It was him.
He was the one to keep the family secret safe.
Chapter Seventeen
Errol woke aforethe sun had risen, not able to sleep any longer. He stretched his arms above his head and cracked his back. The two blankets below him were more comfortable than sleeping on the bare floor, but they offered little comfort still. His bones were weary.
He didn’t look forward to the ride he and Moira would set on later. His body would scream in protest. But if all went well, they would find what they were looking for and then return home where he would spend the day in a nice hot bath and then mayhap losing himself in a wench who would first massage the bunches out of his tired muscles.
He scoffed. He didn’t want another woman touching him.
Now Moira? He would love to lose himself in her. To have her rub away his aches and pains. Her small hands roving over his body. The thought was divine.
But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wished for it to be so, it couldn’t happen. That’s why he’d done what he had the night afore. If he made her hate him, it would be much easier to let her go. She wouldn’t want to stay near him.
And that’s what he needed. He needed her to not want to be near him.
To not like him.
To see him as the enemy.
To hate him.
But it hurt kenning that he had upset her.
He sat up and then stood. He was moving toward the table to grab a cup of ale when he stole a glance toward the bed. Moira was beautiful when she slept, and against his better judgement, he wanted to see her slumber again. It was usually when she looked most peaceful.
But the bed was empty where Moira was supposed to be. She wasn’t there.
“What the hell?” He said to the empty room, looking around. His gaze fell to his travel bag, sitting alone. He had set Moira’s bag beside his when they’d retired for the night.
“Shite!”
What had she done?
“I ken exactly what she has done,” he grumbled into the empty room as he pulled his trews on. He had pushed her away last eve. That was his plan. In his mind, doing so would stop her from pursuing aught betwixt them. In no way did he think she would leave to continue on her own. He should have kenned better. The lass was stubborn as a mule.
He shook his head as he stuffed his feet into his boots. Grabbing his bag, he rushed out the door and down the stairs.
The innkeeper was nowhere to be found. Errol assumed he wouldn’t be able to help him anyway, so he left the inn and made his way to the stables, kenning when he got there that Moira, and her mare would be absent.
The stable boy jumped up from the hay bale he had been sleeping on at Errol’s sharp voice.
“Did Lady Hart fetch her horse?”
“Aye, my laird,” he answered quickly.
“How long ago?”
The lad shrugged. “’Tis been under two hours, I would say. No’more than that.”
“Which way did she leave?”
He shook his head, his long, brown hair swaying back and forth. “I didnae see.” He dropped his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “I am sorry, my laird. I should have stopped her.”
Errol pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t meant to upset the lad. It seemed like that was all he had been doing lately—upsetting people.
“There is naught for ye to apologize for. Here.” Errol reached into his coin purse and withdrew a coin and gave it to the wide-eyed boy. “Thank ye for taking care of our horses.”
