They weaved their way around obstacles she couldn’t see but knew must be there as her body swayed with small movements, tiny shifts in place no one would notice, unless you were the one moulded to the powerful form at her back. Her body sank further into his as if it had a will of its own. She allowed it, giving in to the sensation of feeling safe she’d suffered from the moment she’d run from the burning outbuilding and crashed into Callum’s chest. So strange to feel secure when she didn’t know him and barely knew anything about him. She wondered if her longing to feel the touch of another was the reason why she craved it now. Or was it the man himself?
‘Someone comes.’ The words whispered on a warm breath by her ear startled her from her confused thoughts and feelings. ‘Pretend you’re sleeping.’
Eyes still closed, she tried hard to keep her breathing slow and steady while she waited for whatever happened next. Her stomach tightened and she willed her hands to relax their hold about each other in her lap.
‘Yer oot an’ aboot on a foul night.’ A wizened old voice said. ‘Did the storm get ye?’
‘Aye. My wife and I need a room.’ Callum’s reply rumbled from his chest into the skin and bones of her back.
‘Then ye come to the right place. Nae many aboot the night just gone, but I be expectin’ a rush noo the storm’s gone.’ The grisly voice drew closer. ‘Is yer wife unwell?’
Isla stilled at the query to her health. Would they be turned away if Callum said she was ill?
‘Nae, but she’s sore and tired. Her horse was spooked in the storm and threw her.’
Isla stiffened at the falsehood. The arm about her waist tightened, his thumb sliding soothing strokes over her lower rib.
‘She suffered naught a bed and a good meal willnae fix.’
‘She be lucky then. An’ ye cannae fault the horse.’
‘Aye, she’s a good mare. Gentle and steadfast. If you see her wandering about, I’ll be passing by this way again in a week or two.’
‘Aye, I’ll keep a watch out and give her a place to stay until ye return. Will cost ye if I do, ye ken.’
‘She’s worth every coin.’
‘Do ye need help?’
‘Nae. I’ll settle the wife then see to my horse. He has a temper and ’tis likely worse since he’s carried two riders for the last hour or two.’
‘Ye cannae fault him for that.’ His voice grew softer. ‘Mags will see ye settled inside, then come and I’ll show ye where yer horse can stay.’
His chest swelled with a long and deep inhalation that rocked her forward, then back as he exhaled. She wanted to ask what to do next but thought it best not to say anything until they were alone.
‘He’s gone inside the stable,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s still dark but dawn’s nae far away, and with it others will stir. I’ll dismount and carry you in through the rear door of the inn. Stay asleep until I find us a room.’
An unexpected flutter of excitement awoke in her belly. Were they to share one chamber? Be alone in the same room until the day ended and darkness fell? She and Sorcha had talked breathlessly of their imaginings about sharing their wealthy husbands’ beds. Not that either of them knew much about such things. Their limited knowledge had come from tales Sorcha’s married older sister had passed on soon after she’d wed. Isla and Sorcha’s whispered curiosities had often ended with them rolling about in a fit of giggles.
But that had been before she’d given up marrying the man of her dreams and dedicating her life to serving God. Before day and night held no difference for her. Unless she was outside to feel the sunlight on her face, or the cooler air of the night, both held the same view.
‘Lean forward,’ he said softly.
She did as he bid and felt the loss of his closeness a moment before the palm of one large hand lay flat and firm between her shoulders and everything tilted slightly to the left. His hand never strayed and she welcomed the support more than she expected, more than she should, more than she wanted.
‘Let yourself go. I’ve got you.’
It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken the words, but he was the first to say them to her. The ease with which she gave herself over to him set the fluttering in her stomach to quicken and rise into her chest, where it caused her heart to pound. Moisture gathered in the centre of her palms. She wiped them dry on her skirts, and then she was being cradled against his leather-clad chest.
‘Stay, Mungo,’ he said and then they were moving.
