Page 16

CHAPTER 16

“This is delicious!” Anna enthused, tearing into a chunk of fresh bread with hearty abandon.

She was already feeling more like herself, thanks to the roaring crackle of the inn’s hearth and the dry clothes she had changed into, and every bite of the warming lamb stew brought life back into her numb limbs. Although, her backside still hadn’t woken up, deadened by the endless hours in the saddle.

Gordon, seated opposite at a round table, nearest to the fire, made a noise of approval. Yet, Anna noticed that he had barely touched his stew.

“Are ye nae hungry?” she asked.

He stirred the stew slowly with a spoon. “I daenae like to eat in places I daenae ken.”

“Well, that cannae be true,” she said, frowning. “Ye ate plenty at Castle MacTorrach.”

His spoon stopped. “That’s nae what I mean.”

“Then, what do ye mean?”

He shook his head. “It means ye ought to eat quickly, so we can be on our way.”

Disappointment sank through Anna’s chest like a rock. “We’re nae stayin’ here for the night? When ye said we were stoppin’ to rest, I thought ye meant?—”

“I daenae care to stay in places I daenae ken, either,” he interrupted gruffly, his jaw tensing.

There was more to what he was saying than met the eye, and though Anna couldn’t quite figure out what that was, she thought better of asking outright. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for questions.

What a pity. It’s such a lovely inn.

To a weary traveler, frozen by the cold and the rain and the discomfort of the saddle, it was tantamount to paradise. A warm, glowing haven that didn’t exactly encourage a person to want to head back out into the inclement weather.

“I think Jane shares yer feelings,” Anna remarked, mopping up the last of her stew with the still-warm bread. “She doesnae ken what she’s missin’.”

The maid had refused to leave the safety of her carriage, insisting that someone ought to stay behind to protect Anna’s belongings. Anna suspected it had more to do with the fact that Jane had never been away from Castle MacTorrach in all her life.

The drivers didn’t seem to have the same trouble. They were feasting as heartily as their mistress, on the other side of the low-ceilinged inn, chatting amiably by the glow of a soot-streaked lantern. A pair among many, the inn busy with patrons enjoying their evening ale.

“How much longer do ye think it will be until we reach yer castle?” Anna asked, trying to make the remainder of her bread last, so she wouldn’t have to leave the comfort of the inn so soon.

Gordon sat back in his chair. “Early mornin’.”

“ That long?” Anna gasped, her muscles already sore at the thought.

“Ye should ride in the carriage for the rest of the journey,” he instructed, rising. “Finish yer meal; I’ll have the carriage prepared properly.”

He beckoned to one of the drivers, who shoved the last of his bread into his mouth and hurried to follow Gordon. Together, the two men headed out of the inn and into the rainy gloom, leaving Anna and the other driver to eat in peace on opposite sides of the room.

I wonder if Gordon will notice if I have another bowl…

She was just considering waving the landlady over to request more of the delightful stew, when a figure came stumbling into the side of Anna’s table. She lunged to stop a cup from falling off the edge, as the lumbering figure turned around and stared down at her with two bloodshot eyes.

“Watch where ye’re goin’, lass,” the man spat, clearly inebriated.

Anna glared back at him. “I havenae moved. Ye are the one who knocked into me table.”

“It’s yer table, is it?” The man smirked, sliding onto the bench where Anna sat without her permission. “Looks like it’s mine now.”

Startled by the proximity and the pungent scent of the man’s breath, Anna hastened to shuffle away, off the other end of the bench.

She was almost on her feet, almost free of the man, when a clammy hand closed around her wrist and yanked her back. Off balance as she was, she couldn’t do anything to prevent herself from thudding back down onto the bench. And the man was stronger than she was, a second pull of his hand aiming to tug her closer to him.

“Unhand me!” she hissed, straining against his strength to try and free her wrist from his vise-like grip.

“Ye’re sittin’ at me table, so ye belong to me,” the man replied with a cruel smile, pulling her again.

Thinking fast, Anna grabbed the uneaten bowl of stew that Gordon had left behind, and dumped the contents onto the man’s groin. He yelped like a chicken warning the other birds of a fox, the piping hot stew seeping through his kilt… but he didn’t let go of her wrist.

Rather, the searing burn seemed to anger him more, his grip tightening until it hurt, wrenching her arm as if he meant to snap the bone.

“Ye little rat!” he snarled, eyes blazing.

