Page 89 of The Scottish Bride
“We must get inside the shop. Quickly.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tamsin knocked onthe shop door as Liam glanced around. She sensed his tension. When no one answered, he reached past her to try the latch. The door opened easily, and he gave her a push. “Inside, quickly,” he murmured.
The tiny front room was empty. The closed shutter leaked a little sunlight but the interior was dark and silent. Looking about, she saw a slanted desk and shelves with locked boxes. A curtain concealed an opening to a back room. All was quiet.
“Halloo the shopkeeper,” Liam called out.
After a few moments, a woman came out wiping her hands on a leather apron. “Oh! What do you want, sir?”
“My wife has business with Master Bisset. Is he here?”
“Master Bisset is having his midday meal.”
“I am Lady Thomasina Keith. I left pages with him to be bound.” Behind her, Tamsin saw Liam go to the shuttered panel to peer between the slats.
“Let me see what he says.” The woman pushed through the curtain. A minute later, she poked her head through.
“He wants to know if it is one of the volumes from Holyoak.”
“It is,” Tamsin said. The woman disappeared.
Liam stood, watching the market square through the crack in the shutter. Again Tamsin sensed an alert tension in him. Pressing his hand to the wall, he rippled his fingers, watchful, on edge.
When he turned, his smile was distracted. Something still troubled him, she thought. “They seem to be gone for now,” he said. “While we are here, is there aught else you need at the market? Shoes made with the souter, or candles from the chandler, we could visit the woolen merchant. We would come back to the town if the things need to be made.”
She shook her head. “I need naught, but thank you.”
“Sure? I am thinking you do not get to a market very often.”
“Another time. For now, I have all I need.” She went to the window to peer through another crack, seeing green grass and a portion of the stone cross; shops with shutters lowered for business; people milling about. No knights. No horses. She breathed out in relief.
“Is there nothing I can give you now? I want to.” His gentle tone surprised her.
“There is no shop here for what I want most,” she said. “A home.”
He leaned toward her, his shoulder pressing hers, his voice deep and soft beside her ear, its resonance sinking like heat through her body. “You will have it, I swear. Do not worry that you will never have a home if you stay wed to me. I intend to win back my home. Our home.”
She looked up. His eyes, in the light through the shutter, were bright, startling blue. “If I stay wed to you?” she repeated.
His gaze dipped to her mouth, rose to meet her eyes. Something thundered softly through her, passionate, breathless. “I do not want you to worry.”
“What worries me,” she murmured, “is that my husband will win back his property on pain of his life. What kind of a home would that be? I would rather live in the shade of an oak tree with a rock for a hob, a log for a chair, and a fleece for a bed.”
“Would you?” he asked, his voice low.
“We shall see,” she murmured, “once I see what you do with my book.”
“Tamsin.” He reached for her, but she whirled away just as the bookseller pushed through the curtain.
“Lady Thomasina! My goodness. I did not expect you! Pardon me, welcome, my lord,” he added, bowing slightly toward Liam.
“This is my husband, Sir William Seton. We came for the book.”
“I thought to bring it to Holyoak later with the books I repaired for them. But it is ready now.” Bisset set a cloth-wrapped package on the slanted desk.
“Thank you,” she said, going to the desk. Bisset untied the cord and folded down the cloth covering, then a second wrapping of parchment. He stepped back to reveal a leather-bound book.
