by Amy Jarecki
“Or take up arms.”
“Aye, if there’s no other way.”
After they dismounted and arranged for the horses to be fed, Dunn escorted Mairi to the alehouse. “Have you ever been in such an establishment?”
“Once. I was with Da, and the only ladies were unsavory types.”
“He took you into an alehouse filled with wenches?”
“I suppose he didn’t have much choice at the time, much like we do not now.”
“All right then, stay near me. Look no one in the eye. We’ll eat, have a pint of ale, and be on our way.” He pulled open the heavy medieval door with blackened iron nails and ushered Mairi inside.
An unkempt candelabra hung from the ceiling, encased in wax. Midafternoon, there weren’t many patrons. Three men stood at the bar who looked to be fishermen and, as Dunn neared, the stench confirmed it. On the other side of the room, a table of men carried on loudly. A pair of serving wenches were seated on laps, but nary a one looked their way.
“Where do you hail from, friend?” asked the barman. Though the question was a simple one, the man’s dark stare filled with distrust.
“Glasgow,” Dunn said. “Traveling home.”
“What brings you to these parts?” The man leaned over the bar, giving Dunn’s kilt a deprecating look. “We don’t see many costumes like yours in Dartford.”
“I’d reckon not.”
“What’s your business here?”
“Just passing through.” Dunn tightened his grip on Mairi’s arm. “Have you a bowl of pottage and a pint of ale for each of us?”
“That can be arranged.” The barman pointed to a few empty tables near the door. “Sit over there and don’t cause no trouble.”
“We?” Mairi asked, drawing her hand to her chest. “Cause trouble?”
The man behind the bar the man poured the ale. “Beg your pardon, madam, but any woman walks in that door looking tastier than a honeyed crisp had best stay close to her man and keep her mouth shut.”
Dunn’s hackles stood on end as he took the glasses and ushered the lass away, trying not to limp. “We do not want any trouble. Just a meal and we’ll be on our way.”
After holding a rickety chair for Mairi, Dunn moved around the table and sat with his back to the wall, where he was able to keep an eye on the activity. In an establishment like this, a man might end up with a knife in his back if he wasn’t careful. He reached under the table and grasped her delicate hand. “If we didn’t need to eat, I’d teach that barman a lesson about speaking to ladies.”
“’Tis best if he doesn’t ken I’m a lady,” she whispered.
“Aye, but you should be given your due respect, highborn or nay.” Dunn’s gaze swept across the scene. Two more burly tinkers entered, looking around as if they were prowling for wenches. Dunn knew the look. All men did.
“Don’t turn around,” he whispered, sliding his fingers over the hilt of his dirk as one shifted his gaze to Mairi. Then the rogue leaned to the side for a better look.
Dunn slid his chair back far enough to display his weapons—and his brawn. It didn’t hurt to have a chest as wide as a horse’s arse when rubbing elbows with folks who lived in the gutter.
The man’s gaze slowly shifted from the back of Mairi’s head to Dunn. MacRae gave a thin-lipped nod, telling the bastard to move along.
“You there, Harry. ’Tis your turn to buy us a round,” a man hollered from the table of ruffians.
Sniffing, Harry smirked and arched an eyebrow before he sauntered off to join his colleagues.
Mairi leaned forward and cupped a hand to her mouth. “Tell me why my hackles are standing on end.”
“I reckon the barman’s comments about honeyed crisps were founded.”
She shuddered, clutching her arms across her chest. “How vulgar.”
A woman pushed through a door behind the bar carrying a tray with two bowls. “Lamb pottage for the pair of you. You’ll never taste better this side of London,” she said as she walked toward them.
Clasping her hands, Mairi sat a bit straighter. “Sounds delicious.”
The woman placed the bowls and spoons on the table. “More ale?”
Mairi nodded. “Yes—”
“No thank you.” Dunn picked up his spoon. “We mustn’t tarry.”
“Where are you pair headed?”
