Page 32 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
“Well, that cannae be true,” she said, frowning. “Ye ate plenty at Castle MacTorrach.”
His spoon stopped. “That’s nae what I mean.”
“Then, whatdoye 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’.”
“Thatlong?” 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.Yeare 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 wasstronger 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’ atmetable, 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.
