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“Dr. Giles Raincourt.”
A toothless grin replaced the frown. “Why did ye nay say so in the first place? He’s a goodmon. Saved my bairn’s life, he did. How are ye acquainted?”
“We’re both surgeons.”
“All the more reason ye’re welcome. There’s many among this lot o’ drunken fools need a good doctor.”
He talked on and on about nothing in particular until Ambrose finally said, “I trust ye’ve a chamber with a fireplace. My wife…”
“Of course, Dr. Pendray,” he replied, handing Ambrose a large key. “Forgive me. I dinna get much chance to talk to learned folks. Top o’ the stairs. I’ll send Ollie up to get the fire lit for ye. I dinna suppose ye need a hand with yon bag?”
Eala eyed the medical bag at their feet. The lack of luggage had clearly piqued the landlord’s curiosity.
“Nay,” Ambrose replied. “I can manage it, and we’d be pleased if ye could send up whatever ye have available in the kitchens. Something hot and substantial.”
The innkeeper scurried off after saluting Ambrose as if he were his commanding officer.
They mounted the narrow, wooden stairs. Every creak grated on Eala’s nerves and she was grateful for Ambrose’s steadying presence behind her.
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
Cringing at the squeal of the hinges, she was completely taken off guard when he put down the bag and scooped her up. “Welcome, Mrs. Pendray,” he quipped, scanning the dingy, windowless chamber. “Ye have to admit this refuge is an improvement on the last accommodations we shared.”
The place could have been a cellar for all the attention Eala paid, busy as she was repeatingMrs. Pendrayover and over in her head.
* * *
Ambrose thought his lightheadedness might be due to a lack of food and sleep. It was ludicrous but, in the midst of all the terrible events of the last days, holding Eala in his arms was all that mattered.
He paused for breath when it came to him she’d stopped giggling. He followed her gaze and the problem became clear.
There was only one narrow bed. It seemed beds in this part of Scotland weren’t made long enough for a man his size.
“Dinna fash,” he said, setting her down. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
He was irrationally disappointed when she nodded her agreement before slumping down in one of two well-worn upholstered armchairs by the cold hearth.
He retrieved his bag from the landing, closed the door and turned the key.
“I’m going to sleep for a week,” she said, sticking out both feet. “But, first, help me take off these wet boots before my toes freeze.”
Ambrose removed his cloak and went down on one knee before her. “Ye think I’m yer lady’s maid, do ye, lassie?”
“Aye,” she whispered with a naughty smile. “And be quick about it, youngmon.”
“As ye wish, mistress,” he replied with a wink, taking hold of one foot.
Her smile fled.
“I apologize,” he said, wishing he’d been more circumspect in his choice of words. “I didna mean to offend ye. I ken ye’re a decent woman.”
Her eyelids drooped as he loosened the sodden laces of one boot, then the other. She groaned with relief when he eased both off her feet.
“Ye make me wish I wasna so decent,” she whispered as he peeled off her wet hose.
Her confession confirmed the thoughts tumbling in his brain. “As I see it,” he began, pressing his thumbs into the pad of one cold foot, “there’s a reason I came to Perth. I originally thought ’twas to help injured men.”
Her eyes flew open. “Ye canna blame yerself for what happened to Evan. Ye didna shoot him, nor did ye betray him to the authorities.”
