The Talisman (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 2)

by Gafford, Deborah

  Ailis' eyelashes fluttered against her face as she slept and she snuggled deeper into the curve of his shoulder.

  A surge of tenderness flowed through him he had never felt before. The emotion left him shaken. Part of him wanted to physically possess her, to lay claim to her so that no other man might ever have her. Another part of him wanted merely to be with her, watch her smile, hear her laugh and keep her safe.

  He held her until the fire died down to a bank of bright coals. Then he gently carried her to the bed and tucked the fur around her for warmth. He stood and watched her for a few moments as she slept. Then he glanced at the door. There was no lock or bolt to safeguard her. He could not return downstairs and leave her in peril. He would not leave her to face the rest of the night alone.

  Yet, remaining in the room with her was unacceptable. Ailis was his responsibility. He shook his head in frustration. Not only must he protect her, 'twas his duty to defend her honor as well. He would not blacken her reputation by staying the night with her. And he knew if he remained with her, he would not be able to resist touching her, making love to her.

  The need he felt to protect her burned just as strongly as the deep desire she stirred within him. Somehow, he must control his growing emotions toward her for both their sakes. She was no common whore to be used only to ease his lust but neither could he offer her aught more.

  Frowning, he turned and silently left the room. He closed the door behind him, sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, his sword resting against his leg. No one would get past him, and if she awoke frightened, he would hear her cries and could hold her again until she was comforted. But by the saints, he prayed he wouldn't have to do so. He needed time to try to sort out his feelings without the enticement of holding her. Aye, even he could only resist so much temptation.

  Hours later, as sounds from below heralded the new day, Gavin got up and stretched his stiff muscles, cursing at the soreness in his ribs. He reached toward the door then stopped. Nay, she was safe now. 'Twas no need for him to go to her. He sighed, then turned and walked down the stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  Gavin had filled Ailis' dreams. Thoughts of him had allowed her a soothing night's rest after the terror of the night before. Remembering it, she woke and clutched the blanket tightly to her as her gaze darted quickly around the room. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one there but her.

  She was safe. Safe because of him.

  Gavin had defended her against the drunkard and cared for her as gently as she e'er could have wished for. Because of him, she had slept securely and peacefully throughout the night.

  The sound of birds chirping outside drew her gaze to the window above the bed. Thin rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the shutter. She rose hurriedly then looked down at the tattered remains of her dress. Fie, she had told Gavin she would rise early and not delay their return to Kirkholm, but merciful heavens, she could not leave the chamber dressed as she was. Grabbing up her shawl, she tried wrapping it around herself but 'twas not enough to cover her bare flesh.

  As she reached for her shoes, a sharp knock rapped on her door. Before she could speak, the buxom barmaid who had served their dinner the night before opened the door and stood facing her from the hallway.

  The barmaid slowly looked Ailis up and down, then smirked and shook her head. "I vow ye dinna look the type. But who can tell when a mon's in his cups and the night is cold, eh? On his way down from yer bed this morn, the laird paid me to find ye some clothes and wake ye in time to break yer fast before ye leave. There's hot porridge and rabbit stew on the fire downstairs, if ye've a mind to eat. I dinna have time to bring it to ye."

  Ailis covered herself as best she could and stared at the barmaid in stunned silence as the brazen woman's meaning slowly sank in.

  The barmaid shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, weel. Oft there's nay hunger needin' to be filled in the morn, if ye've been filled aright all night. Aye?"

  A cynical smile crossed the barmaid's face as she held out an old tunic and skirt. "Ye like the rough ones, eh? Aye, sometimes I do as weel. Better to have a slap and romp than just a poke of a fat pudge, I say." She tossed the clothing at Ailis with a last knowing look and sauntered back downstairs.

  Ailis hurried over and slammed the door shut.

  How dare the woman talk to her that way! She had done nothing improper. She had slept alone last night. Aye, Gavin had come to her aid, but he had nay shared her bed!

