Page 16 of Claimed
Last night’s excesses were catching up with her.
The rhythmic splash of the oars was the only sound this morning, for the rest of the escort were silent, huddled into their fur cloaks and bleary-eyed after such an early start. They’d left their horses, including Lady Drew’s palfrey, stabled atThe King’s Arms, and would collect them on their way home.
Their first task upon disembarking at Lochalsh would be to find new mounts in order to continue their journey.
Although he was keeping a wary eye on Lady Drew, Carr didn’t make any further comment. Nothing he said was going to ease her roiling belly.
However, the moment the barge docked against the rickety wooden pier, Drew scrambled off the boat and fled a few yards up the dock, before falling to her knees and throwing up over the side.
The sight of her retching, huddled form, made concern well up within Carr.
Thanking the ferryman, and handing him a coin for his trouble, Carr disembarked onto the dock and made his way up to Drew.
“Milady,” he began hesitantly. “Are ye well?”
“No,” she gasped. “Remind me, Broderick, never to touch wine. Ever. Again.”
His mouth curved. “Worry not, milady. Where ye are going, ye will be forced to exercise more temperance.”
Drew muttered an unladylike curse under her breath and pushed herself to her feet. She then turned to Carr, fixing him in a gimlet stare he knew well; it was one she usually gave him when he thwarted her.
“Ye should have stopped me from drinking so much,” she challenged.
He snorted at that. “I’m yer guard, Lady Drew,” he said, his mouth twitching from the effort it was taking not to laugh. “Not yer nurse.”
Seeing Drew’s gaze narrow, he moved past her and motioned to the other men, who had gathered at the end of the dock. They were yawning and stretching, and looked as unmotivated as Drew for the day’s journey.
“Come on, ye lazy lot,” he called out. “Time to go.”
8
I Haven’t Lived
DREW HADN’T REALIZED that a headache could pulse in time with her heartbeat, in time with each jolting stride her horse took—yet this one did.
She hadn’t lied earlier. She never intended to touch wine again.
Unlike her elder brother, she’d been moderate with strong drink her whole life. She didn’t like to have her senses impaired in any way, or to lower her guard. When Duncan was alive, it would have been dangerous to do so—for she always needed to be wary of him.
But last night she’d felt a bit wild. She’d been away from Dunan for the first time in years, and although she’d been scared when that brute had grabbed her, the brawl that had followed had been oddly exciting.
However, in the cold light of a grey winter’s morning, with her mouth sour, her belly churning, and her temples pounding, the novelty had faded.
She was back in control, and reality had returned to her world.
She was a widow well past her prime, journeying to a new life as a nun. She shouldn’t be downing jugs of wine with her guards.
The company rode east now, following the northern edge of the loch.
Slowly, as the morning drew out, the nausea that bit at the back of Drew’s throat, and the pain in her head, eased. Thirsty, she drained the contents of her water bladder, which the inn-keeper had graciously filled with cooled boiled water for her that morning.
She’d been unable to face her bannocks—just the sight and smell of them had nearly made her heave—but as the pale winter sun broke through the heavy canopy of cloud overhead and warmed her face, she felt the stirring of hunger in her belly.
At noon they stopped off upon the shores of the loch at the village of Dornie, where Carr bought bread, cheese, and dried blood sausage. It was market day in Dornie, and the large cobbled square in the heart of the village bustled with life. The bleating, honking, and clucking of livestock rose high into the damp air, vying with the call of vendors.
Seated upon a crate on the edge of the square, Drew took in the busy crowd. Women, with baskets under their arms and plaid cloaks about their shoulders, chatted together as they shopped.
A hollow feeling lodged itself under Drew’s ribs as she watched them. She suddenly wished she was one of those women, buying a mutton pie, cheese, and eggs to bring home for her family. The ritual that these farmers’ wives took for granted was something Drew longed to experience. A lady didn’t take a basket to market—she had servants to do such things for her.
