Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict

The smell of roast meats made Jane’s mouth water and even old Alice had ceased her eternal complaints and was ordering the innkeeper about with her usual briskness. A warming-pan, filled with hot coals from the kitchen fire, was already toasting the bed they would share - and hopefully banishing any livestock which was still lurking in the straw of the mattress.
    Much to her relief, her two escorts had left Alice and herself to go about their own business, seeing to the horses and making arrangements to bed down in the stable - and afterwards no doubt, to find a bottle, a card game or a woman or two, willing to bed them in return for a few coppers. The latter thought made her shiver. God go with them, whoever they were. She didn’t envy them.
    â€˜Dinner, my lady,’ the innkeeper announced, interrupting these unpleasant thoughts. ‘It is a poor one, I am afraid. Only four courses. Roast beef, a goose, a turbot and some sweetmeats. I hope it will not prove too unsatisfactory.’ He smiled anxiously, eager to please his highborn guest.
    â€˜I am sure it will be excellent,’ said Jane, handing him a coin and smiling graciously. He bridled with pleasure as he led them through to a small room, where they could eat in private. Not that it was necessary. They had the entire inn to themselves, no one else being foolhardy - or desperate - enough to travel in such harsh weather.
    Â 
    â€˜That was delicious, thank you,’ Jane said as the maid cleared away the ruins of the meal. A full tummy, a few glasses of red wine and a warm fire had restored her natural optimism. She sat contentedly cracking nuts with her white teeth, laughing as Alice tried in vain to do the same with her few remaining ones. ‘Here,’ she said, offering one she’d already cracked. ‘Poor creature. I would not see you starve.’ She stopped short with a stricken look on her face and Alice gazed at her in alarm.’
    â€˜What is it, my lovely?’ she asked anxiously. ‘The bellyache? A chill? The beginning of the ague?’ She cursed. ‘This damned cold. Your stepfather - God rot him - had no right to send you abroad in weather like this, the selfish swine.’
    â€˜No, I’m the selfish one,’ said Jane contritely. ‘Sitting here on my backside, stuffing myself. I forgot to look to Alexander. Fine thanks for his faithfulness, that is. He was just as wet and cold as we were. I must go to the stables and see that he was rubbed down before he was fed and watered. And see that they gave him oats as well as straw.’
    Pushing her chair back she got to her feet, picked an apple from the fruit bowl and went through to collect her cloak from the hook beside the fire. She grimaced as she put it on; it was still damp despite the roaring flames. She debated calling the innkeeper to fetch a lantern, then decided against it. The stables lay only a little distance away and there was light enough left yet in the sky to see by. Hoisting her skirts against the mud, she stepped out.
    She regretted it almost immediately. Rain lashed down and a gust of wind caught her hood and blew it off. Tugging it up again she raced across the yard, splashing through the puddles.
    The stable was dark, redolent with the comforting warmth of horseflesh and the dusty scent of straw. Breathless, she threw off her hood and shook the raindrops from her hair. Alexander snorted a greeting and she walked across to stroke his soft nose. He nuzzled her impatiently, searching for the apple he could smell in her pocket.
    Pulling it out she took her pocket-knife and cut it into neat sections, laying each one on the palm of her hand. He took them daintily, rolling an appreciative eye as he ate. When they were gone he nuzzled her again, hoping for more.
    â€˜All gone,’ she smiled, showing him her empty hands. ‘And have you been looked after properly?’ she asked, patting his neck. ‘Had your water? Had your