Her maid patted her hand. “Just let me rest for some time. Ye and Errol should go sup. ’Tis been too long since ye’ve last eaten. Ye need all yer strength for yer adventures.” Her mouth lifted in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her skin, usually rosy-cheeked and bright, was a sickly gray.
“I dinnae believe we will continue. We cannae. I need to make sure ye are feeling better.”
“Ye must continue on, Moira,” Seema said, her voice surprisingly strong. “Ye dinnae have a lot of time to solve the mystery that ye’ve only just begun to uncover. I will be fine. I am for certs ’twas justsomething that I ate.”
Moira admired her friend’s determination, but she couldn’t leave her here alone at the inn to fend for herself. What kind of friend would that make her? Not a caring one, when the opposite was true.
Seema gave her a gentle shove. “Go now. Eat yer fill and stay strong.”
“I dinnae think I should leave ye.” Moira repeated, but Seema was insistent.
“I will still be here once yer stomach is filled.”
Errol entered the room and his eyes slid to Seema. “Are ye feeling any better, lass?”
“My belly has settled. No’ enough for me to eat, but ’tis feeling better.”
“I am glad to hear that.” His deep timbre sounded genuine, and Moira eyed him.
She was conflicted when it came to Errol. He was gruff and moody. Sometimes short and curt with his words. Then other times, he surprised her. He removed the bite from his voice, and it became warm and caring. Like sweet honey. She found she much preferred his attention when he looked at her with heat in his gaze. He hid it well. But once in a while she caught a glimpse and it made her belly do a tumble. A most peculiar feeling indeed.
A soft knock sounded, and Errol let the healer walk into the room. She was an elderly woman with a slight hunch to her back. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun and tucked under her white head covering. She walked with a slight limp and looked as if every bone in her body ached.
Moira rushed forward. “Thank ye for coming on such short notice.”
The woman gave her a quick nod and approached the bed where Seema rested. She poked and prodded at Seema’s stomach. Felt her forehead. Her fingertips nimbly moved along her jawline and downher neck. Seemingly satisfied, she patted Seema on the shoulder and straightened—as best she could anyhow.
“Yer friend will be fine in a few days. Though my recommendation is that she no’ travel in that time.”
Moira nodded and said her thanks. As the woman exited, Errol placed some coins in her palm. She gave a small smile and disappeared into the hall.
“I told ye it was naught to fash o’er,” Seema said. “I just need to rest. Which I will do once ye two leave to sup. Go on. I willnae stand for ye to go hungry in my presence.” When neither she nor Errol made a move. She sighed. “I promise ye I will be fine. Please go.”
“Come on, lass. Yer maid is correct. Ye need to sup. Let her rest awhile.”
They both were right, of course, but it didn’t dissipate the feeling of guilt wringing Moira’s gut. When she looked at Seema, her maid nodded her head, encouraging her to go.
Moira clasped her hands together. “Lead the way,” she said, trying to infuse some cheeriness into her voice.
Shortly after the two of them were seated at a table in the pub that was next door to the inn. It was crowded and filled mostly with men. Unless the serving wenches counted. Their low-cut gowns offering the men a glimpse of their bosoms.
Uneasiness settled in her belly. She didn’t ken if it was because she was nervous from all the men surrounding her or if she was feeling the beginning of the affliction that had affected the others.
Most of the patrons wore the colors of the MacLeod clan, but not all. However, she noted no one wore the colors of the Harts. Moira fidgeted in her seat. People weren’t outwardly staring at her, but she still felt a sense of anxiety. After all she was surrounded by clans people that her own family had been fighting against off and on for years.
“Ignore them,” Errol spoke, drawing her attention. “They willnae harm ye. ’Tis more curiosity that sparks their interest.”
She scanned the crowd. She wasn’t so sure she agreed with Errol’s assessment. Still, she wouldn’t let them see her unease. She willed herself to stop her nervous fidgeting and by the time one of the serving wenches came to their table, Moira had somewhat calmed down.
Venison stew was on the menu for this evening and the server returned a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of stew filled to the rim. The thick liquid threatening to topple over the edge. An end of crusty bread was dunked into each bowl. The scent swirled around them, and Moira took a deep breath of the divine smell as the bowls were set in front of them. Two tankards of ale followed a few moments later.
“So, what is next on your quest?” Errol asked, before he took a huge bite of the bread that had been soaked in the stew.
Moira dug out the map and slid it over to him. “I’m no’ for certs.” She bit her lip and pondered whether or not she should disclose the parchment she found. She hadn’t had a chance to read it yet so had no idea what it said. It could be a clue to where they need to go next.
Or it could be naught.
If it was something to assist their search, it would be daft of her to keep it a secret.
