He got to his feet and held out a hand to assist the still shaking Annora to stand.
She attempted to rise, but her legs had turned to liquid and simply crumpled beneath her, despite her best efforts.
With that, he sheathed his sword in its scabbard on his belt, hoisted her into his arms and, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a baby bird, strode across the rocky terrain toward a rutted track.
A sensation of disquiet rippled through her. The man who carried her was forceful and commanding and she was acutely aware of his strength and her own powerlessness. Had she escaped twice from enslavement only to become this man’s prisoner?
“I have lodgings further along, ye’ll be safe there. Tomorrow will be time enough tae decide on yer next move.” His tone was reassuring, yet she was not ready to trust another soul, despite the fight he’d made on her behalf. But her head was swimming and when she tried to speak, her throat felt as if it was stuck with a thousand sharp thorns.
Once they reached the rough track that served as a road leading away from the shore she managed to croak into his ear. “Ye may put me down, I believe the strength has returned tae me limbs and I can make me own way.”
She heard his soft chuckle, and then he lowered her, supporting her efforts to stand. It took a moment or two, but with determination she was able to move her legs and head along the path, keeping a hand on his arm to steady herself.
It was near dark as they progressed slowly along the path and there was no shouting in pursuit, only the soft cry of a nightbird and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. Annora began to believe they had successfully evaded her captors.
Finally, the inn came into view, a hanging lantern illuminating the sturdy entrance gate.
“Oh.” She gasped in dismay, stopping abruptly. Her legs were partly bare. All she was wearing was the tattered remnant of her kirtle overskirt and petticoat. Her heart skipping a beat, she felt around her waist and, to her everlasting relief she felt her little coin purse still tied there.
“I cannae be seen in such a state,” she wailed despairingly, as the full extent of her bare legs dawned.
Her rescuer remained unruffled. “Lass, ‘tis nay time fer foolish vanity, ye’ve come through an ordeal.” His lips quirked infuriatingly, although, in the dim light, it was difficult to make out his expression.
“Dinnae ye dare laugh at me.”
“Me apologies fer saving ye from drowning, lass. Would ye have preferred tae keep yer skirts and gone tae a watery grave fully clad instead?”
She issued a loud huff of indignation. “Of course nae.” She gritted her teeth and tossed her head.
“Well, then, dinnae say another word. I’ll see tae the landlord when we arrive.”
At the gate, he rang the bell, and then bent to scoop her into his arms, doing his best to keep the worst of her state of undress concealed by his loose shirt.
Somewhat mollified she wove an arm around his neck. The gate was opened by a burly, man with a shiny, bald, pate, a grizzled beard and a wide grin on his face.
He greeted them cheerfully and, paying little attention to the state she was in, he led them through a heavy oaken door.
He bowed from the waist. “Yer room is ready, milord, and yer men are already seated in the tavern enjoying our ale.” He gestured toward a room off to the side from where a rowdy sound of carousing could be heard.
“Thank ye. I’d be grateful if ye would show…,” he hesitated, glancing at Annora. “Show… er… me… wife tae the room.” The landlord raised an eyebrow as her rescuer lowered Annora toher feet at the foot of the staircase. She was grateful for the dim, concealing light.
Opening her mouth to protest at being designated ‘wife,’ she held her tongue when he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Of course, it made sense. If the men pursuing her should enquire – although she thought that unlikely – it was safest if she was believed to be his wife.
“Beg yer pardon, I didnae realize ye were travelling with yer… lady wife.” The landlord raised a brow.
“Ah, yes. We met with misadventures in our travels here.” He glanced in the direction of the noisy room to their left. “Did me crew nae mention the trouble we encountered with a privateer?”
Frowning, the landlord shook his head. “Ye’ve had a lucky escape by the looks of ye.” He gave a sympathetic tut-tut. “Those Barbary pirates are growing bolder by the day. Many of our fisherfolk’s daughters have been captured, and the rest of them have left the sea altogether fer fear of the corsairs. Those cursed blackguards have been raiding fer slaves up and down the coast and even across tae the Lordship of Ireland.”
“Aye. We’ve been lucky, indeed.” The warrior nodded and turned to Annora. “I’ll join ye in a few minutes, wife. I have business tae attend tae.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips, looking for all the world like the very image of a concerned husband caring for his wife. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared through the door leading to the tavern.
Annora’s head was buzzing as she meekly followed the landlord up the stairs, too tired to ask any questions.
Warmed by a fire blazing merrily in the hearth, the room boasted one large bed which, to Annora’s tired eyes, looked supremely comfortable. It was spread with thickly quilted patchwork coverlets and plump pillows.
Wondering idly where the warrior intended to sleep, she could scarcely think beyond divesting herself of what was left of her salty, still-damp, clothing. It would be bliss to lay her head on one of those soft pillows and allow sleep to claim her.
She was still contemplating her next move when there was a knock at the door.
