On the other hand, maybe he had some help…

Simon leaned over to Rod and murmured, “Do not look, or disguise it if thou must—but yon wench hath kept her eye on us, since we came through the door.”

“That is a little odd,” Rod admitted. “None of us is exactly what you’d call a model of masculine pulchritude.”

“True enough,” Simon answered, with a sardonic smile. “Yet ‘tis not with her eyes alone that she’s kept watch over us.”

“Oh, really?” All of a sudden Rod’s danger sensors were tuned to maximum—not that they’d done much good so far. He pulled out a coin, flipped it—and made sure it “accidentally” flipped her way. As he turned to pick it up, he managed a quick glance at her, and decided it wasn’t much of a surprise that he hadn’t noticed her sooner. She was average size, no heavier than she ought to be, with a pretty enough face and dark blond hair.

Rod picked up the coin and turned back to Simon. “Not exactly your stereotyped witch, is she?”

Simon frowned. “A very ordinary witch, I would say.”

“That’s a contradiction in terms. She’s also not very experienced at hiding her interest.”

“Oh, she doth well enough,” Simon demurred. “Yet I’ve more experience at this sort of hiding than most, Master Owen—and, when one of us doth say that which doth amaze her, her shield doth slip.”

Rod frowned. “Then why didn’t she head for the door as soon as we started talking about her?”

“Because thy mind is hid, let alone thy thoughts—and for myself, I’m thinking one thought and saying another.”

He grinned at Rod’s surprise. “Be not amazed—what women can do, we men may learn to do also. As for Flaran, I speak so softly that he cannot hear.”

Rod glanced quickly at the klutz; he was looking rather nettled. Rod turned back to Simon. “Then there’s no real danger, is there?”

“Oh, there is alarm in her.” Simon glanced at the serving-wench, then back at Rod. “We had best be on our way, Master Owen, and quickly, ere she calls another who doth serve Alfar.”

Rod turned toward the girl, considering risks and coming to a quick decision. “No, I don’t think that’s really necessary.” He beckoned to the wench. Fear leaped in her eyes, but she had no reason for it, and did need to keep her cover while she studied them—so she came. Slowly, as though she were being dragged, but she came. “What may I offer, goodmen? Ale? Or more meat?”

“Neither, just now.” Rod plastered on a friendly smile. “Tell me—does it bother you that I’m not here, when I really am?”

She stared at him in shocked surprise, and Simon muttered, “Well done; she is quite disarmed. Certes, Alfar’s her master. She holds watch for witches.”

Rod’s dagger was out before Simon finished the first sentence, its point touching the wench’s midriff. She stared at the naked steel, horrified.

“Sit.” Rod kept the smile, but it had turned vicious.

“Sir,” she gasped, gaze locked on the blade, “I dare not.”

“Dare not disobey me? No, you don’t. Now sit.”

Trembling, she lowered herself to the empty stool. Rod took her hand, gave her a glowing smile. “Simon, dig around and see what you can find.” He let the smile turn fatuous, clasped both hands around hers, and leaned forward, crooning, “Now, pretty lass, sit still and try to pay no heed to the fingers you’ll feel in your mind—and if their touch disgusts you, be mindful that you would have spoken words with your mind, that would have sent soldiers to slay us.” He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it, then beamed at her again. “I know—you feel like nothing so much as leaping up and screaming. But if you do, my knife is close at hand—and do not think that you can snatch it with your mind faster than I can stab—for, in this case, the hand is quicker than the mind.” He saw her glance at the knife, and warned, “I assure you, I’ve dealt with witches before.” Which, he reckoned, was his understatement for the year.

Her gaze darted back to his face, terrified. “But… why dost thou kiss mine hand, when thou’rt mine enemy?”

“So that anyone watching… there, young Doln is staring at me—no, don’t look!—and his gaze is anything but friendly. In fact, I think he favors my heart for the main course. No, don’t hope—I assure you, I’m a better fighter than he, far better.” He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, and decided to press it. “Sit very still, now. You wouldn’t want me to hurt him, would you?”

“Oh, do not!” she cried. Then, realizing she’d given away more than military secrets, she blushed and dropped her eyes.

“Aye, well done,” Simon purred. “Gaze at the tabletop, there’s a good lass, and naught else; think of naught but its grain, and its color… Now!”

The girl stiffened with a gasp, head flung back, eyes shut; then she slumped in her chair.

“Stand away from her!” Doln was on his feet, knife out.

Rod stood slowly, his grin turning wolfish, knifepoint circling. “Why, it shall be as you say—I shall stand away from her. Shall I stand toward you, then?”

Harl scowled and stood up behind Doln, but the youth’s eyes showed doubt. He stood his ground, though—swallowing hard, but he stood.

“Gently, now, gently,” Simon soothed. “She sleeps, lad—she but sleeps.”

Doln glanced at him, then at the unconscious girl, and the white showed all around his eyes.

“Softly, lad.” Rod followed Simon’s lead. “We’re not hurting her.” He darted a quick glance at Simon. “Nay, unless I mistake, my friend seeks to aid her.”

“What manner of aid is this, that steals away her sense?” Doln cried.

“What manner indeed!” Flaran huddled back in his chair, eyes wide with terror.

Kench’s glare would have killed a viper, and Harl gathered himself and stepped up behind Doln.

The girl sighed, and her head rolled back.

“Ask her,” Rod said softly. “She’ll be awake in a minute.”

Doln’s gaze darted to her. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She looked around her, uncomprehending, then suddenly realized where she was, and her eyes widened; she gasped.

“Marianne!” Doln dropped to one knee, clasping her hand. “What have these fellows done to thee!”

Her gaze darted down to him; she shrank away. Then she recognized him, and relaxed a little. She looked around, and her gaze centered on Rod. Slowly, it turned to Simon, then back at Doln, and her lips quivered with a smile. “Nay, be not afeared for me, good Doln. I am well—aye, more well than I have been for some weeks.” She turned back to Simon, frowning, then back to Doln. “These goodmen have aided me.”

Doln looked from one to another wildly, “What manner of aid is this, that makes thee to swoon?”

“That, thou dost not need know,” Simon advised. “Stand away, now, I beg thee, for we must have further converse with thy Marianne.”

“I am not his,” she said, with a touch of asperity, then instantly balanced it with a dazzling smile at Doln. “I did not know thou hadst concern of me.”

Doln swallowed heavily, and stood, but his eyes were still on her. “I… I do care for thy welfare, Marianne.”

“I know it, now—and I thank thee.” Her color had come back completely, now. She clasped his hand, and looked up at him through long lashes. “Most deeply do I thank thee. Yet I prithee, do as this goodman doth bid thee, and stand away, good Doln, for truly must I speak with them.”

Reluctantly, Doln backed away from the table—and bumped into Harl, who muttered a curse, and turned away to his stool. Doln did, too, gaze flicking from Simon to Marianne, then to Rod, then back to Marianne again. Then Kench muttered something, and Doln turned to him, frowning, then fell to muttering with Harl and the gaffer, casting frequent glares at Rod and Simon.

He didn’t notice Flaran. But then, who ever did?

Marianne turned back to Simon with a happy smile, patting her hair into place. “I must needs thank thee for more things than one. Nay, ask what thou wilt. I will most gladly answer.”