They both laughed heartily at the image of some lusty youth sprinting across Farmer Carmichael’s fields with his trews around his ankles, with an irate Angus in hot pursuit. Then the rain began to pick up, so Slaine and Blair hoisted their traveling cloak hoods over their heads, harnessed the horses, and began to make their way to Cromachy.
The day passed in a blur of rain and mist. Blair was vaguely aware, when she was courageous enough to lift up her hood, of sloping hills and soaking dells pouring their waters down toward an enormous loch that seemed to lie across the path.
On either side of the road clustered white lichen-covered rocks and straggly brambles; not a tree or shelter in sight for mile after mile. Blair had to agree with Slaine when he shouted over the drumming of rain on her hood. “Adventures are nae all sunshine and field picnics, eh?”
Prompted by his teasing question, Blair asked, “So, ye’ve no home of yer own anywhere? Nae even for weather such as this?”
Slaine replied in his usual tantalizing style, “Me aunt did sewing for the local laird an’ his lady in exchange for her croft. When she died, I was hardly likely to agree to having the same arrangement now, would I?”
Intrigued, as Slaine had never before opened up as much about his past, Blair hit him with a barrage of questions: “Tell me more about this aunt? Where was this laird of whom ye speak? How auld were ye when she died?”
But Slaine simply shook his head after giving her a grin, which caused a spray of raindrops to spin off his hood, and rode on ahead.
Even though the delectable smell of damp heather wafted in from the hills, a goshawk or eagle sighting or change in scenery did not happen, and Blair’s boredom intensified. She had to agree with Slaine that the road became decidedly less adventurous and appealing when it was raining. Blair had almost reached her breaking point, sick and tired of the dreich and the road, when she looked up and saw a church spire on the horizon in between Pooka’s twitching ears.
Feeling more thankful this part of the journey was over than she believed was possible, Blair kicked Pooka into a canter. The sound of her horse hooves gaining speed alerted Slaine. He scanned the skyline and saw the blurry outline of Cromachy town too. The road dipped in a half circle around the loch and the town was nestled above its dark waters.
There was a haze of smoke hanging over the houses and towers as they got closer. It made Slaine and Blair think of firesides and dry clothes. They urged their horses to go faster, heedless of the mud the hooves kicked up onto their clothes. The sooner they reached an inn or other friendly hostelry, the sooner they would be warm, dry, clean, and well fed.
Maximus drew alongside Pooka as they raced along the rutted road. Blair risked a glimpse at Slaine as she clung to the stallion’s saddle, using all her strength to hold on to the big brown horse. He was concentrating on urging Maximus forward on this final leg of the journey but gave her another of his quirky grins when he glanced sideways briefly before the grey stallion inched ahead.
On the left side of the road as they entered the town was an inn. By the time Pooka brought Blair to the inn’s stable courtyard, Maximus was already being led away by the groom. Exhausted and starving, Blair indicated to one of the grooms who ran up to help her that he should stall the two horses together. Then she plodded wearily inside.
Slaine had been busy in the few minutes he had gained on her during their gallop. The innkeeper was waiting for her downstairs, ready to show her up to his finest set of bedchambers and parlor where he promised a maid would be up very soon with a hot meal and warm bathwater. Not too tired to think ahead, Blair said, “We’ll only be needin’ the one bedchamber, thank ye. Me husband is too generous with our coins.”
Accepting this change of mind and budget with good grace, the innkeeper bowed himself out of the room and left Blair to warm her hands over the fire and throw her wet cloak on the nearest chair. She had time to plan her strategy as she waited for Slaine to join her from next door and could hear him throwing things out of his saddlebags onto the floor.
I wilnae tell him I’ve let the other bedchamber go. I’ll wait ‘til after supper and then spring it on him when it’s too late for him to protest and change things. I’ll say it will make the innkeeper suspicious.
Pleased with her plan, Blair rang the bell rope for the maid, but it was unnecessary. The girl was already at Slaine’s door with four scullery maids in tow. Soon, the table was laid with a fine supper and the copper bath in the bedchamber was full of hot water. Slaine sat on the bed as he watched the maids fill the tub, biting his lower lip to stop himself from telling them to hurry and get out so he could step into it. Then he remembered he was not the only one who was wet and cold.
