Page 7 of Claimed
What was it like to feel like that?
Drew gnawed at her lower lip and urged her mount into a brisk trot as the company crested a hill.
I’ll never know now.
She’d once had dreams. After Egan died, she’d looked around for a suitable husband, for a man she desired. She thought she’d found it in Gavin MacNichol. The MacNichol clan-chief was only a few years her elder. Blond and blue-eyed, with a boyish smile, and a tall, muscular build that drew a woman’s eye, Gavin unfortunately hadn’t been interested in her at all. A widower, Gavin had eventually remarried, to his dead wife’s sister, but he’d never once encouraged Drew’s affections.
Drew’s cheeks warmed then as she remembered how she’d thrown herself at him on more than one occasion. The last time, she’d let herself into his bed-chamber during a visit to Dunan—and he’d rebuffed her.
I deserved that.
Aye, she had—but that hadn’t taken the sting out of it. She was much warier around men these days. And soon, once she reached Inishail Priory, she wouldn’t have to deal with them at all.
Carr slowed his horse so that he rode shoulder to shoulder with Lady Drew’s palfrey. The weather had worsened as the day progressed, the veil of rain closing in around them.
“How are ye faring, milady?” he asked. “Do ye need to rest?”
Drew shook her head, her pert features set in a dogged look he knew well. “We rested at noon,” she pointed out. “I’d prefer to press on for Kyleakin … how much farther is it?”
“Not much … the rain has slowed us, but we should reach the port before dusk.”
She inclined her head, fixing him with that mesmerizing iron-grey gaze of hers. “Will we be able to find passage tomorrow?”
He nodded, taking in the loveliness of her face. She had an impish quality to her beauty, which gave her a youthful air. Her hair, coiled in its tight braids, clung to her scalp, while the mist coated her creamy skin. “There’s a boat at dawn bound for Kyle of Lochalsh … if the weather doesn’t take a turn for the worse, we shall be taking that.”
Sometimes it was difficult for Carr to concentrate when talking to Drew. He’d made a point of riding ahead, of keeping his gaze upon the highway before them and scanning the roadside for any sign of danger. However, when they’d stopped at noon, his attention kept returning to her.
Now he knew that their time together was coming to an end, his gaze wanted to feast upon this woman, to memorize every line upon her face.
But even as he gazed at her, his heart felt as if it were slowly shrinking. Lady Drew was leaving, shutting herself forever in a priory—a place where he’d never set eyes on her again. A familiar heaviness pressed down upon him at the thought. Never again would he hear the velvet timbre of her voice, the music of her laughter. Never again would he inhale the scent of lily as she walked by, or meet that knowing iron-grey gaze. Ever since she’d announced her news, a dark shadow had settled over his world.
Holding his gaze, Drew’s mouth pursed. “What is it, Broderick?” She reached up and touched her cheek. “Do I have mud on my face?”
Satan’s cods, he was staring.
This was his chance. He could tell her how he felt, could lay himself bare before her and beg her not to take the veil. Yet the words wouldn’t come—they never had.
Carr shook his head and ripped his gaze from hers. “No, milady,” he mumbled.
An instant later, he urged his horse forward, leaving Drew to ride by herself once more.
4
Taking Supper Together
DREW WAS SHIVERING when they reached their destination at last—The King’s Armsin Kyleakin. The port village, a cluster of white-washed cottages huddled against a brown hillside studded with dark pines, sat facing a grey expanse of water. The mainland lay to the north, just in front of Kyleakin, but this afternoon a bank of dense cloud obscured it.
In the stables behind the inn, the company dismounted their tired horses.
“I’ll see to yer palfrey, milady,” Broderick said brusquely, addressing her for the first time since their awkward exchange earlier that afternoon. “Ye had best get indoors before ye catch cold.”
Teeth chattering, Drew obliged. Her fur mantle dragged down at her as she crossed the straw-strewn yard and entered the inn through a narrow doorway. Warmth embraced her when she stepped inside, as did an array of smells: the fug of peat-smoke, the greasy odor of roasting mutton, the scent of sawdust, and the hoppy tang of freshly brewed ale.
Drew sighed and paused for a moment, taking in the crowded common room before her.
She hadn’t been inside an inn or tavern for years now, not since before she’d wed. She’d forgotten how cozy they were, especially when the weather outdoors was so gloomy.
A huge hearth roared at one end of the room, and low beams crisscrossed the space. A number of oaken tables dotted the floor, although Drew’s gaze went to the comfortable-looking booths that lined the walls.
