Page 88 of The Scottish Bride
“Extra for the stabling,” the woman replied, and walked toward a high table that held papers and a locked box, presumably for coin. “If you want a hot bath that is extra too, and if so, you need to take the room at the back next to the kitchen. We dinna bring buckets up the steps. And we need an hour’s notice to fill the tub. Soap is another charge. If you want food brought to the room, it is a half penny more. And no clippin’ on the edge of the coins. A full half.”
“We will want a hot bath and supper in the room when we return,” Liam said.
“Off to market?” The woman picked up a heavy iron key. “This way.”
Liam took Tamsin’s elbow as they followed the innkeeper. She felt her temper begin to drain away at his touch. No matter how impermanent this marriage, he was her husband. He was Liam, and she felt better when he was with her. Calmer. More certain. More entirely herself.
She stopped in the corridor as they walked to the kitchen.
“My lady?” he asked. “This way.”
She nodded, distracted. Just then, she had realized what had not occurred to her before. His words, so casually spoken to a stranger, shed clarity on what had been missing from her life. A sense of belonging. An end to loneliness and uncertainty. A place where she felt at ease.
In so short a time, Liam Seton had become so familiar to her that he was—like home to her. He was there for her,hadbeen there for her every time she had needed protection, advice, comfort.
Secrets or not, truthful or not, plans for the Rhymer’s book or not—that quality felt so true, so stirring, that it overtook her objections, her doubts. Tears sprang to her eyes. The lonely years at Dalrinnie when she had seen so little of her family, and had lacked the affection of her husband… That loneliness and lack of love had been a burden she had carried, had even taken with her beyond Dalrinnie’s walls.
Now, she felt that weight lift, felt a profound change as she stood in an ordinary place, the dim corridor where the innkeeper went on about keys and baths and extra fees. Liam’s quiet use of “my wife” moments ago had released something in her that she had not even known was locked. In his voice, she heard caring, recognition of her worth. She dashed tears away with the back of her hand, sniffed—and told herself she was just very tired. Surely, that was it.
“Is there a souter here? A chandler, a woolen merchant perhaps?” Liam asked.
“Look for the signs near the market cross. Selkirk is known for wool and weavings,” the woman said with a proud lift of her nose. “You will find more than one.”
“Is there a bookseller too?”
“Now what do you want that for? No one asks for the bookseller but the priests. He has a shop near the tanning shop, I suppose because he uses leather for his books. Well, if your lady wants a wee book of prayers you could find one there. But be prepared to pay a pretty penny.”
“I am prepared.” He gave her some coins. “For the room, stable, food, and bath.”
“Generous, sir. Here you are.” She led them away from the kitchen that bustled with cook and servants, emanating rich smells of roasting meat and baking bread that made Tamsin quickly hungry. Opening a door at the end of the corridor, the woman stood back, handing Liam a key.
“Should you have goods worth lockin’ up. The room is old and plain, but warm beside the kitchen, see. Sir. Madam.” She gave Tamsin a shrewd up-and-down look, then returned to the main room.
The chamber was simple indeed, with whitewashed stone walls, a small window looking out on the stable, a crude chair and table, a chamber pot in one corner and a brazier in another, thankfully glowing and warm. A shelf stored candles and cups. A large cupboard with a curtained opening took up most of one stone wall.
Liam dropped his chain coif and pushed fingers through his hair, looking about. “Where is the bed?”
“Here.” Tamsin tugged at the curtained cupboard to reveal a mattress covered in a blanket and a sheep’s fleece. “A box bed. We have one at Kincraig. Snug and warm.”
He peered inside. “Private,” he murmured. Her heart fluttered with the word. He turned. “Shall we go to the market?”
“Can I leave my satchel here if we lock the door?” At his nod, she tossed the leather bag inside the enclosed bed.
“I am glad you left your great sack of books at Holyoak and brought just the one with you today. It is less to worry about.”
“I thought we would return to the monastery, thought they were safe there.”
“They are. Let us find your bookseller.”
They walked without conversation toward the market green with its tall stone cross and commotion of merchants and customers. Pausing on the grassy sward, Tamsin turned. “I do not see the shop.”
“Is that it?” Liam pointed to a sign on a narrow shop door. “Richard Bisset, Maker and Seller of Books.”
“Aye. But the window is closed.” Beside the door, the hinged panel that would typically open like a shelf for customers was latched shut.
“Lass.” Liam took her arm. “Back there, coming up the main road—knights on horses. Evidently the castle garrison does not heed the council’s rules about steeds.”
She turned to see three knights riding toward the market. Where she and Liam stood on the triangular market green, the bookseller’s shop was just behind them, and the Water Row with its inn was behind that. “What should we do?”
