Page 5 of The Shadow of a Laird
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Gavin was freezing. His cloak was made of the finest wool, and would have been thick enough to keep him warm under normal circumstances. However, tonight was exceptionally cold, and he had been unable to find any way of insulating himself sufficiently.
Having walked through the village for hours to keep warm, eventually he noticed the door to a small stable, which was open just wide enough for him to see two horses standing ankle deep in straw inside it. The warm, earthy aroma of the big animals came floating out to meet him, and he felt a faint sense of hope for the first time that day. Perhaps he could lie down next to them and use the heat from their bodies to keep warm. He had always loved the smell of horses, since it reminded him of his first pony, a strawberry roan called Rosie. He had ridden her until he grew too big for her, but he still loved her memory.
Gavin crept inside and heard the horses whickering and stirring restlessly at his entrance, but after a moment they settled down, and he lay down on the straw between them and closed his eyes. He was hungry again, but the warmth from the horses’ bodies was beginning to seep inside him, and that gavehim a little consolation. At last, he felt sleep stealing over him, and he surrendered to it, thankfully.
Gavin did not know how long he had been asleep when he was rudely awakened by a powerful hand roughly shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes reluctantly and rubbed them with the heels of his hands, then looked up to see a sturdy, well-muscled woman in her middle years bending over him.
“Who the hell are ye, an’ what are ye doin’ here?” she demanded. “Get out o’ my stable afore I throw ye out!”
Gavin leapt to his feet and looked down at the woman with disdain. He opened his mouth to yell at her, then realised that there was no point. This was her property and she was quite entitled to tell him to leave. It was against all his instincts, but he stood up and walked out; he had never been so humiliated in his life.
Once he was back out in the street, it was nearly dawn. He felt despair settle over him like a black cloud. He was back where he had started from, no further forward, if anything a few miles backwards. He had already made enemies, and he had only been in the village for a few hours; he knew he would never be able to show his face in either of the first two taverns again.
Gavin had looked everywhere to see if he could find a place to rest but had been evicted from the only comfortable spot he could find, so what was he to do now?
Eventually, he lost the ability to think, and could do no more than put one foot in front of the other until he almost fell down. That was when he heard the sound of voices and laughter and was dismayed to see the farmer who had been arguing in the tavern, walking along the street behind him. He ducked down a side street and since he had no better course of action, he made his way back to theGoose and Gander.
Maura spent all night thinking about him, and consequently became distracted from her duties. She could not deny that she found his fiery dark red hair and penetrating grey-green eyes extremely attractive. He was young, fit, and looked as though he could make himself useful as a manual labourer or some other kind of job where strength was required. Although the pay was not good, it would be enough to feed him and keep a roof over his head, and was infinitely better than begging on the streets. As well as that, he had a cultured, refined air about him. What had happened to reduce him to such dire circumstances?
Her uncle, drunk as usual, found another excuse to berate her for dereliction of duty when he caught her staring into space when she should have been cleaning a table. Maura could have pointed out the hypocrisy of this because she had caught him sleeping on the job so many times himself, but she always held herself back. He was a drunken sot, but he was the only family she had left, and she knew that if she antagonised him, she would no longer have a roof over her head or food to eat.
As she carried some empty cups left from the other night back to the kitchen to wash them, she was surprised to see Gavin coming back to the tavern. He sat outside the door on the front step, hunched over and holding his cloak tightly around himself. He was shivering so much that she felt desperately sorry for him. The tavern was busy, but her staff were coping well, and she decided to see if she could help him. She went to fetch a blanket. It was not of a particularly good quality and was usually only used to cover the draught horses, but it was strong and warm.
Maura went outside and tossed the blanket over his shoulders, then sat down beside him. He shot her a surprisedlook and wrapped it tightly around himself, then he wrinkled his nose in an expression of distaste and wiggled his shoulders.
“It itches,” he complained irritably.
Maura felt an immediate surge of indignation as she glared at him. She had just helped him to warm himself up on one of the coldest nights of the year, and this was the thanks she received!
“I can take it back if ye’re no’ happy wi’ it!” she said indignantly, her eyes blazing with anger. “If I was in your shoes, I would be grateful if somebody gave me a sack tae put over myself!”
Gavin leapt to his feet and moved close to her so that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. He usually found that this stance made him appear extremely intimidating. “I would advise you to be very careful,” he said warningly. “Can you not see by my clothes and the way I speak that I am not a tramp or a beggar?”
“I dinnae care if ye are the king himsel’!” she retorted. “Ye willnae talk tae me like that—especially when I am tryin’ tae help ye!”
She tried to put herself in Gavin’s place; he was cold, hungry and obviously desperately exhausted, and every one of her instincts was telling her to help him.
“I am sorry,” he said wearily. The last words were forced out and tasted strange in his mouth.
“It sounds as though ye havenae said sorry for a long time,” Maura observed. His tone was still proud and angry, but strangely, Maura seemed to understand. In fact, Maura understood the feeling very well. She had had to say sorry many times when nothing was her fault.
“I hate asking for help,” he admitted. “And as for saying sorry, well, as you can hear, I am really out of practice.” He gave a bitter little laugh.
“I think we a’ dae,” she replied. She looked back into the almost empty tavern, and when she turned back to Gavin, and found his grey-green eyes waiting for her. Obviously, he was a man of some refinement, and was completely out of his element in this extremely rough and uncouth place, judging from his attire and accent. Every time someone shouted or broke a cup, he flinched, but tried valiantly to hide it.
Maura wondered what his story was, where he had come from, and how he had ended up in this uncomfortable situation. She wanted to find out, not out of idle curiosity, but because her instinct was to help him, as it was to help all wounded creatures—and something inside her told her that he was hurting. She could see all the signs because she had experienced them herself, and in many ways was still enduring them.
Just then, her uncle staggering past them, and a flash of fear crossed her face. It appeared and disappeared in seconds, but it was enough to expose the truth. Maura was not as hard and confident as she appeared to be, and she was not really in charge of the tavern; she was merely acting a part, putting on a show for the customers to hide the fact that she was afraid.
“Your uncle runs this place very badly does he not?” Gavin observed, startling her. “You do a good job in covering up for him, but he has never given you the credit you deserve, has he?”
Maura was outraged. “My uncle is in charge in name only,” she cried indignantly. “He is a drunken eejit who can hardly stand up most o’ the time!”
Gavin seemed to realise that he had said the wrong thing and was about to apologise, but just then, they heard the discordant yelling of two angry voices.
Two of her regular customers were yet to leave the tavern. Bill MacFadzean and Willie Dempster, began an aggressive argument over a young woman whom they both lusted after. Thefact that she cared nothing for either of them seemed not to have occurred to them.
