Page 11 of The Son of a Highland Witch
5
He knew he should not let such foolish stories get to him. By now Finn was well used to people telling wild tales where he was concerned. In a sense he might have even encouraged it rather liking the legends which kept him aloof from people. When a man was seen as different, as something out of the ordinary, they were often left alone.
Finn liked being alone.
But now, for whatever reason, this ridiculous young woman hanging off every word from those idiotic guards left him irritated. He neither relished the fear nor the pity that the tales seemed to elicit from his charges.
Thankfully, it was easy to keep his distance from all of them. He had chosen a brutal pace, hoping they could make some distance before the brunt of the storm hit them. His goal was a large inn where their group would be welcomed for a meal and a chance to change horses on the coach in exchange for a coin or two. He knew the innkeeper well; the money would be appreciated by the widowed innkeeper and her children, who needed to stock up her funds before winter rid the road of travelers.
Unfortunately, he timed things ill. The dreich came an hour before they reached this first destination, making everyone miserable as they pushed on. Not that the storm was violent. This was an insidious, cold rain that slithered down one’s neck and left a man chilled to the bone. It turned the tracks into rivulets of rainwater, the lanes into muddy ruts, and the crossings into fens.
Finn bore the discomfort in silence, though inwardly he seethed. It had been difficult enough to convince the laird to allow them to leave when they did. Apparently the girl’s father had been loath to interrupt the preparations for the wedding.
Finn had argued the point with the man more than once. Finn’s mother had taught him to read the signs well. The moss on the trees and the thicker fur on the game all told of a hard winter coming. By Finn’s reasoning, the colder days of autumn would chase summer away faster than most would expect. Today’s rain only solidified this opinion.
The laird had grumbled against these warnings, calling them witchery and giving Finn a keen look, which made Finn realize he knew the stories as well as his guards did. That he trusted Finn still with this errand was an honor. In the end, Finn had done the only thing he could. He’d kept his mouth shut and left at the first opportunity before any more time was lost.
By the time they reached the inn, the ladies had to be chilled to the bone. Finn had sent a man on ahead to warn the innkeeper of their coming. She bustled out of the house now, quickly ushering the ladies inside and installing them upon the hearth with steaming bowls of soup accompanied by great pieces torn from fresh-baked bread. He noticed that the cold caused Lady Erica’s cheeks to flush a subtle pink hue when she looked at him, and he could not help himself from giving her a smile; she was the bonniest lass he had ever seen with the roses blooming on her soft skin and her hair all tousled. Not your typical beauty, mind you, but the arresting quality of her dark features never stopped catching his eye.
Finn oversaw the changing of the horses only after seeing that the lady and her companion were safe and warm. By the time he came in, the guards were clustered in a group already eating. The only space left to him was the one nearest Lady Erica herself. For the barest of moments, he entertained the idea of retreating to the barn with what supplies he always carried with him, but their good hostess had already spotted him and drew him toward this place on the bench, chattering all the way as she thrust a bowl of soup and pieces of bread into his hands.
“My good sir, might I be suggesting ye stay the night? There be room enough in the barn for ye and yer men, while the ladies can have me own bed. The weather is hardly fit for travel.”
“Nay, mistress. We will reach the town by nightfall. The rain will not be lasting long.”
The woman bobbed a curtsy. “As ye say,” she murmured, and went to fetch ale for him to drink.
“How d’ye ken?” Erica had finished her soup and was looking at him curiously, her head tilted to the side while she contemplated him.
He could see she was assessing him in a different way as if he was a horse she wanted to buy at market and then ride all the way home. For one fleeting moment, Finn imagined Erica living with him in a wee cottage somewhere, watching her returning from the market with her basket laden with produce, telling him that she had bartered the grocer down to a better price…
“Ken?” he asked, wishing he could ignore her. She was too compelling and attractive. Those bright eyes of hers, the way wisps of brown hair framed her face, giving her a soft look, made it too easy to forget to keep a distance.
“About the rain letting up.” She glanced toward the window and then back at him, smiling now. “It looks like it will rain today.”
“It will be over by the time I finish,” he said, lifting his bowl and going back to his meal, breaking chunks of bread to dip into the broth, sopping up what was left. “Ye will nae get wet again.”
Sure enough, the sun was coming out by the time he handed the wooden bowl back to their hostess. Finn was not one to lavish praise or spend time talking where he could avoid it, but he might have lingered with the widow a bit longer than necessary just to avoid the reassembling of the caravan. He had no wish for further conversation with guards or ladies, so he asked the widow after her health and then spent the next ten minutes nodding sympathetically while she detailed several complaints.
In the end, his machinations got him nowhere because the woman’s chatter annoyed him, and he finally gave her three coins just so he could take his leave. Then, by the time he turned back toward his charges expecting to go, he found only half the guards mounted and ready and Erica herself waiting next to the coach, not in it.
“Ye will not be riding yer horse,” he muttered gruffly as he passed her, heading to where his own mount stood waiting.
“Why not? The rain has passed.”
“Because I say so.”
He wondered how it was this lass managed to inspire him to speak when he found it so simple to be taciturn with everyone else. He checked his horse’s girth, pointedly ignoring her and hoping she would get the hint.
She did not.
“Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” she said when he didn’t turn around. “I dinnae think ye understand that I would much prefer to be ridin’ than cooped up away in the coach like so much baggage. And the wheels get stuck in the mud, not to mention the terrifying way it rocks and sways over the tracks!”
He drew in a breath and reminded himself to be patient, that he owed the lady’s father a debt and that this duty was a means by which he could repay it.
“My lady, if ye would be so kind as to join yer maid, I expect we can begin. The roads will be difficult after the rain, and we still have a long way to go yet.”
“Is that it? Do ye think I cannae handle some mud?”
