As they neared the entrance, a slovenly man stumbled out of the place, muttering foul words with each uneven step. He cast his bleary gaze at Amelia, leering at her until he glanced at her imposing escort. Mumbling a vulgarity under his breath, he turned on his heel and drunkenly staggered away.
Steps beyond the building, a rustling in the shadows unleashed a shiver down Amelia’s nape. Was a creature scavenging in the darkness? Or was something more threatening waiting to strike?
She dragged in a low breath, as if that could steady her nerves. Goodness, she was letting her imagination run away with her, wasn’t she? Seeming to sense her twinge of fear, Logan reached for her, placing his fingers on her arm in a light but steady touch. Odd, really, how his presence reassured her. Days earlier, she could not have imagined taking comfort in his nearness, in the strength of his determination to watch over her.
“I suspect someone connected with the rotter who came after ye is waiting to finish what he started.” His voice was low and rough-edged as he gestured to the crudely painted image of a jester on the tavern door. “Any woman Paul might have fancied would never take up residence in this hellhole.”
“She’s here.” Amelia looked up to the windows on the upper floors. “I’m quite sure of it. Helen would not deceive me.”
He cocked a brow. “Ah, that’s right, a fortune teller who cheats gullible fools. Honest as the day is long, she is.”
“Actually, this tavern may be a clever choice for a hideaway. No one would think to look for her here.”
“With good reason.”
“I must admit, I am thankful I do not have to face what lies within this place all on my own.”
He caught her hand within his long, warm fingers. “So, Amelia, ye did not wish to wander alone into a lion’s den.”
“Lion’s den? A wee bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”
“I know what I’m talking about, lass. Stay with me.”
“You think I don’t know how to deter an overly amorous gent?”
“Not when ye do not have yer growling little beast to defend ye.”
“An excellent point. Just think, if I’d brought Heathy along, you could be at home, asleep in your bed.”
“There is not a chance in Hades I would see ye venture into the night on yer own, wee guard dog or not.” His jaw hardened. “Don’t let yerself get separated from me. By this time of night, even the blokes still on their feet are deep in their cups.”
Taking in his somber expression, she bit back a retort to his commanding tone. They were heading into a world he knew well. She’d be wise to take him at his word.
He opened the door and led Amelia through the entrance. Gas lamps on the wall cast sparse light over the patrons. Stayingclose, Logan’s possessive stance sent an unspoken signal that she was under his protection. A man who stank of liquor and sweat grinned at her from a table, his ugly expression betraying the gist of his thoughts. Another towering drunk ambled toward her. This one boldly reached out, daring to try to touch her.
Logan clamped a hand over the man’s forearm. “I’d think twice if I were ye.”
Though taller than Logan by half a head, the drunk’s eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. With a nod, he waited for Logan to release him, then beat a hasty retreat.
Steadying her resolve, Amelia scanned the crowd. She spotted a gaunt-faced scarecrow of a man sitting by himself in the corner. His eyes gleamed with interest as he motioned to her with a slight crook of his finger. When she met his gaze, he nodded, confirming his action had been intended for her.
Logan had seen the gesture as well. He nudged her protectively behind him before escorting her to the table.
“She’s waiting for you.” The straw-haired man inclined his head toward the spiral staircase. He shot Logan a glare beneath hooded lids. “But only the woman.”
“I’ll take no orders from ye,” Logan shot back, voice hard as flint.
The man’s shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “I am only the messenger,” he said, his attention drifting to the ale in his glass. “Look for the crest.”
Curving a hand over her wrist, Logan led Amelia to the stairs. “Stay alert,” he warned as they began their ascent. Despite his comforting presence, Amelia’s mind raced. Was Helen Tanner the key to uncovering the truth behind Paul’s death? Or was this another attempt to prey on Amelia’s still-raw grief?
As they reached the landing, Amelia saw that each room bore a sign on its door that depicted an animal—a crudely painted lion, a bear that looked decidedly unhappy, a rooster depictedwith overly ornate feathers. She spotted a vivid emblem on a door at the end of the corridor, a coat of arms in shades of blue and gold. The painter’s work displayed a precise talent, unlike the other rather crudely rendered images.
Keeping his dagger at the ready, Logan scanned the hallway as they proceeded to the room. Amelia lifted her hand to knock on the ebony-enameled door, but before she made contact, it swung open.
Helen stood in the doorway. Behind her, an oil lamp on the table of the small, shabby room cast scarcely enough light to illuminate her features, her familiar green eyes now shadowed against her ashen, hollow-cheeked complexion. Wrapped in a plain cloak in gray wool, she’d covered her hair with its unadorned hood, but she could not hide all of her abundant curls. Helen’s hair had been a glorious copper-red. Now, the tendrils were dull as ashes in a hearth. Had she deliberately disguised the vibrant hue?
Amelia bit back her little gasp of surprise. It scarcely seemed possible that this wraith of a woman was the vivacious beauty who’d once laughed and smiled as she told Amelia’s fortune. What had she suffered since Paul had been killed?
