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My eyes flew open in surprise. It was that hateful, arrogant man from earlier, standing a few steps below me. He looked at me with a strange expression on his face. It almost looked like . . . concern. What did he want? I tried to ask him, but the walls were falling in on me again. I closed my eyes tightly.
    “I think you’re about to faint,” a low voice said.
    Whose voice was it? It was too nice to belong to that man. I shook my head and said weakly, “I don’t faint.” And then darkness rushed up while I swooped down. We met in the middle and it swallowed me whole. I was relieved that it didn’t hurt.

Chapter 4
     
    I awoke slowly, aware first of something soft beneath me, then a low murmur of voices nearby. I could not make sense of where I was. It was not home; it didn’t smell like home. I knew I should open my eyes, but somehow I could not. So I lay still and listened to the murmur. It was very pleasant. It reminded me of something from my childhood—when I fell asleep in the carriage at night and heard my parents talking softly around me.
    The carriage.
    My memory came flooding back to me all at once, so vivid that I gasped out loud. The murmuring stopped, and I felt someone bend over me.
    “Well? Are you finally coming to?”
    The abrasive voice sounded vaguely familiar. I wrenched my eyelids open and looked into the no-nonsense face of the innkeeper’s wife. Close as she was, I could smell the garlic on her breath and count four long hairs growing from the mole on her cheek. Both served to waken my senses immediately.
    “I thought you were going to faint,” she said, “and sure enough, you did.”
    As I sat up, I felt an excruciating headache swell behind my eyes. I put my hand on my forehead and looked around carefully, trying not to move my head too much. I could see now that I was in some sort of parlor. A table in the middle of the room was set with food. There was a fireplace at one end and curtained windows along the long wall.
    The woman’s beefy hands encircled my arms, and she pulled me to my feet. She led me to the table. “Sit down and eat,” she commanded. I obeyed her first order, grateful to be off my wobbly legs. She glanced behind me and asked, “Is there anything else, sir?”
    I looked quickly over my shoulder and immediately regretted the action, as it made my head swim and the pounding intensify. I pressed both hands to my forehead as that hateful man said something to the woman—I hardly heard what—and she walked out of the room without a backward glance, closing the door firmly behind her.
    The gentleman—no, he was not a gentleman; there was nothing gentle about him, he was just a plain man—did not leave with her, but he did approach the table so that I needn’t turn my head to look at him. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was watching me. It was very unnerving. I could only imagine how I must look after traveling all day, falling out of a carriage, lifting a bloody man, and then fainting. I grimaced at the thought.
    He stepped forward and asked, “Are you hurt?”
    I looked at him appraisingly. He looked genuinely concerned, which surprised me.
    “No,” I answered, but my voice sounded rough, my throat as dry as stale bread. I reached for the glass at my elbow and drank, hoping to clear my head a little. I decided some food was a good idea and that I would just ignore the odious man until he left.
    My plan did not work.
    He was so obtuse he actually walked to the chair opposite mine and asked, “Do you mind if I join you?”
    I wished I could think clearly. Where was my quick wit when I needed it? There was no civil way to refuse him, and I was too tired to think of a witty retort. I shook my head and watched him walk to the door. He opened it before sitting across from me. I felt instantly more comfortable, not even aware that I had been tense about being alone with a strange man behind a closed door. As I ate, the pounding in my head turned into