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The door inched open, and a wizened face with sick, wiry eyebrows and clear blue eyes peered up at him. The man’s moustache bristled, and his gaze ran up and down Lachlan. “You’re the laird, are you not?”

“I am no laird.” But how the man already knew of their presence in the village, he did not know. The gossip clearly worked quickly in this small settlement.

“You want a place for the night?”

The door still only remained marginally open. That was until a bony hand curled around the door and yanked it open. A woman no larger than her husband—who were both smaller than Minerva—gave him a similar appraisal. A grin broke across her face, gap toothed but welcoming.

“It doesn’t matter if he is a laird or not. We always have a room for those in need.”

Her husband grumbled something under his breath that Lachlan did not catch.

The old woman gave him a nudge with a bony elbow. The man rubbed his ribs and swung a disgruntled look her way. “Aye, aye, we have a room.”

The woman peered out of the door, looking left and right down the street. “Where is your wife?”

Lachlan nodded toward Minerva, who stood warily, eyeing everyone who walked past. No doubt this place, with its small stone cottages, tucked into green hills with a simple mud path running between them, was unlike even the smallest of villages in England. Those few people around peered at her openly, surely curious about the woman who looked unlike any of them.

“Ah, but she is bonny.” The old woman clasped her hands together. “You can tie up your horses at the stable down the way.”

“You have my thanks.” Before Lachlan could turn away, the old man opened his palm.

“Coin first,” he demanded.

The old woman tutted and rolled her eyes, giving him another nudge with an elbow. The man winced. “I mean… settle your horses first, then we can discuss payment.”

“I will pay whatever your rate is.” Somehow, he managed to suppress a grin at the old man’s annoyance and his wife’s interference.

“Get your horses settled first,” the lady said. “Then we shall give you some hearty food. It looks like your wife needs it.”

Lachlan rather thought that Minerva looked well indeed. Despite the lack of rest, and the time spent on horseback, the fresh air tinged her cheeks red, and there were a few freckles forming on her nose. He shouldn’t know that, of course. Shouldn’t have been close enough to count them. But he had been. And he would not forget it.

Nor would he correct them on their assumption that she was his wife. There was no chance that an old lady like their host would let them share a room if they were not married. At present, they had little choice. They required sleep and food, and nothing could be much more scandalous than having spent the night in each other’s arms.

Not that Minerva had seemed to mind. She was very unlike the prim ladies of England that he had met previously.

He paused before heading back to Minerva. Two men had approached, and he curled a fist. She glanced up at them, her gaze swinging back and forth. Though he could not hear what she was saying, he recognized the fear in her stance. Her shoulders were dropped, her hands clasped in front of her. Lachlan had little intention of starting a fight within the small community, but if he had to protect her, he would happily use fists. It’d been many years since he had had to, but in his younger years, fighting had been a way of life.

Because, of course, he was raised in a similar community. Where hunger was common and fighting for resources happened regularly. There were those who worked together, and there were those who sought only to help themselves. These menwere likely those last sorts. He clenched his jaw. And damn did he hate those type of people.

He marched over, but the men did not spot him. Her worried gaze met his. “I have no coin,” she protested.

“We heard you were rich.” The first man shifted closer to her, backing her up toward the wall. “You came with horses.”

“But —”

Lachlan did not need to hear any more. These men were not offering friendship or assistance. He stepped in between Minerva and the men, bringing himself up to full height. “As the lady said, she has no coin.”

The man who had been closest ran his gaze up and down Lachlan. A sneer started on his lips until he met Lachlan’s unwavering, granite-like gaze. No doubt he had thought Lachlan might be some nobleman who was ill used to dealing with such people. He had thought wrong. He saw the man’s gaze latch onto the scars on his face, then down to his curled knuckles. Maybe the man even spotted the thin white slices upon his knuckles—evidence of many a fight.

The man swung a look to his companion then nodded slowly. “As you say, she has no coin.“

Both men turned away, hastening out of view. Lachlan took Minerva’s arm and ran his gaze over her. “Are you well? Forgive me, I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You were only close by.” She sighed “I should have been able to cope.”

He shook his head. “They were trying to intimidate you.” He made a disgusted noise. “Unfortunately, men like that are all too common in such areas. They are desperate.”

“We have beggars in London, but I will admit I do not have to worry about them myself.”