“Glasgow. We’re catching a transport from Chatham,” Mairi said, seemingly impressed with herself. The lass clearly didn’t understand how not to draw attention to her person.
“Where is that?” asked the woman.
“Up north,” Dunn said, flicking his wrist at Mairi. “Eat up, wife. Else we’ll be riding until past dark.”
Mairi’s eyes grew round while she took a bite. “Mm. This is very good.”
“See? I wouldn’t lie to the likes of you.” With a contented smile, the woman headed back to the kitchen. Dunn figured with a remark like that, the wench was accustomed to telling tall tales.
“Eat fast,” he growled, watching the men across the room. During the entire interchange with the serving wench, they’d been looked on with undue interest.
“Shall I wipe my mouth on my sleeve?” Mairi whispered. “It might make me look uncouth.”
“Just eat.”
The crowd grew while they finished their meal. Dunn stood and held the chair for Her Ladyship. “Do you think they might have a privy out back?”
“No.”
“But I have to go,” she hissed through her teeth.
“We’ll find a shrub on the way to Chatham.” He tugged her arm. They had made use of Mother Nature’s shrubbery many times before.
Mairi followed without another word, thank heaven for small mercies. Dunn always trusted his intuition whenever he visited a strange place, and right now his senses were charged and telling him to ride. In all honesty, he was probably being overly cautious. The men across the alehouse had mostly kept to themselves aside from stealing glances. Good God, if he’d been among the party, he would have been looking for a chance to espy Mairi’s face.
He grumbled under his breath.
Do not start doubting yourself. If Cromartie convinced the queen’s dragoons to search high and low for Her Ladyship, men may be riding in their direction at this very moment. And if not, word could spread via the waterways as it always did. And they were heading to Chatham. Aye, the town was east of London, but it was still on the Thames.
The alehouse door screeched behind them.
“If it isn’t the blackguard wearing a kilt and showing off his weapons.”
Dunn cringed at the menacing voice—that of a braying ignoramus looking for a fight. Aye, drink had a way of making foolish men bold. He stopped, turned, and pulled Mairi to his rear. Damnation, he’d forgotten to hide his limp. “Hello, friend. I’m afraid my wife and I are about to collect our horses and ride.” He was careful not to tell anyone where they were headed, though Mairi had made a slip earlier on.
“Scots aren’t welcome here.” The unflappable codfish moseyed forward.
“Aye? Then ’tis fortunate we’re leaving,” Dunn countered.
“What say you?” the man persisted.
Dunn crossed his arms. “I said if my wife and I are not welcome, we’ll make haste to be on our way.” He watched the man move closer while his accomplices stood on the footpath outside the alehouse looking on with smirks on their faces. They’d called the scrapper Harry. He was obviously the leader—beefy arms, but he had a gut like a pregnant cow.
Dunn was all too familiar with men the likes of Harry. Bigger than most, they bolstered their pride by picking fights. And the reward for this one was too much for the bastard to pass by. No doubt the man had noticed Dunn’s limp and saw him as an easy mark.
Harry raised his fists. “Sorry, Scottie, but you cannot leave Dartford without paying the toll.”
“Ballocks, ye have me over a barrel. How much?” It galled Dunn to no end to fork over coin, but a fight would draw more attention t
han they needed—especially any nearby dragoons.
“A pound.”
Jesus Saint Christopher Christ, a farthing or two would be ample, but a pound? “That’s robbery.”
“I meant a pound of flesh,” Harry continued, raising his fists. “Cast your weapons aside, and face me man-to-man.”
“Can you not see, he is injured,” Mairi piped up from behind.
Dunn sliced his hand through the air. “Silence.” He pushed up his sleeves. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I do. And I will.”
One of the buggers by the door sniggered.
Dunn looked toward the coward and pointed. “When I’m finished with this varlet, you’ll be next.”
Harry removed his knife belt.
Ah, hell. Now if Dunn tried to run, there would be anarchy for certain.
Might as well have it over with.
Dunn removed his dirk and sword and handed them to Mairi. “Hold these.”
