Page 19 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
He let go of her wrist and took a step back, silently seething. Isolde straightened and smoothed her skirts, a smug smirk on her face.
“We will pose as Sturm and Isse MacTavish,” she said.
“Who are they?”
“Two people I just made up,” she said. “They’re who we’re goin’ tae be when we go intae that inn.”
Despite his frustration, he had to admit that there was something about Isolde taking charge of the situation that intrigued him. More than that, he found it appealing. Those flames simmering low inside of him burned brighter. And he was having trouble keeping them under control.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Before he could give himself away, he took the horse’s reins and together, they walked off the forest path and into the village. His body taut and his free hand hovering near the hilt of the sword he’d stolen, Struan’s eyes darted left and right, searchingfor signs of Mackintosh’s soldiers or any other threats lurking about. He did not see any.
“I think we’re all right,” he said, pitching his voice low. “Yer faither’s men are nae here.”
“Yet,” she murmured.
He led them to the inn where he handed the reins of the horse to the stable boy who appeared. Struan handed a coin to the lad and instructed him to give the big mare a good brushing and some good food to eat. The boy agreed happily and led the horse away.
“Are ye ready, Mrs. MacTavish?” he said lightly, trying to break the wall of ice that had formed between them.
“Aye. Let’s get this over with,” she replied.
Her tone was hard, but he could tell the chill was thawing slightly. They did not speak as they made their way to the inn. A large hand painted sign hung above the door announcing it was the Crown and Boar Inn and Tavern. Smoke drifted lazily from a chimney in the back of the establishment, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of their fare. His stomach rumbled and he was suddenly glad for her suggestion to stop for the night. He could do with a good meal. It seemed as if it had been months since he had last eaten.
Struan held the door open and allowed her to go in ahead of him. To their right was the common room. At that hour, it was sparsely populated, with naught but half a dozen hard looking men bent low over their cups. A fire burned in the hearth and the low buzz of murmured conversations filled the air. An older man, short and portly, with a thick shock of bone white hair approached them.
“Good day, folks,” he said. “What can I dae fer ye today?”
“We need a room fer the night,” Struan said.
“Very good,” he replied. “And what would yer name be?”
There was something in his tone and the way he took them both in, as if trying to memorize their faces as well as their words that sent a warning bell ringing in Struan’s head. He was suddenly very glad that they had thought ahead enough to give themselves false names.
“Me name is Sturm MacTavish,” Struan replied. “And this is me wife Isse.”
“Very good,” the innkeeper said as he rubbed his hands together. “And what brings ye through our fair village this fine day?”
“Just daein’ a bit of travelin’,” Isolde said.
“Aye? And where da yer travels take ye?”
“Tis our business,” Struan said, his tone hard.
The man held his hands up to his chest, palms out. “Beggin’ forgiveness. I meant nay offense.”
Isolde laughed playfully and slapped Struan’s arm lightly. “We need tae be beggin’ yer forgiveness, maister innkeeper,” she said. “Me husband is just overly protective that way sometimes. He daesnae mean tae be rude.”
“Aye. A man cannae be too careful these days, what with all the rogues and brigands roamin’ the lands,” the innkeeper said lightly.
“As fer yer question, me husband is takin’ me tae see the coast. I’ve never seen the ocean before and… ‘tis one thing I’ve always wanted tae see,” Isolde said.
She lied so quickly and easily, it was hard for Struan not to be impressed. Not only was she fierce, she was also very quick and agile on her feet. Her mind was limber and allowed her to spin fictions at a moment’s notice. It was as impressive as it was disturbing. He did not approve of lying, but he could not fault her for using her mind and words the way she did. Perhaps, it had been a method of survival for her.
The innkeeper called one of his serving girls to lead them up to their room. As they ascended the staircase, Struan put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her upstairs affectionately, as if trying to sell the lie she had spun. She glanced over her shoulderat him, her eyes wide with surprise. He flashed her a grin and tipped her a wink. Her cheeks flushed and she turned away.
They made it up to their room and the serving girl opened the door for them. It was not overly large, but it would do. It was only going to be for one night. Once the serving girl had left, closing the door behind her, Isolde crossed her arms over her chest and shifted on her feet. She gnawed on her bottom lip as she stared at the single bed in the room. It was large, but he already knew it wasn’t big enough for the both of them.
