Colyne nodded toward Alesia. “My wife is with child,” he said with exasperation to add another layer of believability. “I have naught but another pence.”
Iohne scowled at Alesia. “She is nay my worry.” He started to close the door.
Colyne wedged his boot against the weathered panel. “Wait!”
The man’s scowl deepened. “Will ye be wanting the room or nae?”
Colyne muttered a curse, which earned a satisfied gleam from the proprietor. “I shall give you my last pence, but I will be asking for a loaf of bread, cheese, wine, and a bath in return.”
The innkeeper grunted and then opened the door wider. “I will be seeing the coin first.”
He searched his garb, as if he indeed had little to spare. After several seconds, Colyne handed over the coin.
“Pàdraig,” the gruff man called over his shoulder.
Moments later, a young boy stumbled into view, his tousled hair and swollen eyes a testament to the fact he’d been asleep.
Iohne gestured toward Colyne. “Take ’em to a back room, then, bring ’em drink and food and a bath. Be quick about it.” With a warning glare at the lad, he turned and left.
Once the innkeeper disappeared from sight, the boy studied Colyne with distrust, his brown eyes too old for his years.
Regret filled Colyne as he took in the lad he’d nae seen before. With the English armies raiding, burning, and destroying many of the towns and villages under King Edward’s decree, this boy, like many, fended for himself. At least he had a roof over his head. For now. Until the rebels ended King Edward’s bid to claim Scotland, little chance existed that the lad’s future would change.
Or hold hope.
Pàdraig retrieved a candle from a corner table and waved them forward. “Follow me.”
Colyne held out his hand to Alesia.
She stepped into the light and entwined her fingers through his.
As they followed the lad down the hallway, he peeked back several times, as if ensuring they kept their distance. From his wary expression, sadly, Colyne could imagine the depraved reasons why.
They reached the farthest door, and Pàdraig opened it and ducked back, giving them wide berth.
“My thanks,” Colyne said.
“I will return with your food and water for a bath.” The wary youngster edged past them and hurried off.
Colyne led Alesia inside. After he’d closed the door, she faced him.
“Why were you speaking like an Englishman?”
Candlelight illuminated her face as she slid the hood back, her suspicions easy to read, doubts that rankled him. “I am nae a traitor to Scotland,” he all but growled. But why shouldna she wonder? He hadna explained that he’d intended to use a false cover or speak with an English tongue.
With a grimace, he crossed the small room to where another candle sat. After lighting the wick, he set the taper he’d carried by its side. “If anyone comes around asking about a Highland Scot, the innkeeper would be reporting none, especially nae an Englishman and his wife.”
A rosy hue crept up her cheeks. “His pregnant wife.”
The image of her round with their child moved him. He shoved aside the thought. “I—”
The sharp rap on the door interrupted his reply, but he didna miss her wistful expression. A sword’s wrath. Colyne raised her hood to shield her face and then held his finger to his lips.
She nodded.
He answered the door.
Pàdraig lifted a basket. “Your bread and wine.”