“You cannot be serious,” she whispered, taking the weapons.
“What choice do I have?”
She gulped and glanced to the stables. That’s right, it was even riskier to try to run. The horses were in the stalls with their bridles removed and their girth straps loosened. Pursing her lips, she gave him a look that said, Do not fail me.
A drop of rain splashed on his face as Dunn turned and raised his fists.
Harry rushed him. In less time than it took to blink, Dunn analyzed the man’s attack. Going for brute strength, the bull aimed to restrain Dunn by the arms as he tackled him to the ground—an aggressive starting move, and if unsuccessful, it was stupid as well.
One step before impact, Dunn dropped into a deep squat. Harry’s arms hissed through the air, connecting with nothing while MacRae used the man’s momentum to flip him onto his back. The movement stretched his heel, tearing at the newly formed scab, but Dunn was all in now. Steeling his mind against the pain, rage shot through his blood as he pounced, jabbing fists into the man’s pasty face. The dastard wheezed, trying to catch his breath, his body flailing beneath Dunn’s crushing legs.
Harry took an uppercut to the jaw, his eyes rolling back. Then his head cocked to the side and fell limp.
One varlet down.
Dunn hopped to his feet, looking to the alehouse door for another challenger. No one moved, but their gazes shifted, and Dunn knew to where.
Ice shot through his blood with Mairi’s scream.
Harry’s partner in crime grabbed her by the wrist and started for the alley.
“Stop!” In a bold move, the lass dug in her heels, jerked back, and twisted her arm free while Dunn barreled toward them.
The coward’s face filled with terror before Dunn’s fist met his temple. In one blow, the man dropped, out cold.
The buggers crowding the alehouse door stood motionless.
Dunn reached for Mairi’s hand. “Haste afore someone else tries to be a hero.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mairi stood with her hands clasped, trying to play the part of a good matron while the harbormaster at the Chatham dockyard shook his head and frowned. “’Tis after six. There’s not another merchant ship sailing afore the morrow.”
“What about a naval transport?” Dunn asked.
Mairi glanced out to the ships moored in the Thames. The enormous, heavily gunned galleon was one of Her Majesty’s fleet for certain.
The harbormaster pointed to the same ship. “The Royal Sovereign will be sailing across the channel one day hence. She’s headed for battle, that one.”
Dunn pursed his lips. “Very well, then which ships are sailing come morn?”
“There’s a whaling boat headed for Newcastle at dawn and a transport scheduled to leave for Portsmouth at half past nine. And there’s a handful of fishing boats, but they all will return to Chatham.”
“We’ll book two passages on the transport to Portsmouth, if you please.”
Once Dunn reserved a berth, he led Mairi to the King’s Arms Inn near the waterfront. Inside, the alehouse bustled with activity and boisterous laughter. A matron with a jolly face stopped. “You pair look like you could each use a tankard of ale.”
“Aye, madam, a room for me and my wife, and a meal as well.”
“You are in luck. We have only one room available. It will be a shilling for the meals and ale, and one shilling sixpence for the room.”
Dunn pulled the coin from his sporran. “Done. Can you have a lad bring the meal up to our room?”
A shiver coursed across Mairi’s skin. Our room. If only they were truly husband and wife. If only they could live the rest of their days at Eilean Donan without fear of reprisal from her father.
“Weary travelers, are you?” the matron asked as she started up the stairs, pulling a ring of keys from her apron pocket. “I think you’ll find the bed to your liking, though it is a bit narrow. Where do you hail from?”
“Scotland,” said Dunn.
“My, you are a long way from home.”
“We are.”
“What brings you to Chatham?”
“Business—cattle.”
“Drovers, are you?”
“Aye.” Dunn gave no more information than necessary.
On the second floor, the woman stopped and looked to Mairi. “How long have you pair been married?”
“It has only been a month.” She looked at Dunn with a smile, though inside she felt as if she’d just lied to Moses.
The matron opened a door with a knowing smile. “Ah, newly wed. I understand why you need your privacy.”
