The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) (8 page)

“Randolph caught his thigh upon a rusty scrap of iron whilst on the ship carrying us home. The wound festered, and he grew feverish. My squire perished at sea.”

What was she doing in this place where life was so utterly fragile? She shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I. He was a good lad and would’ve been knighted this summer. I dinna look forward to sending word to his kin. Randolph was a Sutherland. They’re close allies to the MacKintosh.” He gave her another slight shake. “Did I no’ just tell you to rest, Beag Curaidh?”

“Yep. You did.” With another huge yawn, she snuggled against him. Despite how wet and cold they both were, a luxurious warmth spread where her back pressed against his chest. The contact and the heat lulled and soothed her. She felt protected, cherished. Sleep took her away from the damp chill, the never-ending mud and the day’s trauma. For right now, she was safe in Hunter’s arms.

“Meghan.” Hunter’s deep voice penetrated her sleep. “We’re in Aberdeenshire. A meal and a bed await us within.”

She yawned and straightened. They were on a cobbled street with charming stone cottages crowding either side and the North Sea sparkling to the east. Before her stood an impressive two-story inn built with a massive timber frame and some sort of material like the stucco familiar to her from the twenty-first century.

Hunter slid off Doireann and reached up to help her dismount. She set her pride aside and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. He lifted her to the ground, and their bodies touched for an instant, setting off a host of whirligigs inside her. All too quickly he stepped away and began issuing orders. Already she missed being sheltered in his arms.

“Once the horses are unloaded, Allain, Tristan and Harold, take the horses to the stables in back,” Hunter said, untying the packs fastened to one of the ponies. He hoisted the load to the cobbles. “The rest of us will transport our belongings inside. Wait here, and I’ll see what is available in the way of lodging.”

He disappeared into the inn, and Meghan helped with the unloading. Oh, how she looked forward to sleeping under a roof. What were inns like in the fifteenth century, anyway? For the past week she’d been sleeping on the ground between Tieren and Hunter and surrounded by snoring, farting males. Was it possible she might have some privacy while they were here?

“How do you fare, my lady?” Tieren asked, his tone low. “Though we will no’ be addressing you as ‘lady’ for the foreseeable future, aye?” He grinned.

She smiled back. “Other than being weary to the bone, I’m fine. It’ll be nice to be dry and warm for a change, won’t it?”

“Och, aye.” He took the bundle of blankets from her hands and set them on top of the casks already on the ground. “The lads sang your praises all the way here. Allain has sworn to become your champion once he’s earned his spurs. I am greatly indebted to you.”

She shrugged. “I only did what any of you would’ve done.”

“Aye, but ’twas my duty, no’ yours. I was charged with protecting you, and I feared the worst when I saw that miscreant approaching you with his axe raised. You saved Allain’s life and defended yourself as well as any warrior. You truly are a braw and canny lass. ’Tis a blessing indeed that you have come to us.” His expression turned somber. “I hate to think what would have befallen Allain had you no’ been so handy with a dirk.”

“I’ve secured two private chambers for the duration of our stay,” Hunter said, appearing at her side. “Let us take these things inside lest prying eyes take note.” He covered one of the small trunks with a leather satchel and lifted it. “Come, lads,” he said, his eyes resting on her for a second, “the sooner we are settled, the sooner we can sit by a warm fire with tankards of ale and a fine hot supper.”

With a quick backward glance toward the sea, she inhaled the cool, salt-tinged air and followed her crew inside. Hunter led them up the stairs and down the dim hallway lit only by the daylight coming through a single window at the end. He opened the first of two doors. “Squires and pages here.” He motioned for George and John to come forward. “We have the room next door.”

Meghan followed the squires. Hunter took her by the arm and tugged her toward the second door.

“Nay,
lad
,” he said. “I want you close where I can look after you.”

“Aye, here where
we
can look after you,” Tieren added, his tone firm. “What shall we call
hi
m
?” He winked at her.

“
’Tis up to
him
.” Hunter shot her a questioning look.

“Kevin.” Her throat tightened, and a tidal wave of homesickness washed over her. “It’s my oldest brother’s name. Call me Kevin.”

“Come, Kevin.” Tieren gestured for her to enter. “Let us put these things away and go to our supper.”

Curious, she surveyed the interior. The room resembled a dormitory, with six wooden bed frames strung with rope. Thin wool mattresses were rolled at the end of each bed, and all of the beds were pushed up against the walls, leaving the interior space open. At least it had a fireplace. Not lit, but kindling, split logs and peat bricks stood ready to heat the room. Pegs lined the walls, and the men were already hanging their wet cloaks up to dry. She stood where she was, her hands full of their camp food and waterskins and her damp clothing chafing her skin. Which cot should she take?

“You will sleep here, Kevin.” Hunter pointed to the cot between the one he had chosen and the one where Tieren had dropped the bundle of blankets.

“I guess a room to myself is out of the question,” she grumbled, approaching her assigned spot.

“Ye’ve slept amongst us for three nights without complaint.” Murray’s brow lowered. “What objection can ye have now to such an arrangement? Ha’ we no’ looked after ye well enough fer yer liking . . . Kevin?”

“You have looked after me very well, and I’m grateful.” She sighed. “I don’t object to the arrangement. It’s just that I could use a little privacy.” She wanted a bath, and she really needed some alone time. She dropped her stuff on the narrow cot before her.

