Page 21 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
The hound accompanied them, but once they’d crossed the threshold, the dog seemed to decide they were no longer interesting and loped into the nearby taproom.
They were met in the entryway by a middle-aged East Indian woman who wore the apron of an innkeeper.
“Welcome to the Jewel.” The woman dipped into a curtsy. “I’m Mrs. Banerjee. Are you staying with us tonight?”
“We are,” Duncan answered.
“It’s fortunate you arrived when you did,” Mrs. Banerjee said. “We have but one room left, and it’s yours if you and your wife desire it.”
Duncan and Lady Farris shared a look. Without much choice, he gave Mrs. Banerjee a nod.
“Excellent,” the innkeeper said brightly. “Mr. and Mrs....?”
“Frye,” Lady Farris said quickly. “Mr. and Mrs. Frye. If we can be shown up?”
“Of course, madam. If you’ll follow me,” the innkeeper said. “Mind, watch your heads as we go up the stairs. ’Tis an old building, and I cannot tell you how many of my guests, and children, have accidentally concussed themselves.”
Mrs. Banerjee took a candlestick and guided them up the staircase, pointing at the low-hanging ceiling as they climbed. At the top of the stairs, she turned down a narrow hallway, and then used the keys at her waist to open a door. She stepped back to permit the countess and Duncan entrance.
“A good room?” Mrs. Banerjee said.
There was a washstand and a small clothespress. A rag rug was spread in front of the cold fireplace.
But that’s not what seized his attention.
“There’s only one bed,” Lady Farris murmured, sounding slightly dazed.
“Well... yes,” the innkeeper said with a puzzled look.
Duncan swallowed hard, though his throat and mouth remained stubbornly dry. “This will suit. Thank you for accommodating us.”
“Yes, thank you,” Lady Farris echoed, her gaze continuing to linger on the bed. It was, in fact, not a particularly wide bed. Two people would have to lie very close to each other in order to share it.
“Supper is served downstairs?” he asked.
“The cook goes home at nine, but we serve ale until the last patron leaves.”
“Thank you.” He dropped a coin into the innkeeper’s hand. “Please have our servants bring up our belongings. And have a fire made.” Though the day had been warm, a chill had settled with the retreat of the sun.
“Yes, sir.” After curtsying, the innkeeper set down the candlestick and darted from the room, closing the door behind her.
The sounds from the taproom grew muffled. It was the first time Duncan had been alone with Lady Farris outside of a carriage, and in the silence that followed, the bed itself seemed to swell and fill the room.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said decisively.
She pulled her gaze to him. “That won’t be very comfortable.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve used floorboards as my mattress.” At least the inn’s floor was clean and free of vermin, which was a hell of a lot more than he could say about the abandoned slaughterhouse near Badajoz he and his men had been forced to use as their temporary barracks.
“But . . .” She wet her lips, and he tried not to followthe quick stroke of her tongue as it darted out. “You graciously agreed to act as my escort, and to deny you an actualbedis the height of rudeness.”
“I’ll not think less of you,” he said, then added, “if you care at all about my opinion.”
“Of course I care about your opinion.” She shook her head as though appalled he’d even suggest such a thing. “It’s your comfort I’m concerned about.”
Absurdly, her apprehension touched him. “Appreciated. But I’ve every expectation of sleeping soundly tonight, and,” he added, “there’s enough bedding laid out for us that I can make myself a perfectly snug pallet, with blankets to spare for you.”
She looked on the verge of arguing further but then said, “You know your own tolerances best, Major.”
