Page 8 of Wed to the Highlander
The air was damp and biting, the cobbled street glistening underfoot. Somewhere nearby, a tavern bell clanged, and a cart rolled past, splashing through a puddle. Maggie’s slippered feet skidded on a patch of wet stone, and she stumbled, the ground rising quickly toward her.
Duncan caught her with a firm arm around her waist. “Easy, lass.”
She straightened, resisting the closeness but too cold and bone-tired to argue. Her head ached. Her stomach was queasy with exhaustion, and her entire body buzzed with the leftover tension of trains, carriages, and one-too-many goodbyes.
The inn before them was narrow and tucked beneath the shadow of an iron streetlamp. Not flashy but warm-looking. A carved wooden sign above the door swung in the wind, proclaiming it the Rose & Thistle.
He guided her up the few steps and inside, shielding her from the wind with the sweep of his coat.
The entry was dim and quiet. A fireplace crackled at the far end of the modest receiving room, and two velvet chairs sat near the hearth. There was no marble or gilding. No Mayfair-style pomp. Only clean floors, slightly worn rugs, and the smell of firewood and beeswax polish.
Maggie blinked at the change in temperature and atmosphere. A young maid curtsied as they entered, her eyes darting with recognition. Duncan stepped forward to speak with the innkeeper behind the desk.
“MacPherson,” he stated simply. “Your best room, as arranged.”
“Aye, laird. We’ve been expecting ye,” the innkeeper said as he plucked a brass key from its hook. “We’ll have water heated and sent up with a maid, as you requested. Yer supper can be brought to the room in the meantime, if that suits.”
Maggie barely heard the rest. She was too busy watching Duncan handle the arrangements—the suite, the maid, supper. Everything was seamless and well thought out.
Perhaps it was.
She welcomed the comfort, but, for an impromptu marriage, it bore the unsettling precision of a plan long in motion.
He turned back to her with the key in hand. “Come,mo leannan. Let’s get you warm.”
The endearment was soft and unfamiliar, but it slid through her like silk. Her heart fluttered—foolishly—and she cursed it at once.
They followed the innkeeper up the steep stairs, single file as they were too narrow to walk side by side. Maggie was acutely aware of Duncan climbing steadily behind her.
Her hand trembled as it skimmed the polished rail. She was married. By law, she was his. And every step brought her closer to the bed where she might be expected to prove it.
By the flicker of a lamp, the man led them to a room at the end of the hall. Inside, a fire danced in the hearth, and a roomy copper tub sat waiting. And the bed…the bed dominated the room—large, inviting, and utterly terrifying.
“Dinna hesitate to call on me if there’s anything else ye need.” The innkeeper gave a quick bow then closed the door behind him, leaving silence and firelight in his wake.
Maggie glanced around the room without a word, her hands clasped tight before her. She couldn’t stop shivering—not from the Highland chill but from bone-deep fatigue. And uncertainty.
Duncan moved past her with his usual quiet confidence, removing his gloves and coat. He rolled his shoulders as though shaking off the journey then glanced at her.
“You look done in, lass.”
She smoothed her hair, which had to be an utter mess, and gave a wan smile. “Ten hours on a train and two more in a carriage—I must look like I’ve been dragged through the brambles.”
His lips twitched. “You’re lovely, as always. But I’m sure you could use a fire and a dram—or maybe just a warm bed.”
“A dram won’t be nearly enough, tonight, I fear,” she said then winced. She hadn’t meant to sound so bleak. Or to suggest she needed fortification to facehim. But perhaps she did. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. It wasn’t intended as a slight.”
“It came out honest,” he replied, not seeming offended. “Come sit by the fire. You’re trembling.”
She hesitated. Then, limbs heavy with fatigue, she realized denying herself comfort was only punishing herself.
With a sigh, she lowered herself onto the bench before the hearth. The heat was welcome, but the silence that followed was not. It settled between them like fog—thick, awkward, and unfamiliar. Before all of this, they’d been easy together. Comfortable. She used to know what to say, how to sit beside him without feeling as though she might shatter.
Now, with Duncan so close and the bed looming—turned down and inviting—she didn’t look at it. She couldn’t. Not when she wasn’t sure what he wanted—or worse, what he didn’t.
He leaned against the mantel, watching her. Not with desire but something quieter. Familiar. Unsettling.
“This has been a trying day,” he said, at last, fatigue threading through his voice.