He walked, his movements rocking her in his arms. She pressed one cheek, one ear closer to his chest and was rewarded with the steady thumping of his heart. She wanted to place her open hand flat against him, beside her ear, to better feel him and the strength of his heartbeat. She curled her fingers into her palms.
His big body shifted. Her head and shoulders dipped lower and she rode the wave as he levelled her once more. She breathed in the warm air that brushed the exposed side of her face a moment before he turned and she dipped again as he closed the inn’s door. Stewed meat and onions and the bittersweet scent of ale made her belly rumble. But it was the powerful smell of tallow that brought memories of her mother making candles before she and her unborn son, Isla’s little brother, had died. Blurred memories of her broken father quickly followed.
Isla curled into a ball as she sank low in the arms carrying her. Muscles bulged and tightened about her back and under her thighs, drawing her closer, higher. She fit her open hand over his heart and the sinking feeling in her own heart eased. They stopped.
‘You must be Mags?’ The query tickled her ear and palm.
‘Aye, ye been speakin’ wi’ Keddy, then?’ The voice belonged to a woman with a no-nonsense tone and came from a distance.
‘Aye. We’d like a room.’
‘Then ye came to …’ the voice sounded louder and stopped. ‘What ye got there?’
She’d obviously not been facing them when she’d first spoken.
‘My wife fell from her horse in the storm.’
‘There be nae doctor here.’
‘She doesnae need a doctor. Just a warm meal and a bed.’
‘Well, then, I can help ye with both.’
‘The room first, so my wife can rest while I see to my horse and then fetch her something to eat.’
‘Aye, then, follow me,’ Mags said, passing close to where Isla still pretended to sleep against his chest. Did his arms grow tired with her weight? He continued to hold her as if she weighed less than a small pot of tallow.
Then they were moving, following Mags as she’d instructed.
‘Does the inn get rowdy?’
‘At times,’ Mags said without slowing.
‘Then a room away from the bar with a window that opens would be appreciated.’
‘She’s a fussy one, then?’
‘Nae, I am. I dinnae like being closed in and I sleep light.’
Mags clicked her tongue. ‘While yer wife sleeps like a rock.’
‘Aye.’
‘Could prove useful, if ye ken what I mean.’ Mags’ tone suddenly warmed, sounding friendlier.
Isla almost choked on her next breath. She’d never heard a woman speak so. She was blind, nae stupid, and Mags’ words sounded like an invitation.
The arms cradling her, the chest beneath her cheek and palm, the whole of the man holding her seemed to turn to stone and the pounding at her ear doubled in speed and intensity. The urge to slide her arms about him and squeeze was so urgent and powerful she almost gave in to it. But his response thankfully stopped her and saved her from revealing she was awake.
‘My thanks.’ His strained voice held not an ounce of gratitude. ‘But we are only recently wed and I could never dishonour my wife in such a way.’ Isla suffered the slight tremor that swept through him as he spoke.
‘Ah, she’s a lucky lass, then. Here’s yer room with a window what opens,’ Mags said, seemingly unfazed at Callum’s refusal. A latch unclicked and the door must have been pushed hard enough to strike th
e wall. Isla couldn’t help but flinch. ‘I give ye leave to settle, then come see me in the bar to pay for yer lodgings,’ there was a slight pause, ‘and anything else ye might fancy.’
He did not reply with words, only a small movement Isla took to be a nod before the door clicked closed, leaving them alone in the room.
* * *
Callum stood still and silent, attempting to slow the fast beating of his heart. Did the older woman have nae shame? Despite knowing he was holding his wife in his arms, she’d openly invited him to be unfaithful with her. That the woman in his arms was supposedly asleep and wasn’t his true wife didn’t matter. It was as if Mags, the woman with two good eyes, was the one who couldn’t see.
Why would she make him such an offer? Was there something about him and how he looked that made Mags believe he’d accept her invitation? He searched the memory of his mother’s face in his mind and saw nothing obvious either, but as young as he’d been he knew what she had been.
‘I think ye can put me down now.’
