“Bloody hell,” Emeric muttered, his brow furrowed in annoyance. He swung around to face Anna, his expression one of vexed apology. He scratched his head and gave her a resigned smile. “We’ll have to spend the night here then. There’s not much more we can do.”
“Here? In the inn? But...” Anna glanced around the rustic common room. “Oh, bloody hell,” she finished, echoing Emeric’s words.
“Aye, that sums it up quite well, I reckon.” Turning to the innkeeper, Emeric said, “We’ll need two separate rooms.”
“Two?” the innkeeper said in surprise. “But I thought...” He cleared his throat. “Right ye are. I have two left. The rates be fair and the beds warm. Follow me.”
Anna shared a look with Emeric, then accepted the key handed to her by the burly innkeeper. He led them up a creaking staircase to a hallway lit by sputtering candles held in iron sconces. He stopped at two doors opposite each other and handed Anna a brass key that matched the door’s ancient-looking lock.
“Safe dreams, miss,” he said.
“Um. Thank you,” Anna replied, her voice barely a whisper.
She watched as the innkeeper lumbered back down the stairs, leaving her alone in the dimly lit hallway with Emeric. The shadows danced on his face, highlighting his strong jawline and the intensity of his eyes. She swallowed hard, all too aware of the thudding of her heart against her ribcage.
“Well, see you in the morning,” she said, with forced joviality.
“Aye. Sleep well, lass,” he rumbled.
With a final glance at Emeric, Anna turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to her room. It was small but surprisingly cozy with a large bed covered in a patchwork quilt, a small washstand, and a solitary wooden chair. It was not at all the poky little hovel she’d expected of a medieval inn. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old wood.
Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her heart still pounding. She felt oddly vulnerable here in this strange room far from home and without Emeric’s reassuring presence.
She stripped down to her shift, hanging her wet dress by the fire to dry, then lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Outside, the rain continued to lash down, rattling against the shutters like hail. Thoughts churned in her head. Emeric. Irene MacAskill. Lily. Emeric. Round and round they went.
She grabbed one of the lumpy pillows and put it over her head, trying unsuccessfully to drown it all out.
Chapter 19
Emeric lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had no idea how many hours had passed since he’d said goodnight to Anna. Was it midnight yet? Perhaps. The clouds obscured the moon and stars and he had no way to mark the passage of time.
Filled with a nervous energy, he’d been unable to sleep and so had filled his time with other tasks. He’d polished his sword. He’d oiled his bow. He’d mended a tear in his plaid with a bone needle and thread. He’d finally flung himself down onto his bed and closed his eyes, determined to fall asleep. But he’d opened them again a moment later, unable to stop the swirl of thoughts churning through his head like the storm outside.
His father. Irene MacAskill. But mostly, mostly, the woman in the room opposite.
He didn’t know what to make of the revelation about her meeting with Irene MacAskill. He’d thought her arrival in this time was some sort of accident but now it was clear there was more to it. But what? But most of all, he found his thoughts returning to what had happened between them earlier today.
He’d never trusted anyone, not even his sword-brothers, with the truth about his father. Yet, he had not questioned his decision to share it with Anna. It had felt right. And now that she knew, he didn’t feel the vulnerability that he’d expected to feel, not the shame that another person was privy to his family’s dirty secret. No, he felt lighter, freer, like he could breathe more freely. He hadn’t understood how heavy a burden that secret had been until it had been lifted. By Anna. By this woman from the future who set his soul alight.
He closed his eyes, summoning her face into his mind. Those smiling eyes, that wild, midnight hair, those lips that felt so perfect against his own.
