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Protests went up from the clan members as they entered the Iron Eagle behind them, having heard Alastair’s announcement.
Fia wasn’tsure what to think about what she’d just heard. Sharing a room and, perhaps, a pallet for the night with Alastair had her mind soaring. Would he try to kiss her again? Or would he want to take her like a lover in the night? Either way, the thought excited and frightened her at the same time. The man was handsome. She felt attracted to him, but he was her captor. And according to him, they were enemies.
“Alastair, welcome back,” called out an older woman, rushing over to greet them when she noticed Alastair walk into the room. Her long, graying hair was in a braid, over one shoulder. Dressed in a plain gown covered by a leather apron, she looked to perhaps be the proprietor’s wife. She was tall for a woman. By the way she walked with her back straight and her gliding steps, it seemed to Fia she was someone with confidence and was to be respected.
“Lorraine.” Alastair nodded, his eyes scanning the room as he spoke. He reminded Fia of a wild animal constantly scoping out the area with his perusal, always expecting trouble. “Have ye seen Fergus in here at all?”
“Aye, he just arrived,” she told him. “He’s out back tending to his horse and talking with my husband.”
“Hello, I am Fia.” If Alastair was going to be rude and not introduce her, Fia decided she would do it herself.
“Hello.” The woman’s eyes settled on Fia’s heart pin attached to her bodice. Fia’s eyes darted back to Lorraine. The woman brushed aside her braid, exposing the same pin attached to her gown.
Fia’s jaw dropped. She started to comment on it when the woman replaced her braid over the pin and headed in the opposite direction.
“Niven!” Alastair called out. “Watch over the lass until I return. And get us some food.” He set the travel bag down on a vacated table that wasn’t even cleaned yet and started toward the back door.
“Aye, my laird.” Niven hurried over, his eyes fastened to Fia. This was going to make any chance of escape impossible.
“And Niven,” Alastair called over his shoulder. “Dinna take yer eyes off of her even for a minute.”
“Aye, my laird.”
Fia settled herself on the bench as Niven did the same on the opposite side of the table. He was an odd-looking boy, short but with a long neck. His blond hair was fair yet his brown eyes so dark that they seemed to contradict each other. He had a large, curved nose that reminded her of the beak of a raptor. When he smiled, she saw what looked like twice as many teeth than she expected him to have. He leaned forward on his elbows with his eyes fixated on her. It made her feel uncomfortable since it was more than evident that the boy liked her.
Fia surveyed the tavern area of the building, noticing the stairway that led to the upstairs rooms. The place wasn’t nearly as dirty or stale-smelling as some of the places she’d visited through the years, traveling with her father and then the earl. Nay, the rushes on the floor looked as if they’d been changed recently, and they smelled faintly from rosemary and mint. The tables and benches, though old and rugged, were sturdy and in good shape. She noticed the woman named Lorraine watching her from the other side of the room. Needing to talk to her to find out why she had a heart pin, Fia had to find a way to get rid of Niven first. Perhaps this woman was one of the members of the late queen’s secret group. If so, this would be a stroke of good luck.
“Niven, I see a servin’ boy with tankards of ale over at the drink board on the other side of the room. Can ye get me some ale? I am verra thirsty.”
“I am sure he will be here soon.” Niven continued to stare at her. “Laird Alastair told me to keep my eyes on ye at all times.”
Och, this wasn’t going to be easy. The lad was taking his job to the extreme, not even looking away for a moment. “I am no’ goin’ anywhere,” she said, flashing him a smile. “I just really need somethin’ to drink.”
When it didn’t seem as if he were going to leave, she faked a cough and then another pretending as if she were choking. He jumped up. But instead of heading over to the drink board, he patted her on the back with short, sharp slaps. She groaned inwardly, making eye contact with Lorraine again. Alastair would return at any minute, and she was desperate. Not wanting to have to revert to this tactic, she decided she had no other choice. She batted her eyelids and flirted with the boy like her cousin would do.
“Can ye please get me some ale? I would be ever so grateful.” She used a high, sing-song voice the way Willow did whenever she wanted something from a man.
“Oh.” He sat up straighter, seeming surprised by her action. “Well, I suppose I can keep an eye on ye from across the room.”
It worked! Niven left the table. It made her feel sick to her stomach to use this tactic, but it didn’t matter right now since it bought her a little time. Now, with Niven out of the way, she would have a chance to talk to Lorraine. She motioned the woman over with a nod of her head.
Lorraine came to the table to clean it. There were still empty mugs and trenchers of half-eaten bread from the last occupants left there.
“Who are ye?” asked Fia. “I saw yer brooch and it is the same as mine.”
“Shhh. Keep your voice low.” Lorraine’s eyes scanned the area as she picked up the dirty dishes and loaded them into a large wooden bucket. “I have worked for the late queen for many years.”
“Ye’re English,” said Fia.
“I am, but I married a Scot. Scotland is my home now. I am surprised to see you. Since the queen died, I didn’t think that Imanie was training anyone new.”
“I am Fia, daughter of one of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown.”
“You are?” The woman’s eyebrows lifted. She stood up straight. “Ah, with that red hair I assume you are Reed’s daughter.”
“Yes, I am. I, as well as two of my cousins, have been trained by Imanie. It was the late queen’s wish, but we didna find out until we heard it from King Edward on his deathbed. He is the one that gave us the brooches.” Her hand covered her heart pin as she spoke.
“How is Imanie?” asked the woman, running a rag over the old, wooden table.