  Ailis picked up the tunic and skirt, then walked over and sat on the bench before the cold fireplace. She looked at the clothes in her hands. They were soiled and near threadbare in places but they would cover her better than her torn dress.

  Before she dared think on the barmaid's words any further, Ailis stripped off her dress and put on the clothes. The tunic was low cut and the skirt several inches too short, but they were all she had. She quickly put on her shoes and wrapped her shawl around her tying it in the front.

  She stared at her ruined dress where it lay beside the hearth and remembered Gavin ordering the fire to be built up as she had lain in his arms in her tattered dress, curled up to his chest like a lover. Like a whore.

  Ailis covered her face with her trembling hands.

  Sweet Mary. What was she to do? By now everyone would know he spent the night in her room. It nay mattered that naught had happened. No one would believe her.

  Voices and boisterous laughter drifted up through the floorboards. Heaven help her, she would have to walk through the crowded common room to get to their wagon. There must be another way out. She could not face their smirks and knowing looks.

  Ailis anxiously scanned the room. The door leading downstairs was the only way in or out except for the shuttered window above the bed. 'Twas not large, but perhaps she could squeeze through. If there was any way to get outside without having to walk through the common room, she would take it.

  Climbing onto the bed, she reached up and pulled at the wooden shutter covering the window. It did not budge. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled vigorously against it again. Still nothing.

  A loud rumble of men's voices and a woman's high-pitched squeal of laughter floated up to her. Desperate to avoid the attention of the unruly crowd, Ailis' gaze scoured the small room for aught she could use to open the shutter.

  The simple bed and bench were the only furniture in the meager room. She thrust her hands on her hips and shook her head in frustration.

  There must to be something you can use. …Think.

  Slowly, she walked about the room, examining the few things she saw. Although small, the bed was stoutly built and she had nay means of pulling it apart. What's more, she needed to stand on it to reach the shutter. Ailis walked back to the bench and looked at it. It, too, was sturdily made and too heavy for her to lift over her head to be of any use.

  Sighing, she sank down on the bench and stared at the cold pile of gray ash in the hearth. There must be some way of getting that shutter open.

  Suddenly, a stiff breeze outside sent a puff of air back down the chimney, spewing soot and ash at her feet. Coughing and waving her arms in front of her, Ailis jumped up and stumbled as she tripped over something at the edge of the hearth. She looked down and smiled. A heavy iron hook lay there, half hidden in the ashes. It must have been used to move logs about in the fire, for 'twas thick and long shanked.

  Grasping the rigid metal hook with both hands, she hurried over to the window. By standing on the bed and turning the tip of the hook outward, she could just manage to wedge it under one slat of the shutter. After shoving it in as far as she could, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the end and pulled with all of her strength.

  The wooden slat splintered and tore free easier than she had expected. The next thing Ailis knew, she was flying backward and landing with a thud on her arse. She sat there in stunned surprise for a moment then stood and tackled the window shutter again. After a few minutes' hard work, she pulled the last of the shut
ter from the window.

  Dropping the iron hook to the floor, she tried to look out, but the opening was too high above her head. Hurrying across the room, she grasped one end of the bench and dragged it screeching across the wooden floor. She lifted one leg of the heavy bench onto the bed and hurried over to lift the other leg before it toppled. Laying a hand against the wall to steady herself, Ailis climbed on top of the bench, then gripped the windowsill and peered out.

  The window opened onto the outside of the building, in truth, right above their wagon. But 'twas a fifteen-foot drop to the street below with naught to hold to on her climb down.

  "By all the blessed saints!" After all that, she had nay other way out but through the common room below. Hearing men's raucous voices and jeers, she looked outside once more hoping she might have missed something to aid her in climbing down. Nay, 'twas naught there.

  She glanced at their wagon. The hour must be later than she thought, for it held many new bundles and sacks that had not been there the night before. Gavin must have been up for several hours gathering the items on their list. Fie, a lot of help she had been to him.

  Stepping down from the bench, she walked to the door. She glanced back at the wide-open window now filling the room with sunlight and shook her head. 'Twas naught to be done, but to go. The sooner she did it, the sooner she could hide her shame in the wagon away from the knowing eyes of the crowd. Taking a deep breath, she left the room.