Across the room, the second driver was staring out of the window, enjoying the rest of his meal, oblivious to the predicament his mistress was in. And no one else seemed inclined to interfere, like this was something they witnessed—and ignored—every day.

“Ye’ll pay for that,” the man warned, his hand snatching for her other wrist, fighting to seize control of her.

“Take yer hands off her, or lose them,” an eerily calm voice declared, the inn falling silent at the sound, as though the patrons had finally noticed that something was going on.

The vile man beside Anna squinted up into the cold, single-eyed glare of Gordon. “This is none of yer business,” the man shot back. “Take yerself elsewhere, before ye lose yer other eye an’ all.”

Gordon drew his sword, the glint of the blade causing the man’s grip to loosen for a moment.

“Who do ye think ye are, wavin’ that around?” the man snorted, clearly oblivious to the danger he was in.

Anna couldn’t bring herself to look.

“Yer executioner, if ye daenae unhand her,” Gordon replied in that unnervingly calm voice of his.

The man barked a foul laugh. “If ye think ye can frighten me, ye’re sorely?—”

His words dissolved into an animal howl, the rest of the inn flooded by a ripple of gasps. The hand that had been holding Anna’s wrist fell away, followed by a dull thud that she didn’t care to investigate—the man’s ear-splitting cries were evidence enough that she shouldn’t look at the cause.

“Leave or the rest of ye will follow,” Gordon said.

Wailing and clutching his hand to his chest—or, rather, the stump where his hand had been—the man struggled away from the bench and shambled across the inn, practically throwing himself out of the door and into the rain.

“Have someone clean up this mess,” Gordon commanded, the landlady jumping into action, gathering up a bucket and some cloths.

The rest of the inn stared, whispering about who this man might be, but Anna just looked up at his now-familiar face, too stunned by what had just happened to speak.

“It’s time to leave,” Gordon said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

He held out his hand to her and, with her own shaky fingers, she took hold of it, allowing him to help her up.

“Are ye well? Are ye injured?” he asked, leading her toward the door.

She shook her head, still unable to find her voice.

“The only reason I dinnae kill him was because ye said ye daenae like violence,” he said, holding his hand over her head in a vain attempt to shelter her from the rain, before guiding her across the stable yard to where the carriages waited.

Anna managed a nervous nod. “I… thank ye.”

“Remind me to teach ye how to use a dagger,” he said, reaching out for the carriage door. “Nae for violence, but to protect yerself.”

She cast him a sideways glance, curious as to what that might look like: fighting lessons from the Devil of the Highlands, a seasoned and renowned and feared warrior.

“Perhaps,” she conceded, relaxing a little. “Truly, I’m grateful that ye came just in time.”

He opened the carriage door and ushered her inside, putting a folded blanket onto her lap as she settled onto the squabs. “If the meal was our first engagement,” he said, stepping out of the carriage, “the knife lesson can be our second.”

She blinked, not quite certain that she’d heard him correctly. “Pardon?”

“We shared a meal together. That counts, surely, as our first engagement,” he replied, his tone softer still. “And takin’ a man’s hand to defend yer honor certainly counts. A grisly gift, but a gift nonetheless.”

Laughter caught Anna by surprise, bubbling up her throat before she could stop it, spilling out into the murk of early evening. “Was that a jest?”

“Only if ye found it amusin’,” he said with a shrug.

Letting her laughter chase off any lingering fear that the grabbing man had inflicted, Anna tilted her head from side to side. “It wasnae too bad. I’ve heard worse, I’ve heard better.”

“Just daenae be drawin’ me loppin’ off hands,” he remarked, and, for a precious moment, she thought he might smile. “I daenae make a habit of it, nay matter what ye’ve heard about me.”

Another one! Anna laughed again, the giddy feeling putting her entirely back at ease, though she wished that he would laugh along with her. A smile would have been wonderful, at the very least.

Indeed, as her laughter faded into softer chuckles, she wondered if she’d been wrong to tell him that he needed to make her laugh, when it was quite obvious that she needed to be the one to make him laugh. Everyone was capable of laughter; he couldn’t be the world’s sole exception.

“Get some rest,” he said, moving to close the door.

“M’Laird?” she called to him.

He paused, eyebrow raised. “I asked ye nae to call me that.”

“Very well.” Anna took a breath. “Gordon?”

“What?”

She smiled. “It counts.”