Page 28 of Bride of Mist
“So just the one night for you and your…?” the man said, glancing at Feiyan, hooded, masked, and glowering from the shadowy corner.
Dougal frowned. Clearly he hadn’t thought things through. “Sister.”
The innkeeper raised a brow. “Your sister.” He had probably heard such unlikely tales before.
Dougal held his jaw firm. It was a good enough lie. “Listen. I can’t take her with me. Where I’m goin’, ’tisn’t safe. I promised our father I’d let no harm come to her. I’ll pay ye handsomely to keep her here.”
The man took another look at Feiyan. “For how long?”
Dougal bit the inside of his cheek. Outdistancing her would take only a day. But he’d meant what he said. He intended to help her.
When he thought about the wayward waif, hope flickered at the edges of his shadowy, self-loathing soul.
True redemption for what he’d done was impossible, of course. He would be forever scarred by his actions. His was a debt of sin from which there was no absolution.
But if he could save one lost soul, keep one innocent from falling into darkness…
Perhaps he could save the life of one woman to help pay for the death of another. Perhaps he could begin to wash away the stain of dishonor. Make a sacrifice of the heart for a crumb of forgiveness. And quell the demons of self-hatred that haunted his dreams.
Surely it was worth the attempt. He had nothing to lose.
Running a pensive hand over his jaw, he considered the lass in the shadows. How long would it take before she abandoned her outlaw ways and became used to creature comforts? A month? Two?
“Can ye keep her till Michaelmas?” he asked.
“Michaelmas?” The innkeeper’s eyes went wide. But they both knew he’d be foolish to turn down half a year’s lodging for the right price.
“Maybe longer if ye can find some task to help her earn her keep.”
The innkeeper scratched his cheek. “Can she cook? My wife could use a lass to make the morning frumenty.”
“Aye. Sure.” Dougal had no idea whether she could cook. It was hard to imagine her stirring a frumenty pot with her resplendent sword.
The innkeeper stroked his beard. “When you say handsomely…”
Dougal untied his sheathed dagger and placed it on the counter with a sigh. “I can give ye this.”
The innkeeper emitted a breathy whistle when he saw the jeweled hilt. He’d likely never seen such wealth.
The dagger had belonged to Laird Darragh. It was all Dougal had left of his father, now that his brother had sold off everything else. It pained him to part with it. But he no longer felt worthy of the noble piece. Better it should be spent in gallant sacrifice.
The innkeeper drew the dagger and held it up to a candle, examining it to be sure the emeralds and rubies were real. Then he cast a glance at Feiyan, as if judging her worth as well.
“She’s not another man’s wife, is she?” he asked. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Dougal lowered his brows. That was something he hadn’t considered. But he doubted the lass would be running loose in the wood, were she wed. If Dougal had such a lovely bride, he’d never let her out of his sight.
On the other hand, perhaps she’d grown tired of her husband and lopped off his head.
“She’ll be no trouble,” he promised.
He had no way of knowing that. In truth, she’d been nothingbuttrouble for him. But he suspected, after a night in a warm bed with a full belly and the prospect of a roof over her head from now on, she’d be grateful enough to be civil to her host.
They were served a hefty supper of lamb and leek pottage. Clapbread. Strong ale. And sweet custards made by the innkeeper’s wife.
Aside from murmuring her thanks for the meal, Feiyan spoke not a word. Despite appearing half-starved, she dawdled at her supper, picking at her food, sipping at her ale. But that gave him time to think.
He meant to steal a few hours of sleep and leave before dawn. He’d let the innkeeper tell Feiyan about the arrangements in the morn. Let the lass know she had a room until Michaelmas.