His false wife’s lilting voice drew him back to the here and now and reminded him she would have heard the exchange.
He scanned the small room at the rear of the inn that contained a bed with linens tied to the mattress, two lumpy-looking pillows and a woollen blanket folded neatly at the end. Two mismatched chairs and a timber table with a top only slightly larger than the seat of his saddle sat below the single wooden-shuttered window on the opposite wall to the door they’d entered through. An empty washbowl took up most of the space the table offered and an iron brazier filled with recently cut wood and kindling was positioned in the nearby corner. He carried his wife, he carried Isla, to the bed and set her down on the edge of the low mattress. The breath she released told him he wasn’t the only one feeling relieved they were finally alone.
Callum felt his forehead crease in a frown of confusion before the knowledge that he did indeed feel confused had fully formed inside his head. God Almighty, he must be more tired than he’d thought. He needed to get things settled before he got some much-needed, undisturbed sleep.
He strode to the window, unlatched and tested the timber shutters that closed out the approaching dawn and took stock of the width and height of the opening. After studying the still-dark view beyond, he relatched the shutter and approached the bed where Isla sat learning the fabric of the sheets with her hands. He stood and watched her fingers glide and squeeze and rotate before she calmly lifted them back to her knees where she then tested the feel of her skirts against her thighs.
Cal wanted to place the palms of his hands over the backs of hers, to share her touch and experience the gentle flexing of her fingers. The sense of longing was so powerful he took a step closer, one hand reaching out, before he knew what he did. He stopped and swallowed, withdrawing his hand, his body, his longing, by taking a step back. He stared down at the woman who stirred unwanted desires in his mind and body. A woman who was about to commit herself to God and who had already suffered so much loss in her life. He had no right to desire her. He was his mother’s son in every way. Mags’ recent offer added unwanted weight to such a truth.
He took another step back and turned toward the door. ‘I will return once I’ve settled Mungo.’ He opened the door and stepped through, glancing back at her, almost telling her to not leave the room. She sat on the bed, hands now folded in her lap, her chin uplifted at an angle in the direction where he stood, listening, waiting for whatever he said next. He said nothing, somehow knowing she would be here when he returned. The latch clicked behind him.
With measured steps, Cal headed toward the bar room, pausing briefly at each closed door, all scattered at different lengths apart on either side of the narrow passageway. Not a sound did he hear from behind any of them, but the hour was early and the occupants were likely sleeping, or the rooms were empty. He didn’t think any of the attackers would have arrived here ahead of them. He hoped they believed he and Isla had continued through the marshlands to the west.
A score of stained tables surrounded by odd chairs and stools filled the bar room but at such an early hour, none were taken. Cal strode to the long timber benchtop that separated Mags from her customers. She turned at the sound of the coin he placed on the wooden bar, the flaming wall sconce lighting the appreciative gleam in her hungry eyes.
She leaned on the bar and slid several of his coins toward her. ‘That be for yer private room. Will ye and yer wife be needing something to eat?’
‘Aye.’ Cal watched her slide another coin toward the growing pile in front of her. ‘And lodgings for my horse.’
Her brows lifted in momentary pleasure as she dragged over one final coin. ‘I’ll have hot food and ale ready for when yer done seeing to yer horse. And, kind soul that I am, consider the wood in yer fire a weddin’ gift for ye and yer fortunate bride.’ She leaned closer and only a blind man would miss that the laces in the front of her gown had been loosened since she’d shown them to their room.
‘My wife … will appreciate your kindness,’ Cal said, suffering little guilt for the untruth. He gathered what remained of his coins and returned them to the small leather pouch that now weighed much less than when he’d pulled it out. He tucked it back inside his vest and with a gracious nod, headed for the door at the rear of the inn.
The sun still hadn’t shown even a single ray to herald the start of the day. Cal searched the dark and meagre shadows surrounding where Mungo still stood and was relieved to see the expected travellers Keddy had spoken of hadn’t yet arrived. With no sign of Keddy either, Cal greeted his mount with a firm stroke the length of his black-tipped nose and led him across the empty courtyard to the large stable standing opposite the inn.
