Page 29 of Along Came a Rogue

“Do it,” he growled and rushed her toward the stairs.

Hedley reached into his pocket and slapped a coin onto the bar. “Food and a hot bath for the lady.” Then another one. “And a bottle o’ whiskey for me.” One last coin. “If ye please.”

The innkeeper snatched the money into his fist and angrily shook it at him. “Well, you should’ve said so before!” He jerked his thumb toward three barmaids standing at the side of the bar, gaping in wide-mouthed wonder. “Go on! Get a bath and food upstairs now!”

As the women scurried into action, Grey carried Emily quickly through the inn. His own body was soaked and chilled, and so cold that his fingers barely moved as he shifted her in his arms. But all that mattered now was getting Emily warm. He reached for the door to the room and flung it open, brought her inside, and placed her gently on the bed.

“Grey,” she whispered painfully, so softly he could barely hear her. Her eyes were still closed against a face that was shockingly white. Tiny droplets of cold rain clung to her frozen lashes. “I…I need…to tell…”

“Shh, just rest, brat.” He leaned over and touched his lips to her forehead. Cold as ice. He tore himself away from her to hurry to the small fireplace.

As he piled up the wood and kindling, he pushed down the sickening guilt that he was to blame for not forcing her back to the carriage when the rain began. For believing her when she adamantly claimed despite chattering teeth that she was fine enough to carry on. For so desperately wanting to put distance between them after that carriage ride that he’d trudged on until the rain turned to sleet and the winds into a hurricane. Until she’d collapsed.

His numb fingers shook hard as he fumbled with the tinderbox. Finally, he struck a spark and set ablaze the pile of kindling. Then he tossed in log after log until the fire blazed.

When he returned to her, she was shaking again. He blew out a sigh of deep relief. Thank God. Shaking meant she was reviving, but he had to get her warm. And as long as she stayed in those wet clothes, the material would hold the cold close to her skin, and she would never warm up.

He lifted her into his arms and gently tugged her to her feet, holding on to her to make certain her legs didn’t buckle beneath her. Then he unbuttoned the coat and peeled it down her arms and off, leaving her in the ruined satin of the dressing gown she’d been wearing when they fled Snowden Hall.

His still-shaking hands smoothed her wet hair away from her face. “Better?”

She nodded, shivering violently. “So cold…”

“I know.” Slipping an arm around her to steady her, he led her to the fireplace and the heat of the fire, then he covered her hands with his, rubbing them to bring feeling back into her numb fingers. “But we’re safe now, I promise.”

He raised her hands to his mouth and huffed a hot breath against them, feeling her shudder in response. She was stronger now, her skin warming slowly and the color returning to her cheeks. She was out of danger.

His chest lightened with relief. And this time, when he raised her hands to his lips, he tenderly kissed her fingertips in silent apology.

A knock sounded at the door.

“That must be Hedley,” he told her. “Stay here by the fire. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and raised her shaking hands to the heat of the flames. With a dubious look over his shoulder to check that she was still on her feet, he answered the door.

“Major.” Hedley nodded and handed over the bottle of whiskey, then glanced past him at Emily and lowered his voice. “How is she?”

Grimacing, he shook his head. “Not well. Where’s that bath?”

“Right behind me.”

Grey stepped aside to let the maids into the room, who set down the small tub and filled it with hot water coming from the kitchen in a bucket brigade. He stood back and watched the sudden flurry of activity. Good God. When Hedley carried out orders, he did it well. So did the small fortune he was certain they’d paid for such attentive service. The parade of barmaids finished in just a matter of minutes. Hot stew and warm bread waited on the mantel, extra blankets lay spread over the bed, and the tub sat full and steaming.

The last maid out the door threw Grey a flirtatious smile and an inviting swing of her hips. He knew she would gladly provide very attentive service tonight, too. For the right price.

But his only concern was Emily and his two men. “Send someone to fetch Dalton and the team back here for the night, and leave the carriage until the morning,” he instructed Hedley. “We’ll deal with it when we’re dry and rested. You both deserve a good night’s sleep.”

“Aye, Major.” He tugged at his hat brim in thanks that he wouldn’t have to go back out into the storm. His eyes drifted to Emily. “An’ the lass?”

“I’ll get her settled and make certain she’s safe.” He felt compelled to add, “Then find someplace downstairs to spend the night.”

“All th’ other beds are gone. We’ll be on benches, looks like.”

Grey nodded. “Still better than muddy ground in the middle of a battlefield, eh?”

“Aye,” he agreed, heartfelt. “That ’tis.”

“Save me a bench, will you? And see if the innkeeper has a wife or daughter with a dress and coat they’d be willing to sell.” Grey raked his gaze over the man’s muddy clothes. “And a fresh set of clothes for you, too.”