The innkeeper nodded emphatically. “Right away, my laird. Right away.” He snatched a black iron key from a hook behind him and came out from behind the counter, heading for the stairs. Waving his hand, he said, “Follow me. Right this way.” He led them to the second floor and down a hall. At the very last room, he pushed the key into the lock and shoved open the door. “This is our most private room, my laird. The largest as well. No one will bother ye here. I shall have a bath brought to ye straightaway, along with provisions. A hot meal as well, unless ye would like to sup in the dining room?”
Errol shook his head. “Nay, we would prefer to sup in our room, but we thank ye for yer generosity.”
The man smiled and gave a kenning wink. Moira wasn’t sure what that meant, but the man kept bobbing his head up and down as he said, “Right, right. The maids will be up shortly with all ye require. If ye should need aught else, please let me ken.”
He left swiftly, closing the door behind him. Moira clasped her hands together, looking around the room and moved toward the roaring fire, she suddenly felt the chill in the air. Her side was sore and tight feeling, and she didn’t want to think about how close Orman MacPhail had come to ending her life. The warrior that stitched her wound closed said she was very lucky. No vital organs had been hit and the arrow went straight through. She was thankful for that. It had bled profusely, but he had said that was just the nature of that type of wound, and wasn’t the cause of her slipping away. That was more than likely due to the shock from the injury itself.
Errol came up behind her, rubbing his large hands up and down her forearms. “The bath will warm ye up. ’Tis been an eventful day. I was so frightened I was going to lose ye.”
She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. Standing still, reveling in the heat of his body. The softness in his touch. Listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was allshe needed and exactly the right thing she needed at this moment in time.
They said naught. Just stood there holding each other as if there were no other place that either of them could imagine they wanted to be.
A knock sounded and a maid called out from the other side of the door letting them ken the water for their bath had arrived.
Finally, they let go of each other and Errol opened the door to let the girls in. They curtsied to Errol and gave her warm smiles as they set to work emptying the buckets of steaming water into the large basin that was set in the corner, returning several times until it was full. Another maid brought a bundle of towels and heather soap.
After the maids had left, Errol turned to her. “As much as I would like this to be a luxurious, relaxing bath for the both of us, I think we need to wash the evidence of our last encounter off first.”
He was referring to the dried blood encrusting their skin. And her wound that needed a good cleansing. The warrior, whose name she could not recall, cleansed it with ale to kill aught that could make it fester, but still, she was a dirty mess.
She agreed with him. The thought of sitting in water tinged red with blood and bits of things she didn’t even want to think about was not appealing at all. At the wash basin, Moira wet a small square of cloth and gently washed Errol’s face, cleaning off the blood splatter from his cheeks. His brow. His forehead. He had looked a sight when they appeared at the inn.
“Ye look like frightful,” she said quietly, dabbing around his eyes. Eyes that watched her intently. “I can only imagine what the innkeeper was thinking when ye walked in.”
“I am for certs that ’tis no’ the first time he has seen a warrior come in and request accommodations.”
“But I bet ye, none have been as fearsome as ye.”
He chuckled, grasping her hand, his lips feathering over herfingers. “Ye are a boost to my ego, Lass.”
That brought a smile to her lips.
She rinsed the cloth and brought it to Errol’s bloodied knuckles, taking care as she cleaned the cuts. His fingers were already showing signs of bruising.
“Ye will be sore in the morn.”
“Aye,” he said when she finished. “The bastard and his family had been the cause of so much death and destruction that was assigned to the wrong people. Gavin and his men.” He winced in pain. “They killed my brother. No’ the Hart’s. I am sorry, Moira. So verra sorry.”
“Ye neednae apologize. Just as much as ye were blaming us, we were blaming ye. Our two families will need to go through a time of healing. We will need a full cleansing of the past. Mayhap a mighty gathering betwixt us all.” She smiled. “I am happy that ’tis us that can start that healing.”
She washed her hands, and gently rubbed her own swollen knuckles, shaking her head. “I dinnae ken how men use their punches so often. ’Tis painful.”
Errol laughed, and brought his lips to her hand once again, kissing each knuckle gently. “Ye were verra brave. I was so proud.”
Hands around her waist, he pulled her to where he sat, taking care not to touch her wounded area. She looked down at him. At his brown eyes that were filled with light and warmth, and something more that she couldn’t quite identify.
“The water is getting cold. We dinnae want that to go to waste,” he said quietly, wetting his lips.
That familiar aching began in her belly once again. A longing for something more.
“We wouldnae want that, would we?” She asked quietly.
He shook his head, his gaze catching hers as his fingers went to the ties of her dress.
Anticipation swirled around her like a dense fog rolling over themoors. Sucking her in. She let Errol undress her, his breath hitching when she stood naked in front of him. His brows creased when he looked at her recent stitches. When his eyes met hers again, she shook her head.
“Dinnae fret. Whilst the area is sore,” she gently touched her fingertips to the area, “I have been hurt more falling out of a tree.” She was being truthful. The area was tender to the touch, and she would have to take care not to open the stitches, but the pain was dull now that the shock of everything had worn off.
