Page 36 of The Scottish Bride
She would venture it. “Seton. That was the name of the previous lord. Your kin?”
“There are many Setons around, some in this region.” He looked up at the gray and drizzling sky. “With luck, the weather will not worsen.”
He seemed distracted beyond the moment. Something burdened him, a weight upon his heart. She desperately wanted to ask but could only wish him peace with it.
“You know more about me than I know about you, I think,” she said.
“That may be.”
They all rode in silence now, the weather worsening. Each step of the horses’ hooves was wary and the men watched theicing grass, the hills, and the sky where the very clouds seemed to freeze. Drawing her hood higher against the cold rain, Tamsin huddled against the knight’s shielding back, so tired she nearly dozed.
“Weary, Lady Tamsin? Rest if you can. Soon we will stop.”
*
Liam stretched hislegs before the fire, sighing as warmth radiated through the damp leather of his boots. Lifting a wooden cup, he took another sip of heather ale, recognizing its subtle flavor as a brew made by the monks of Holyoak. The abbey provided its excellent ale to local inns, religious houses, and a few local nobles, though they declined to sell to English garrisons. He smiled a little, remembering that.
Icy rain pattered against the window shutters and the oiled parchment stretched across casements that made the interior cozy but dim. Best stay inside for now, he thought; they would reach the abbey before dark if weather permitted. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and peace here. They were the only guests for now, the innkeeper and his wife moving quietly between kitchen and main room. Relaxed yet aware, Liam listened for horses in the yard, hearing only wind and sleet.
Lady Tamsin sat beside him, her slim fingers crumbling a bit of bannock. She sipped hot broth from the cup Dame Brown, the wife, had provided. Seated nearby, Gilchrist and Finley chatted with the innkeeper’s wife as she set down another plate of oatcakes, hot from the griddle, a pot of butter, and a jug of ale.
He watched Tamsin Keith. She had a quiet strength and did not complain, though the day had been arduous for her. He had scant patience for fuss and weakness, and she showed none of that. He sensed she was resilient and astute, her fragility only onthe surface. She was determined and was hiding something. He would wager good coin it had to do with that bothersome book.
“All is well?” he asked.
“The warmth and hot meal are welcome, I vow. Can we stay long?” A plaintive note in her voice told him how tired she was.
“For a bit. Dalrinnie is well behind us, and anyone following should be well behind us too, in this icy rain.” But patrols rode out in any weather, he knew. Glancing out the window, he noted the long empty curve of the road, cloaked in mist.
Yet an uneasy feeling lingered.
Roc nosed out from under the table, and the lady slipped him a tidbit, then patted his head. He noticed the girl shivering in her gray gown, still damp, her plaid cloak drying by the fireside with the knights’ cloaks.
As Dame Brown moved toward him to refill his cup, he smiled at her. “Holyoak’s ale,” he said. “I know the taste.”
“And fine stuff it is, sir. It is good to have customers here in such weather. We have had no one here today until you lot. Are you heading north?”
“On our way to Holyoak Abbey, as it happens.”
“Ah, good folk, the monks, generous with their prayers and their gardens, and they even keep a small hospital. Are ye ill, sir, or your lady? No? That’s fine, then. They raise fine dogs there, like your own. They even have a room filled with books, I hear, which some ride far to see.”
“So I hear,” Liam said, with a glance for Lady Tamsin, who was buttering an oatcake. “I will give them your compliments on the ale, good Dame.”
The woman nodded, then peered at him. “Do I know you, sir?”
Liam wished he had kept his cloak’s hood up. “I have been here now and then.”
“Perhaps a customer, aye. But you look very much like the—”
“And you may have seen my brothers in the area,” he said, as Lady Tamsin sent him a curious glance. “The oatcakes were excellent. If you have something more, we would be hungry enough.”
“I have a good barley soup in the kettle and will bring that for you.” She beamed. “I know! You remind me of the lord what was at Dalrinnie years back. He was older but had grown sons—och, but the English took the place, did they not, and an Englisher came instead. He died as well, I heard. My lady, will you have more broth?”
“Thank you, Dame, perhaps soup,” she said, turning a curious gaze on Liam.
“Hot soup will take the chill away.” The wife hurried away.
Liam blew out a breath. Soon Lady Tamsin would either guess or discover his past and his ties to Dalrinnie. He was in no hurry to hasten that revelation.
