A stealthy knocking penetrated the timbers of the well fashioned door to Murin’s room.
Still aroused by the specter of the two on the dance floor, Nathan raised his foot toward the barricade, but thought better of his actions and knocked again, somewhat louder.
Mister Bly offered his time with due appreciation that the lass may well be bound in dreams . . . or bound in the carpenter's arms. Again, his blood began to cycle warm with growing resentment. He raised a closed fist to the door, thought recalling the Captain’s hearty warning for temperance, rapped once more. Every nerve stood on edge in anticipation as Nathan overheard gently stirring and the creak of a loose floorboard as the party approached.
In her haste to cease the infernal knocking and not fully awakened from blissful dreams of dance, Murin clumsily unlatched her security, though opened the door only slightly. Blinking through still sleepy eyes, she beheld her visitor and opened the door slightly more having modestly gathered the robe to fully cover her chemise.
“Natan?” Murin cautiously looked down both lengths of hall but found them wanting. Thick candlelight flickered brightly from a sconce over Mister Bly’s shoulder offered little hint to his expression, thought she felt no undue concern. Murin did feel need for explanation, but this setting would not do. She stood across from him in the doorway. Unseemly as the time was, there was no good time for a lady to invite a gentleman into her chamber, and so they stood.
“Lass, wot ave I done?” Nathan continued “did ya not know, not see?” his voice plaintively rising in volume. Murin stepped in close beside him and lowered her voice to a whisper hoping that he may do the same and not cause alarm to those resting.
Upon the streets, a weary and somewhat disoriented Alder glancing heavenward to track the passage of constellations and in doing so appreciated fully the lateness of the hour, nay early hour. He would venture for news of Pew and have better vantage of the landscape in waiting the few hours till dawn to continue his quest.
Retracing well his dark path, Alder found himself closing in on the Inn. From a crest in the rutted street he calculated . . .up two over four, he recounted to himself the placement of the tailor’s room, reminding self of an intended vigil.
The faint light from but one of three rooms called to the streets below. He figured again, this time pointing to each window as he did, up two, over four. His memory could not be challenged, though his spirit most surely was. From the window he sought. the image of two souls became unmistakable in their movements. He had traced Murin’s silhouette at a distance often enough for it to be as familiar as his own. Aye, this was the room, and that was she. As for the shadow that moved closer, ever so closer, the height, and outline of hair and shirt lent it self to none other than Bly.
Alder cursed his own resolve in having left her side. So certain was he that her emotions matched his, that Alder had not even considered her affection for the lad she had know and accompanied earlier this day. He waited in the street, begging confirmation that all was not as it appeared. There was no loudness, no sudden motion to propel him to flight on her behalf, only closeness . . .faces drawn close enough to bath in the scent of her. Alder struggled to banish the sense along with the view.
With no cause to defend and no need to protect, Alder turned the corner to find respite until the coming of dawn. At such time he would more fully resume his role as carpenter and be of what service he could to those attending Mr. Pew.