  'Twas worse than she expected. Had it been so last eve? She had been so tired, she had noticed little about her. Except Gavin.

  The common room was filled to capacity with noisy men of all ages, joking, shouting and eating, and occasionally pinching the barmaid as she passed by.

  There was a thin gray haze of smoke that rose from the ground floor halfway up the long narrow staircase, creeping like a fog over the moors. It made her throat burn and her eyes water.

  Worst of all, was the smell. 'Twas nigh overwhelming. Ailis covered her nose and mouth with one hand. The odors of unwashed, sweaty bodies and animals exceeded the more natural smells of wood smoke, food and ale. 'Twould seem the customers of this alehouse thought with grave disfavor, if they thought of it at all, of fundamental things such as bathing and clean clothes.

  From their appearance, 'twas obvious they lived and slept in the same clothes and had done so for quite some time. And from the manner of a few of them, they nay looked fondly upon work, either.

  A loud series of barks caught Ailis' attention. She glanced sharply to the far corner of the room where two dogs were fighting. Several men stood around them in a loose circle, watching, cheering and calling out wagers on the outcome.

  Ailis had heard that men sometimes wagered on such things, but ne'er had she seen such. 'Twas sickening. To be sure, she'd seen no such thing at Kirkholm. There the animals worked for their keep but they were well fed and treated humanely. For a moment she allowed herself the pleasant memory of standing beside Gavin as he had ordered the injured hound be well cared for and then watching the new litter of puppies.

  A sharp yelp drew her thoughts back to the scene below her. One dog was limping on its right front leg and its neck and ears were covered in several bloody gashes. Its mottled brown and black fur was shorter than that of its opponent. Compared to the size of the dog snarling and barking at it as it circled, the motley colored dog had little chance of surviving the battle.

  The other dog was larger, a yellow longhaired brute of a dog. And although it did have a jagged tear in one of its ears and a few shallow bites on its neck, it did not appear weak. At least 'twas still moving about on all four legs.

  Suddenly it lunged at the smaller dog, biting it viciously on the back. The brown dog yelped in pain and tore free, blood running down its fur from the attack.

  Ailis cried out and grasped the stair's worn newel post tightly. She scanned the room, hoping someone would stop the horrible cruelty. A few men looked up and met her gaze but after staring at her for a moment, turned their attention back to their drinking and wagering.

  Both dogs were now panting feverously, doing more growling and circling than aught else. It appeared they both were tiring, and watched for the best advantage to use their taxing strength.

  The large dog lunged again sinking its teeth into the other dog's shoulder, then shook its huge head.

  The smaller dog was shaken back and forth like heather in the wind for a few moments before it could wrench free from the massive jaws. Ailis could see a large gaping gash, showing red and white. 'Twould seem the bite had gone through the smaller dog's shoulder, to the bone. She clutched her stomach at the nauseating scene.

  The men crowded closer and began wagering in earnest now. It appeared the fight was all but over and the brown dog was sure to die.

  One particularly filthy man taunted, "God's bones, Jock! Can yer mutt do nay better than that?" The man's dirty clothes looked the same dark blend of colors as the smaller injured dog, but upon looking closer, Ailis saw that he wore a kilt of a green and brown weave, with a hint of blue showing occasionally. Perhaps at one time the tartan's colors had been bright, but were no more. It looked as if the man had not taken it off to wash it in many years, if at all.

  The smaller dog's owner turned an anxious eye to the filthy man standing beside him. "Och, Rorie, the dogs are too tired to go on fightin'. What say ye we let them rest a wee time then have a go at it?"

  "No bloody likely," said the man, wiping a greasy hand across the tartan sash over his chest. "Chloe, fetch me another mutton joint and mind ye, there better be some meat on it this time. A man needs more than skin and grease."

  He leaned over to a short, wiry man near him and mumbled something in his ear.

  The short man broke into howls of laughter and nodded, punching him in the arm. "Rorie, ye are nay right often, but on that ye are surely right as rain."

