Page 2 of After 5
She eyed Marco as he removed the coin from his pocket.
“Are ye from another village?” She awarded us a view of her rotten teeth when Marco produced enough coin to buy the place.
“Yes.” I answered. Marco handed her the money.
“Pray thee, tell me the one from whence you come?”
Marco hesitated, and I answered, “Boston.”
“Are ye here to see the witches turned out?”
Marco gave an uncommitted shrug and shook his head slowly.
“We’re traveling to visit relatives in Newberry’s town,” I added, and felt an uneasiness to her barrage of questions.
Her gaze drifted between us.
“We’ve been recently married,” Marco said. He grabbed my hand and stared at me like a lovesick puppy. “A man’s heart is endeared to the woman he loves, he dreams of her in the night, hath her in his eye and apprehension when he awakes.”
He raised my hand and brushed a kiss across my knuckles.
The woman’s eyes shined. “Yes, my Mr. Beadle felt that way before he met our heavenly father. He left me the tavern.” She waved her hand, indicating all of this was hers to manage, and retreated to get our ale.
“Geesh. What’s with her? She asked more questions than my cousin Hildy.” I removed my hand from Marco’s. The heat generated between us made my palm sweaty.
“I don’t think the Puritans approve of an unmarried couple traveling together.” He reached for my hand again.
“What’s with the fancy language?” I asked him, drawing my hand away.
“It’s a quote from Thomas Hooker.”
When I gave him a blank stare, he sighed. “Jen, you really need to study before you travel. Thomas Hooker was a prominent Puritan colonial leader. He founded the town of Hartford.”
“In Connecticut, where the University of Hartford is?”
“Yeah, they have a parade. Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Hartford was founded by a Hooker’?”
“Uhm, no.”
Marco tsked me, then flashed his gorgeous smile at the tavern owner as she brought us two mugs of a brown liquid. She blushed slightly, plopped them down on the table, and left to help other customers.
I took one sip and spit the foul liquid back into the mug.
“You don’t like it?” Marco chuckled and upended his mug.
“It tastes like pancake syrup and Christmas trees.”
“It’s a form of mead combined with molasses.”
I made a sour face, and he grinned at me. The deep dimple cut into his chin winked back at me. I licked the sickening sweet off my lips and cursed myself for wanting to run my tongue down the rugged line of his square jaw and kiss the indention.
His grin changed to a firm line. He tipped his head and I followed his gaze toward the door. A man entered and glanced around the room. Marco bowed his head down and I mirrored his move, adjusting my bonnet to hide my face as the man took a seat at the counter behind me.
“Who’s that man?”
“I believe it’s Toches.”
I spun around to get a better look at the brigand I’d almost single-handedly taken down in Berlin. His back was to me as he ordered a mug of ale.
