow, after he had a full night’s rest and woke to her pressed against him…

“No. I’ll sleep on the floor. Get some rest.”

There was only one pillow on the bed, so he rolled up his cloak and stretched out in the narrow space next to the bed. If she got up in the night, she might trip over him.

Fortunately, they both were too exhausted for further argument on the topic. Charlie fell asleep again without comment. If she snored, Gray didn’t hear her. He slept that deeply.

* * *

When he next woke, it was to a throbbing head and Charlie’s groan.

“My head… Anthony, where did you put the packs?”

“By the door.” He winced as the sound of his voice renewed the pounding in his skull. When Charlie stirred in bed, he shut his eyes tight and held still as she stepped over him.

“Which door? I only see the one.”

“That’s the only bloody door in here.” He wasn’t proud of his descent into profanity, but Lord have mercy, his head hurt. He sat up, rubbing it.

“They aren’t here. Are you sure you didn’t set them behind the screen?”

What in the blazes? He rubbed his eyes and stared blearily at the empty spot near the door where he’d set down the packs. The room spun a bit.

Charlie danced from foot to foot. “Would you mind vacating the room? I need to use the chamber pot. Perhaps we left the packs downstairs. It might bear checking.”

He accepted his boots from her and let her herd him from the room. Only once the door shut behind him did clarity return. He couldn’t have left the packs in the dining room, for they’d needed them in order to change clothes last night. His stomach sinking like a stone, he ambled downstairs to check.

He found Stills seated at a table in front of a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs.

“Captain.” The lieutenant started to stand, but Gray waved him down.

“Have you seen Charlie’s and my satchels?”

“You mean the ones you brought up with you last night?”

Gray swore at the confirmation.

Alarmed, Stills rose. His hand flew to the pistol on his belt as if he was ready to do battle. “What’s the matter?”

“Our packs weren’t in our room this morning.” How could Gray have slept through an intruder? In fact, hadn’t he locked the door? He couldn’t recall. Shaking his head, he asked, “Where is yours?”

“With the horses.”

They both bolted for the stables. Gray hoped to find all three packs safe and sound. Instead, all they found were the two skinny horses.

Gray cursed the air blue. The packs contained their clothes, their provisions, the bloody compass, even the bulk of his money. All he had left were the few coins he kept tucked into his boot in case of pickpockets.

They’d been robbed.