The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

us?” Her voice was so low, he had trouble at first deciphering what she was saying. When Aidan did not respond at once, she rephrased the question. “You know, our know-it-all friend?”

“Yes, I know what and who you mean, but keep your eyes ahead.” They both side-stepped horse droppings and a group of gossiping stable hands, who also raised their hats to Slaíne, who in turn ignored them as someone in her station of life would.

“Love of all, but I feel foolish, lookin’ like I’m talkin’ to meself.” Her shoulders heaved. “What of Larkin? Think she’ll show up and betray you?”

Aidan clenched his hands into fists. “Very likely.”

Another thoughtful pause. “Then why are we doing this?”

“Because this will be our only chance…if she is, in fact, not on our side.” He had to be quiet now, as there were more people about in this area and it would not look proper for him to be talking to his mistress without apparently having been spoken to.

The cobbles here were more worn, and a few of the stones had come loose or gone missing entirely, making the way treacherous for someone not in good walking shoes, like most women. Aidan recalled Slaíne’s shoes, which were more practical than what he’d seen the fashionable Ton wear. Should they need to run, their escape should not be hindered in that way.

Aidan stiffened when he felt a familiar Pull. It was coming from one of the shops, if he was not mistaken. Ah, yes, the blacksmith’s. He squinted in concentration, exploring the Pull. He remembered to keep his gaze lowered as they moved on, leaving the familiar behind. He did not know anyone who lived in this part of town. At least, not that he remembered.

Before he could determine the Pull’s source, it disappeared. Were they hiding? Aidan’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins, and it took every modicum of self-control that he possessed not to Summon the silver sword and run for the hills. Instead, he settled for matching his stride with Slaíne’s and telling her to quicken her pace, which she did with nary a backward glance.

The pathways through town now multiplied, the street widened and then gave way to clusters of buildings in the center of it. Aidan was now on hyper-alert, feeling not just for Pulls but the absence of Pulls, certain there must be iron concealing unwanted persons. Yet as they hastened to the right fork in the road teeming with servants and a carriage or three, Aidan could feel no repulsion and saw nor felt anything amiss. He tried to relax. He tried telling himself that this would work out, but when he felt Slaíne’s Pull getting too far ahead, he did the last thing he knew he should do: he pushed against the small crowd and caught up with the girl, grabbing her by the hand.

Slaíne frowned, looked down at their entwined fingers, but did not question it nor pull away. She said something he could not make out over the din. When he did not respond, she tugged him over to the side of the road, and they stood facing each other next to a water pump and trough. “How much farther?”

Aidan shook his head, which he tried to remember to keep down. “I cannot say, ma’am,” he said, remaining in character. If anyone were to eavesdrop and discern that they were headed for Lord Dewhurst’s estate, they could very well be followed and lose whatever element of surprise they still might hold.

Slaíne nodded. “Ah, right.” She began to wipe her nose on her sleeve, a nervous habit of hers, but caught herself, seemed to think the better of it, and shot Aidan a guilty look. “You feel any – thing?”

Again Aidan shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“And we keep on in this direction?” She worried her lip for a moment, her wild hair catching in a breeze made by passersby. Where had this surge of people come from? Wasn’t it a trifle early to be out running errands? Aidan couldn’t be sure; he’d been away from this sort of civilization for quite some time now. “We’d best keep on the move. And try to walk less as one with such urgent purpose.”

“Do I walk with purpose, now?” she scoffed. “Sorry my acting skills are nay to yer likin’, s— Rutherford. Shall we?”

They walked for some time, Aidan receiving no more than a handful of initial curious glances from the women-folk. Men tended to keep their minds on task; the women would be the first to sound the alarm, if something were amiss. Aidan donned the role he played best: brow-beaten, worn-down, life-weary man. This kept him hidden. Slaíne, Aidan realized too late, would draw more attention the narrower the town became. Not many in these parts were red-haired and pale of complexion.

Sure enough, as the number of Pulls decreased, the covert stares and the occasional pointing increased. “Who’s that, you think?” a wee child asked its mother, tugging on her grimy apron. The woman at the cobbler’s shop, whom the babe was addressing, took one look at Slaíne and pulled her young indoors. “Vampire,” Aidan heard her spit before slamming the door behind her child.

Whether or not Slaíne heard the word, Aidan was uncertain. If she did, he wondered if it bothered her. If so, she did not let on.

Past the cobbler’s, down a narrow back street, Aidan noted that the houses truly were growing few and far between. “There will be a bit of the wood coming up ahead,” he said, catching up with Slaíne.

She bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “What then?”

Aidan glanced over his shoulder, though he knew from the Pulls surrounding them that no one had been following their progress. “Our passing through town will – should go unnoticed. But once we’ve reached that particular patch of wood, there will be sentries.” He gave Slaíne a meaningful look to make certain she followed.

The girl frowned. “They belong to Dew—”

Aidan hushed her. “Yes, that