“There are no such chambers to be had in our inns.” Tieren shot her a sympathetic look. “Oft times more than one family or group of travelers share a chamber such as this, and for those who canna afford a chamber, the corridor serves well enough for a night’s rest. See you how the center of this chamber is open? That is where servants and guards take their rest when a noble travels with his retinue. At least we’re out of the elements, and the Boar’s Head Inn has a reputation for being well tended and safe. The innkeeper boasts of a fine cook as well.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving, and I’ve a powerful thirst. Hang up your cloak, Kevin, and we’ll sup in the hall below. When we retire for the eve, we’ll have a fine fire in yon hearth. I trow we will all sleep well within these walls.”

Once their things were stowed, she trudged downstairs with the rest of the pages and squires to the great hall that served as the dining room and pub. Large timbers stretched to the ceiling, supporting equally broad crossbeams. The wood-plank floor had been strewn with fresh straw. They were given the largest table by the hearth, and soon food and tankards of strong dark ale appeared before them. Her stomach growled, and she dug in.

The innkeeper hadn’t lied. The lamb stew was thick, rich and delicious. Meghan stared into the pewter tankard before her and yawned. The warmth from the roaring fire behind her dried her clothing, and for the first time in days her body temperature rose to normal. Full, warm and drowsy, she only half listened to the conversation going on around her.

“Kevin, ye look as if ye mean tae sleep sitting up, lad.” Murray chuckled. “Send yer squire off tae his rest, Hunter, afore his face lands in his supper.”

“Aye, off to bed with you, lad,” Hunter ordered, his expression warm.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, rising from her place. “Good night. See you in the morning.” Her limbs heavy with fatigue, she climbed the stairs and dragged her sorry butt down the corridor to their room. Heading straight for her assigned cot, she pushed the day’s events to the far recesses of her weary brain.

She unrolled the mattress, checking it for bedbugs. Then she grabbed one of the wool blankets from their pile. Perching on the edge of her assigned cot, she tugged off her muddy boots and her borrowed tunic. She hung the tunic on one of the wooden posts on the bed frame, lay down and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
Ah, blessed sleep.
Yawning once more, she dozed off with the image of Hunter’s dimpled smile firmly fixed in her mind.

Coming to with a jolt, Meghan awoke covered in a cold sweat. Her hand trembling, she ran her fingers through her hair. She blinked, and th
e nightmare came back to her in a rush.

“Wheesht, Beag Curaidh. You’re safe, lass,” Hunter murmured. He ran his hand up and down her back.
“
’
Tis naught but a dream.”

“I . . . I was dreaming about . . .”

“I ken well enough what haunts your sleep.” He rose. “Come with me,” he said in a quiet tone. “We dinna want to wake the others.”

Still trembling, she stood. Hunter took the blanket from her cot and wrapped it around her shoulders and turned her toward the door. He ran his hands up and down her arms as he propelled her out of the chamber. The familiar sound of the men’s snores followed them into the dimly lit corridor. A few tall candles on pewter stands had been lit, casting scant light to play along the walls. Hunter stopped at the stairway and sank down to sit on the top step. He gestured for her to join him.

Placing her hand on his shoulder for balance, she lowered herself beside him. “I had a nightmare.”

“Night
mar
e
?” He cast her a sideways glance. “Though I dinna ken the reference, I take your meaning well enough. You were crying out in your sleep.”

“A nightmare, one word, is a bad dream.” A chill ran down her spine, and she pulled the blanket tighter.

“Ah, we call them ‘night-hags.’ After the day we’ve had, I can imagine the dreams plaguing you. ’Tis only natural.” He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Och, I’ve had my share of night-hags
as well.”

“What are your bad dreams about? Battles you’ve fought?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “At times, aye, but when I was but a lad, I oft dreamt of my ma and my granny leaving me. Ma died of a fever when I was still a bairn of but three winters, and my granny passed the following spring.”

His voice carried a load of hurt, and her heart broke for him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hmm.” He seemed to draw into himself. Lost in his own thoughts, he stroked her arm absently.

“Do you remember your mother and grandmother?”

“I do.” He sighed. “My ma had soft gray eyes and gentle hands. She mourned for my da. I recall her sadness most of all. My granny was the clan’s wisewoman and midwife, yet she could do naught to save her daughter from the fever that took her.”

The grief in his voice wrenched at her heart. “What happened to you after they died?”

“
’Twas frightening and confusing.” He huffed out a breath. “Hellish. I’d lost my hearing to the same fever that took my ma, and no family would take me in because of my defect. If it had been any other clan, ’tis certain I would no’ have lasted through that first winter.” A shudder wracked him, and she felt it to her very bones.

“The earl and his kin are more compassionate than most.” He hung his head, his voice barely audible. “Instead of driving me off, they allowed me to sleep in the great hall or in the stables. I begged for scraps to fill my belly and survived as best I could. Eventually the earl had his stable master give me odd jobs to do. I believe ’twas his intent to provide me with some means to support myself once I’d grown, and for that I am most grateful.”

“I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been. No little kid should be alone like that, especially at such a young age.” Meghan laid her head on his shoulder and took his large callused hand in hers. “I’m glad you survived.” She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and hug the hurt and loneliness away.