Page 35 of The Iron Earl

Lachlan looked to him. “You going soft upon me, old man?”

“Possibly.” Domnall shrugged with a smirk that lifted the grey grizzle on his cheeks. “But I can still scrape ye onto yer back, lad, and don’t ye forget it.”

Lachlan chuckled. Domnall hadn’t flipped him onto his back since he was fourteen and they both knew it. “So you’re thinking of Bellingham?” Lachlan’s look scanned along the edge of the ominous clouds.

“It would favor us all.” Domnall’s thumb jabbed over his shoulder. “Plus it’s the only coaching inn along the way that has space for the lot of us. Not to mention we’re all tired of Rupe’s stew.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say you’d rather grace a bed than a rock under your head.” Lachlan nodded. “We veer to Bellingham, then.”

{ Chapter 9 }

Evalyn stood on the bottom step of the staircase, her fingers tapping the worn wood banister as she flattened herself into the shadows. She leaned forward slightly and peeked around the wall into the wide dining room of the coaching inn.

Dozens of round tables filled the room—mostly men surrounding each of them. The boisterous ale-fueled din filled her ears, making her question coming down the stairs. She was starving, but she hadn’t any inclination as to how to order food at a coaching inn. Much less how she would pay for it.

When they had arrived, Lachlan set the landlady to showing her directly to her chamber above. A finely appointed room greeted her—truthfully, more luxurious than her stepfather would ever allow in his home—with sheets that didn’t scratch her skin and splendid dark blue velvet curtains that weren’t faded with years of use. She’d sat in the room for an hour before the insistent rumble of her stomach brought her to her aching feet.

Her eyes swept the dining room once more until she found him. Lachlan. She could only see his profile as he sat at the largest of the round tables with half of his men jabbering on around him. Whereas his men were laughing, gorging on fresh grouse, Lachlan leaned back in his chair, observing but not partaking in the eating and merriment surrounding him.

The men were all relaxed—as relaxed and jolly as she’d ever seen them.

But not Lachlan.

He stayed perched at the table with the same cool countenance she’d grown accustomed to seeing on the strong lines of his face.

Her eyes moved from him, searching amongst the serving women delivering ale and food for the landlady that had showed her to her room. If she could find the woman, she could inquire as to how she might procure some food.

No luck finding her in the dining room.

Evalyn leaned out further from her spot on the step, looking toward the back of the main room where a long, tall wooden counter denoted a bar. No landlady.

Shoes clunked on the treads of the stairs behind her until the sound ceased and a man cleared his throat. She glanced over her shoulder. A man and his female companion had stopped on the step above Evalyn. She rocked back onto her heels, pushing herself against the wall so they could pass.

The couple moved by her, not giving her a second glance. It was jarring—and oddly refreshing. She was accustomed to the stares of the staff at her stepfather’s castle. The pitying glances. To have that couple pay her no more heed than a speck of dust was proof of how far she’d already traveled.

“Were you to just hover about the stairs all evening, Evalyn?”

Her chest jumped and her look whipped to Lachlan. He’d made it halfway across the room to her in the blink of an eye.

With a silver tankard of ale in his left hand, he stopped in front of her, his short brown hair mussed like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times, his jacket wrinkled and disheveled from the days on the road. Yet he stood with such inherent confidence that it was hard not to acknowledge him for the force he was.

She pushed herself from the wall. “I was not sure what to do in this situation. I have never been to a coaching inn before.”

His brow furrowed. “Was your room not satisfactory?”

“Oh, yes—it’s splendid. Very comfortable.”

“So then?”

“I’m hungry.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound like the pathetic begging street urchin that she felt.

His lip pulled back on the right side, his cheek lifting. “Shall I have food sent up to your room?”

The landlady walked behind Lachlan in that instant, balancing a large tray of heaping dishes atop. Evalyn watched her over Lachlan’s shoulder. The harried woman ran about the tables, juggling five plates on one arm. “I—I don’t want to make a fuss. Can I not eat here in the dining room?”

“Women in establishments such as these are either married and they can eat in the main dining hall with their husbands; servants and they eat in the kitchens; or unmarried respectable travelers of the gentry or noble birth and they eat in their rooms unless they are looking to be ruined.” Lachlan shrugged. “I placed you in the last category when I secured your room. Unmarried. Of noble family. So the correct answer is no.”

Her fingers slipped along the railing, her palm gripping tight to the smooth wood. “But do those labels even apply to me any longer?”

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