Jacelynn presses her ear at the door, listening to the low hum of conversation in the inn's common room. More arrivals. She bites her lower lip as she turns away from the door. Please, Maiden, she prays, Watch over these two pious girls...
Sluggish clomps sound in the hallway. Silent as silk, Jacelynn slips back to the door. She hears a mumbled greeting as someone passes by the guards outside her door, but whomever it is moves on without questioning. With fingers more accustomed to needlework, Jacelynn cracks the door open just enough to peep through, catching a glimpse of a crimson cloaked knight entering an adjacent room.
The maid eases the door closed with barely a whisper, and retreats to the chair by the sleeping Palla. She chews her lip some more, trying to recall her knowledge of all the knights in the area. Who is the new player? she wonders. We're in Corbray lands... does he have any crimson-cloaked knights?
A low whump echoes through the wall, as if something heavy collapsed on a bed.
Jacelynn lifts her head, and leans towards the wall to listen. The sound is muffled, but the inn's walls are not meant for true privacy.
"...poppy... wake in morning...". A tired and pained voice. Someone wounded?
"...Patrek... watch... until then..." Stronger, but deferring. A guard perhaps?
Ser Patrek! recalls Jacelynn. Ravensblood... yes. Wears crimson with a displayed raven device. A cousin - probably distant - of Lord Corbray. She thinks back to a tourney at Sunkenwood, and recalls a joust between her brother and Ser Patrek. Three tilts, and five lances splintered between them until Ser Patrek unseated her brother Ondrew. Gracious and humble, she remembers of the rather handsome Ser Patrek. Asked only a beer in friendship rather than ransoming back Ondrew's armor. Jacelynn smiles at the memory - one of happier times with her brother, even in his defeat. Although she had never met him, there had even been some talk of wedding her to Ser Patrek, but he was a fair bit older than Jacelynn and there were plenty of other women more fit to be his wife.
Jacelynn idly lifts a finger to play with a curl of her hair, but that only shocks her back to her senses. Her hair is pulled back tightly, cropped into a crude pageboy cut, and nowhere near as long as when she last thought of Ser Patrek. Why is he here? She sucks in a short sigh, regaining focus. He's one of Lord Lyonnel's knights; of course he could be patrolling the Corbray lands. But why wouldn't he be headed down to that tourney in... Lakelights? Surely the Lord Corbray wouldn't keep one of his cousins from competing. No... Ser Patrek must be here on some sort of mission...
More muffled greetings in the hall. Guards, from the sound of things, thinks Jacelynn. Perhaps more of Ser Patrek's retainers
Carefully, and quietly, Jacelynn slips back over to the door, painfully aware of how easy it might be for someone attentive to hear through the inn walls. Her fingers gently ease open to door. As expected, two new guards stand by the room where the sellsword Agorn was taken earlier. Corbray men, by their badges.
"... Lynderly girl..."
Jacelynn's eyes widened, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from slamming the door in fear. The Corbray men were looking for Palla. That had to be it. She peers around the room, searching for an escape, but none could be seen. Ser Laton had given them a nice and private room without windows. A prison, she thinks. Her heartbeat quickens as her fear rises, but she again bites her lip, willing and fighting to remain calm. No. No... Ser Laton helped us. she forces herself to remember. He knows my secret and kept quiet. He knows about Palla, but has apparently not told Ser Patrek. She begins to sigh in relief. Yet, anyways. What's the honour of a knight compared to a lady's virtue?
Three more sets of footsteps echo in the hallway, and Jacelynn easily hears her guards greet them.
"Ser Jarl."
"Mhyrko."
"Robin."
She hears some muffled discussion, and then it sounds like the three enter another room. Years of surreptitiously listening to castle gossip has trained Jacelynn's ears, and although she sees nothing, she's certain it's the sellsword's room that is entered.
"Welcome. Welcome to my castle." Even through the walls, every word of the sellsword is audible, dripping with sarcasm. Jacelynn shuddered, recalling his toothy grin. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