  The taunting barmaid that had spoken with Ailis earlier walked over to Rorie and held out a fat joint of mutton, its juices running down her forearm as she held it up. She looked from one man to the other. "And what, I ask ye, could Rorie have to say that could be so right? I have kenned him many a year but nay kenned him to be right about aught."

  The short man grinned at her, exposing a mouth with only three teeth. "He says there are times in a mon's life, when all he does need and want is a bit o' grease and a lot o' skin; as long as she isna too old!"

  The shorter man cackled and dodged out of the way of the mutton joint as Chloe swung it at him like a club. Several nearby men joined in the laughter, adding their own comments.

  "Ha," the barmaid snorted. "If 'tis Rorie doin' the deed, there best be a stiff shank bone nearby to tie himself to. Else the woman would dry up and wither away afore he could get up enough to do it on his own!"

  The men howled with laughter. One man bent over laughing so hard that he fell off a bench. Holding his sides, he gasped for breath, and continued to laugh.

  'Twas obvious everyone enjoyed the jest except Rorie. He kicked the fallen man, landing a good thud to his side, making it more difficult for the man to catch his breath. Then he turned on Chloe and grabbed her greasy forearm, his fingers slipping to her wrist. "I'll have that mutton, wench. And then we'll see who needs help when we go upstairs."

  He reached over and grabbed one of her breasts and gave it a squeeze.

  The barmaid shook off his hand with a grin. "Ha. 'Tis nay bloody likely ye could stay in the saddle long enough to ken. Besides, the room is taken by a laird and his wench." Chloe tapped her greasy finger on her cheek as if she were thinking. "The lass is nay so ample as I am. Ye might have a go at her. Her saddle would take less to fill, I'm thinkin'."

  At that, the crowd roared with laughter. Flopping down on a bench, Rorie yanked Chloe into his lap. He took a bite of the mutton and licking his lips, nuzzled the barmaid's neck.

  She pulled his face down into her cleavage and patted the back of his head. "Here's all ye fit, mutton shank and all."

  Rori
e took another bite of the meat then wiped his mouth on the back of his dirty arm and winked. "Och, Chloe, I dinna ken if the wench is trained to the bit as ye are. There's more to be gained wi' a skilled mount when a mon wants a good ride!"

  Chloe thumped Rorie on the head with her fist and quickly stepped out of his reach. She cocked an eyebrow and rested her hands on her hips. "Well, if ye wish to ride, I will see the color o' yer coin first. Otherwise, ye had best hold onto that mutton ye're eatin' for 'tis the only thing from me ye will be gettin' this day."

  Grinning, she sauntered back across the room, ruffling a young man's hair and whispering to him as she went.

  A man called out from the crowd. "Och, Rorie, are ye plannin' on goin' fer a ride, then? She owes ye a good one fer all that."

  "Aye, as soon as my dog wins and I've more coin in me sporran. Mayhap I'll ride both wenches. I wouldna want to miss the best mount, whichever she is."

  The group of men around him chuckled and nodded their heads.

  Ailis shrank back on the stairs in fear at his words. Heaven help her, she needed to get out of there before anyone truly noticed her. She glanced frantically at the door. How would she make it that far alone?

  Rorie finished the mutton joint with a loud belch, tossed it onto the dirt floor and wiped both hands on the sash of his filthy tartan. Walking over to where the two dogs bristled and circled each other, he called out. "God's teeth, Jock, get yer dog to fight or give me yer coin now."

  The small dog's master prodded it with his boot pushing it toward the larger dog as it maneuvered closer. The big dog stood poised and snarling, its fangs exposed. Just as it seemed ready to spring, a drunkard staggered by, kicking the mutton bone into the circle between the dogs.

  The larger dog immediately pounced upon the bone, picking it up in his teeth and turning his back on the other dog.

  The small dog pushed itself off the ground with a tremendous leap striking the other's back, and knocking it to the ground with the bone still filling its jaws. The small dog grabbed the other's throat with his full muzzle.