He was filthy, that much was certain as the guards led the man through the ornate doorway. Catarina scowled at the dirt being traced across her silk rugs. They had not yet been in place for even a month before a some cur was brought to dirty them.
He was filthy and poor. The cloak on his shoulders was faded and patched, open tears across its length. His face hidden beneath a deep hood, his other garments thick with dust, she wanted the man out as quickly as possible.
“We found him wandering your gardens, madame.” The guard on the man’s left said gruffly.
A sharp wrench of an armored hand snapped the hood from the man’s face. Bruised, blood leaking from his nose, he looked like the scoundrel she would have expected to be wandering so late in the evening. Obviously her guards hadn’t been polite to him. However, a smile danced across his lips, in his pale blue eyes.
Sweeping into a low bow, his arms awkwardly bound to his back, the man said, “My apologies for the interruption of your night, Madame Catarina. I am but a vagrant, a wanderer. I did not know these paths to be claimed by a beauty such as yourself.”
A surprised snort burst from her lips. A second surprise. A burglar and a gentleman, such an unusual mix. That did nothing to curb her ill tempers, however, and her eyes were filled with fire. “What is to stop me from leaving you dead in a ditch. None care of thieving beggars in these parts.”
The smile didn’t waver, but his eyes hardened. “Madame, I have stolen nothing, nor do I care for threats upon my person. However, I do come with important news for a woman of your importance.”
“And what might that be.”
His hands moved with a languid flourish out from behind his back, cuffs fell with a clatter onto the ground. “Your guards hardly understand the concept of restraining a prisoner.”
While she gaped, her guard surged forward. But the vagrant was faster. She heard bone shatter as the guards arm caught air, and the vagrant seized the outstreched arm, wrenched the extended elbow.
“Nor fight for that matter.”
Still smiling, despite the guard’s whimpers of pain, the man strode foward. Where the rest of him was covered in dust and grime, she was surprised to find that his hands were spotless. Gently he took her hand and kissed its back.
“I am naught but a wanderer, looking for lodging for the night.” He said the words with such silk that Catarina forgot her ruined rugs. “Might these halls leave an open door for one such as myself.”
She could only nod.