The smell of straw and horses that had long ago passed through met them as they entered the timber structure. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the deepening shadows and revealed numerous stalls partitioned off with low wooden barriers. Walls of shelves held lanterns, cloths and pails, but there were too many to count. A noise to his right drew Cal’s attention.
‘Ah, there ye are. I be expectin’ a whole lotta company soon, so best ye pick a stall and take a pail of feed and water from the shelves and settle him in the noo.’
Cal led Mungo straight to the first stall on the left of the doorway. He pushed the gate wide and guided Mungo into the space that offered room enough for his horse to move about in comfortably. Dropping the reins, he retrieved oats and water and returned to the stall to give Mungo a quick rubdown with a handful of fresh straw.
As he’d done in the small forest, Cal didn’t unsaddle Mungo, instead lifting the saddle and hide on each side and rubbing the area beneath. If they did need to leave in a hurry, putting the saddle in place would cost them too much time, and time could prove precious.
Mungo devoured the oats as Cal finished rubbing one side and moved to the other to do the same. His mount’s chestnut coat rippled with the first passing of his straw-filled hand and the flickering flame from the lantern fixed high on the stable doorway caught the movement, reminding Cal of Isla’s silken hair in the glow of the peat fire. There was something about her, something about this one woman that drew him like no other and he had no idea what it was or why she alone had such an effect on him.
Was it because of the promised he’d made her dying father? Perhaps it was due to her trust in him. Could it be her beauty? Cal didn’t believe so. He’d seen many beauties but none had had this, or any effect, on him. Not that he’d spent this much time alone with one woman before. Perchance that was it. Or mayhap it was because she was blind. He felt a sense of loss for her, but strangely, it didn’t feel like pity. It was more a wonder at how she got on with living every day when she’d lost so much. More a feeling of admiration for all she did. How had she walked about inside the outbuilding without missing a step?
Mungo swung his nose around and prompted Callum to continue the rubdown. He hadn’t realised he’d stopped.
He finished rubbing down h
is horse, tossed the straw to the ground and dusted off his hands. He repositioned the hide and saddle and retightened the leather straps about Mungo’s girth. With a last long stroke down his mount’s nose, he left the pail against the gate to ensure the stall remained open and strode out of the stable as the first glimmer of sunlight pushed over the horizon.
Mags turned as he entered the inn and after giving him a once-over from head to toe and back, she waved the cloth she was holding toward the two steaming bowls of stew and two wooden cups sitting on a tray at the corner of the timber bar.
‘My thanks,’ he said, lifting the tray, and without pause retraced his steps down the passageway to the last room on the right, surprised and relieved he hadn’t seen anyone other than the inn’s owners.
He juggled the tray to balance on one hand and reached for the latch, but a sudden thought stopped him from opening the door. What if Isla had undressed in his absence? What if she now stood naked inside the room? A flash of desire rushed through him at the mere thought of seeing her fully bare.
The tray tipped, threatening to toss the full bowls and cups against the wall. Cal managed to right the tray and clenching his eyes shut tight, he swallowed. When had he become clumsy? As a skilled swordsman he couldn’t afford to be. He was never clumsy. Ever. He pictured Isla in his mind and this time he imagined her fully clothed. As she would be. As he’d find her when he opened the door. She was likely still sitting on the edge of the bed precisely where he’d set her down before he’d left to see to Mungo.
Feeling more certain of himself, he balanced the tray on the flat of one palm and lifting the other, fingers curled into a fist, he gave two solid knocks to the timber panel before releasing the latch and opening the door wide enough to be heard through the gap.
‘’Tis I, Callum.’
‘Come in.’
At the softly spoken greeting, Cal pushed the door wide and entered, but Isla wasn’t anywhere near the bed. She stood on the far side of the room, her back to the wall where she’d been hanging their wet garments on hooks jutting out from the walls.
The Saint Page 8
