Page 17 of A Scottish Lord for Christmas
“We aren’t far now. The inn we’re staying at is just down this road.”
They drove in silence for another half hour before the distant lights of Edinburgh appeared out of the night’s gloom. Quinn drove to a small stone inn at the edge of town and parked the motorcar outside the front door.
“Go on in and tell the innkeeper we are here. There will be a room for us. I’ll see to the car and luggage and be right behind you.”
Rowena exited the car and rushed to the door, desperate to escape the cold. The stout wooden door creaked as she slipped inside the inn. Four long tables filled the common room, and they were full of men, most of them eating supper. The laughter and talking died away as their gazes turned her way. Rowena, still just inside the door, clutched her coat tighter about her body, her heart racing. She wasn’t used to being alone in a room with so many men.
“’Ere now, how kin I ’elp ye?” A plump woman with a thick brogue and frazzled gray hair tucked under a white lace cap walked toward her, weaving through the tables, her apron spotted with flour and grease.
“My husband, Quinn MacCauley, said he rented a room?”
The men nearest her chuckled, roughly shoving each other with elbows and speaking Scots Gaelic, a language she recognized by the sound but not the words.
“Ignore them.” The woman smacked one of the men upside the head and then waved Rowena to follow her as she headed for a set of stairs. As she walked past the last table, someone pinched her bottom. Rowena grasped and stumbled. The renewed raucous sounds of laughter followed her up the stairs and she bit her lip, mortified and more frightened. The spot on her bottom actually stung…
The innkeeper paused at the first room at the top of the stairs.
“Here’s your room. The meals are served downstairs unless you wish to eat up here.” The woman hesitated before holding out the key. “I suggest you stay up here. The men downstairs can be”—she met Rowena’s gaze seriously—“a wee bit rough. Yes, you’d best stay up here.”
Rowena closed her fingers around the brass key and watched the older woman retreat down the stairs. Then she tried to unlock the door to her room, but her hands shook.
Quinn, where are you?She didn’t much fancy being so separated from Quinn, her bottom still stung, and she was uncomfortably aware of the noise from below—and her slim chances of being overheard should she need aid. The sound of footsteps on the stairs filled her with relief. Her husband had finally come in from the cold.
“Quinn, our room’s here.” She spun around and then gasped. A large, broad-chested man from downstairs lunged for her, a hungry glint in his eyes. There was nowhere for her to go. He slammed her against the wall, her head hitting the wood. Stars dotted her vision for a brief instant as pain exploded through her skull.
“Lovely English lassie,” the man growled in her ear as he struggled to pull her skirts up. “Just wot I need to warm me up on a cold night, eh?”
Rowena screamed and clawed at his face, but her fingers were still covered by her fine kid gloves. She sucked in air, panic swamping her senses until everything around her seem to fog with delirious terror. The scent of ale and sweat mixed with his fetid breath clouded her lungs. His hand covered her mouth. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bit down on his meaty hand, drawing blood.
“You little bit—”
A distant roar cut through the ringing in her ears. She glanced up to see Quinn racing toward her and the man towering above her.
“Touch my wife again and I’ll bloody kill you!” Those were the only words he spoke before he launched through the air, tackling the lout to the ground with a sickening crunch.
Rowena winced at the sounds of fists pummeling flesh and the grunts of pain from the man beneath Quinn. If he didn’t stop hitting that man…he could kill him.
“Quinn, stop!” she pleaded. “Please stop! Don’t kill him!” She grabbed Quinn by the shoulder, jerking hard on him. The blows stopped, and her husband, panting hard, glanced up at her, a snarl twisting his lips. Then, without saying anything, he got up, dragged the man to the top of the stairs by his legs, and kicked him over the lip of the stairs. The thumping sound of him rolling down the steps was strangely satisfying, and Rowena didn’t like that she took a small measure of comfort from the final thud when the beast of a man hit the floor at the bottom. Quinn’s shoulders relaxed and he turned back around to face her. When he approached her, he held his hands up as though he were approaching a wild, wounded creature.
“It’s all right, Rowena, do not be scared,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“I’m not,” she replied, but her voice quivered.
Her entire body started to shake and suddenly she needed him, needed to be in his arms. She reached for him and he helped her to her feet. She didn’t care if he didn’t want to hold her; she clung to him, shaking, breathing so hard her lungs burned. When his arms circled around her, she melted into him and let go. She didn’t cry, but she knew tears were going to soak his coat if she couldn’t rally herself in a minute.
“I’m so sorry. I should not have left you alone. ’Tis my fault. Please forgive me.” He was murmuring these tender apologies in her ear, his warm breath making her shiver, and yet it soothed her too.
“May we please go into the room now? I believe I need to sit down.” She tugged on his arms in pleading.
“Of course.” He picked up the key from the ground, where she must have dropped it during the struggle, and helped her inside. The little room was cozy, with a bed large enough for two, a fireplace, and a small table for two with wingback chairs. Quinn helped her to the nearest chair and tucked her in with one of the blankets from the end of the bed.
“Wait here. I’ll lock the door behind me.” He bent, feathered a kiss upon her brow, and left their room. The click of the lock reassured her and she touched her aching cheek. A dull headache began to pound against her temples.
I’m not going to cry.She bit her lip and curled her arms around her waist, hugging herself to stop from shivering.
This was not her idea of a wonderful wedding night.
***
