“Aye, lad.” Ian tossed a coin, which the lad caught and tucked into the small pouch at his hip. “A bed for George, and take good care of him. He’s gotten us from the hands of vengeful Sassenachs, and in a storm, no less. There’s no such thing as spoiling him this night. Whatever he desires.”
The lad nodded, his shoulders straightening at the idea of being given such responsibility. “He’ll be my number one charge, my laird, and I shall see to it that he is greatly rewarded for his services.”
“I appreciate it. And so does he.” Ian opened the loop of fabric over his chest to reveal Goosie. “Mind if this wee cat joins ye? She is a bit skittish, but good-tempered all the same.”
“Oh, no,” Rhiannon’s tone was hurried and strained. She slid off the horse and came quickly to take Goosie from Ian’s grasp, her cold fingers brushing his. “I’m afraid I can’t part with her.” She hugged the cat close.
Hearing her English accent, the lad’s eyes widened, then he grinned at Ian. “I see why they were chasing ye. Ye’re bonny, my lady.”
Rhiannon smiled and said, “Thank you,” while Ian resisted grabbing the lad by his ear and telling him to take back the compliment.
The woman didn’t need to get a big head being called bonny, even if she was the most beautiful lass Ian had ever seen. And he refused to acknowledge that that wasn’t the real reason he was irritated by the entire scene. Because he didn’t want to think that she was bonny, and he damned well didn’t want anyone else to think it either. And on top of that, he knew that a big head was the very last thing Rhiannon could ever possess.
Bloody hell.
“No’ a word to anyone of our presence,” Ian said, trying to change the subject in hopes he could stop staring at the way her plush mouth moved as she cooed to Goosie.
The lad nodded, serious again. “Ye have my word, laird, or ye can have my tongue.”
Ian frowned. “I’ll no’ be going so harsh as that if ye squeal, but I may tan your hide.”
The lad nodded, and Rhiannon gasped, shocked that he would have suggested such a thing. Ian rolled his eyes and winked at the lad who knew very well Ian would never lay a hand on him.
Taking Rhiannon by the elbow, he led her into the back alley of the inn, cautious of anyone lurking. When he was certain they were not being watched or followed, he opened a door that had been cracked to let in cool air. Once through the door, they ended up in a warm kitchen that was surprisingly bustling, considering the weather.
The kitchen staff, recognizing him, only looked up for a second before they bent back down to chopping, stirring and serving. Their faces were slick with sweat as they toiled. And the results of that labor were savory smells that made his belly grumble. Clearly, a thick, hearty stew was in the burbling pots, and the scent of baking bread made him long to put his feet up at the nearest table and dive right into a hearty meal.
Alas, that wasn’t going to happen until he had the lass safely tucked upstairs in a room, away from prying eyes.
As he met Rhiannon’s gaze, he said quietly, “Wait here.”
She nodded, tucking her cat even closer when Goosie tried to wriggle free. The last thing they needed was for the cat to make a disaster of the inn’s kitchen. Ian ducked out of the roasting room, sweat already trickling down his spine from the humidity of the small cooking area. Immediately outside the kitchen, Ian slid behind the bar of the inn where his friend Gavin poured ale and slung jests to all the patrons at the bar. The sounds were jovial, hands slapping the soggy wooden bar top, shoulders bumping, and laughter crackling. Gavin’s wife—along with a few other wenches, that he thought may also be a part of the family given their similar features—were rushing about the dining room, serving supper and mugs of ale.
“Ian!” Gavin caught sight of him, and a smile split his face, showing one missing tooth from a fight he’d broken up last year. He slammed down an empty pitcher and opened his arms. “My friend has returned.”
“Gavin!” Ian grabbed the man in a mighty hug, and they tussled for a few seconds, bent over, trying to best one another, before Ian had him in a headlock. “An ale to let ye go.”
Gavin mumbled through the hold, “Only if ye take me daughter to wife. Then ye can have all the ale ye want, son.”
In accordance with their usual banter, Ian leapt back, hands up, shaking his head. “All right, all right. I’ll pay. Your daughter, she is lovely, but I am spoken for.”
Gavin chuckled and raised a skeptical brow. “Spoken for by the sword, more like. Didna think we’d see ye back here so soon.”
“My retrieval didn’t take nearly as long as I’d thought. And what’s wrong with vowing to always be true to the sword?”
Gavin grinned, appreciating Ian’s devotion. “Nothing. All the better for ye.”
“Aye.” Ian glanced around the tavern, noting a few familiar faces in the regulars and a few he didn’t recognize. “I need a room. For my charge. And a meal sent up to her.”
“A ‘her?’” Gavin wiggled his brows. “Ye bastard. That talk about a sword, and ye had a wench all along.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “’Tis no’ like that. I need to keep her out of sight. We may or may no’ have a few angry Sassenachs following us.”
Gavin shook his head. “Bloody hell, man.”
“I’ll pay double. But I’ll also respect your wishes if ye ask us to leave. I know ’tis a lot to ask of ye.”
“I could never ask ye to pay double. Ye know we’d hide ye without the coin. Besides, I love a wee skirmish myself.” He grinned wider, proud of his missing tooth.