“My thanks,” said Dunn. “When can we expect the lad with our meal?”
“I’ll send him up straightaway. ’Tis a farthing if you’d like him to light the fire.”
“Please.” He paid the woman and closed the door behind her.
Mairi moved into the chamber, rubbing her arms. It was stark at best. The woman hadn’t diminished the size of the bed. Pushed against the wall, it was barely the width of Dunn’s shoulders. An old wooden table with two chairs sat near a small stone hearth. The room was no more inviting than servant’s quarters.
Dunn used a flint to light a lamp on the table. “This will suffice for the night.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mairi strode to the window and looked down to the alley. Straight below, pigs wallowed in a sty, the mire akin to the moral impurity suddenly churning throughout her insides. No matter how much she wanted to be with Dunn, this charade didn’t sit well with her. Things weren’t the same as they’d been at his castle. Mayhap because they were on the run. It seemed like every time they were out and about, someone wanted to take advantage of her, or fight Dunn, or swindle them in some way.
“Apologies,” he said in a low tone. “It was presumptuous of me to assume we would share.” Moving behind her, he placed a hand on her shoulder—a big, warm, powerful hand. “I should sleep on the floor.”
Mairi glanced to the hardwood. “I want…”
“What?”
She shook her head. Too many confusing emotions twisted her heart.
“Tell me what troubles you,” he whispered.
“I want to be with you more than anything. I want to be your wife, but parading across England under the pretense of being joined in holy matrimony is akin to blasphemy.” It made her feel dirty, and she ever so much wanted to be righteous, especially in her father’s eyes.
“Lying does not sit well with me, either.” Dunn slid his gentle hands around her waist, his breath caressing her neck. “If I could marry you this night, I would not hesitate.”
A knock came at the door. “I have your tray, sir.”
Mairi sighed. She should ask Dunn to wait until they were wed before she allowed him into her bed again. But the floor looked hard and uncomfortable, and he was injured as well.
He opened the door and ushered the lad inside. “Leave the tray on the table.”
“Yes, sir. And the fire?”
“Aye, quickly now.” Dunn held the c
hair for Mairi. “Perhaps you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.”
As she sat, she nodded. But eating was the last thing on her mind. She’d waited days and days to be reunited with Dunn again, but not like this. She wanted everyone to be happy—mayhap even her father. She wanted a wedding with an enormous gathering of the clans. She didn’t want to hide in a dingy room above an alehouse, pretending she was living in happily wedded bliss.
The Highlander sat in the chair opposite. He placed a plate with a steak and vegetables in front of her, then a tankard of ale, then broke the loaf of bread and put half on her plate. “Eat.”
She picked up the bread and nibbled a bite. “I’m not very hungry.”
After the lad lit the fire, he slipped out and Dunn bolted the door behind him. “We shouldn’t be bothered again, though you ought to try to eat your fill. Who kens what the fare will be like when we’re at sea.”
The floorboards creaked as he moved back to the table. Rather than sit, he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Worry not, my love. Time has a way of softening the will of men. Even the will of hardened earls.”
She grasped his fingers and kissed his palm. She closed her eyes, and a flood of emotion thrummed through her heart. When she’d fled London with Dunn, she’d been intent on running, driven to follow him out of the city. But now reality hit with the force of a blow between the eyes. “Tell me you love me,” she whispered.
“I love you more than life.” He cradled her head against his abdomen. “Are you worried about your da?”
“No…” That wasn’t truthful. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Aye. I want him to accept us.”
“I ken you do, but only he can overcome the hatred in his heart.”
“Do you think he hates me?”
“Nay, how could a father hate a daughter as loving and bonny as you?” Dunn smoothed his hand up and down Mairi’s back, easing the worry. “I am your family now. I will provide for you always.”
“I want to be with you so much.”
“Then take me.”
“I want to, but things are not the same as they were when we shared intimacy at Eilean Donan.” Mairi glanced from wall to wall. “This…this place cheapens the beauty of our love, and I never want that to happen.”