He stuck his head into the parlor. “Blair, lass, they’ve set up the tub in me bedchamber an’ nae yers, for some reason. Ye’ll have to bathe in here.”
Blair waved her hand at him to carry on with his bath as she took a mouthful of bread and butter with a lavish spreading of honey.
“Hie on without me,” she said in a muffled voice.
“Are ye sure?” Now it was Slaine’s turn to ask questions. “I’m awful dirty an’ it will take them a while to heat more water. It will also cost more to request another one.”
She nodded and shooed him away, shouting after him, “Make haste! The tea is piping hot.”
He shut the door and Blair heard splashing noises as Slaine tried to fit as much of his body into the copper tub as possible. He was successful doing this as the innkeeper had told the maids to bring in their largest tub from the laundry room, the one reserved for cleaning sheets and blankets.
Blair waited a reasonable length of time and then entered the bedchamber.
“It’s me own turn now,” she said to him with a beaming smile.
Slaine had dried himself off sufficiently but had yet to put on clothes. He jumped when he heard her voice and grabbed the pair of trews he had lain out on the bed.
Hopping from one foot to the other as he stepped into his trews, Slaine spluttered, “Honest to goodness, Blair Carmichael, ye are incorrigible!”
Unperturbed, Blair began to undress. “Look at all this water ye’ve sloshed onto the floor, Slaine. I swear ye’ve turned the floor into a peat bog.”
Not bothering to answer, Slaine ran out of the room, carrying his boots, shirt, and doublet with him. Blair watched him leave with a satisfied smile on her face. If he was not as interested in her as she was in him, he would have just become angry and told her to get out. Encouraged by these signs of reciprocated attraction, Blair continued undressing and then stepped daintily into the tub.
13
A Shocking Encounter
When Blair left the bedchamber, there was no sign of Slaine in the parlor. The rain had made things appear dark and gloomy outside, but when Blair glanced up at the clock on the landing outside their rooms, it indicated the time was only ten minutes short of six in the evening. From the sounds of jollity and clinking glasses downstairs, Blair knew the local tradesmen were taking advantage of the inclement weather, and drinking their fill in the taproom.
That’s where he’ll be. Probably with his head in a mug of ale and listening to the careless talk of folks as the beer loosens their tongues. I must dress and join him there.
She had left her riding habit to dry next to the parlor fire and it was no longer damp when she felt the fabric. The maid had put a clothes brush next to the fire, and Blair used it to remove the flecks of dried mud from her skirts and coat. She pulled a clean chemise and petticoat from the tightly wrapped shawl in her saddlebags and draped the light underclothes over her head and around her waist.
A pair of woolen stockings were tied above her knees and, after knocking the dirt off her boots, she tightened their laces around her slim ankles. Before shrugging on her neat riding coat and skirts, Blair went to the tiny looking glass in the bedchamber and checked her appearance. Staring critically at the pale little face that looked back at her, she allowed the knot on top of her
head to come loose and for the curls to cascade down her back and across her shoulders. Then she tied the riotous red curls back from her face with a silken riband, sometimes used to hold up her stockings.
Still not satisfied, Blair returned to her saddlebags and took out a small pot of beeswax mixed with cochineal she had bought at one of the Flichity fairs. She dabbed the salve on her lips and looked at the effect in the glass once more. While not quite the vision of beauty Blair had had in mind at the beginning of her adornment, she was able to see a significant difference between the bedraggled girl who had staggered into the inn and the one in her reflection now.
Blair’s eyes seemed to sparkle a deeper blue with the unnamed emotion she felt in her chest. With her hunger and thirst satisfied, her cheeks were starting to regain their rosy tint, enhanced by the red on her lips.
The only thing left to do was put on her devantiere and go downstairs, which she did.
As Blair entered the taproom, more than a few heads swiveled to look at her. This was no harbor alehouse, but a taproom at a respectable inn, and after a couple of admiring glances, Blair was left alone to seek out Slaine amidst the busy crowd. She found him alone, pressed into a corner in an attempt to remain unnoticed.
He stood up when she approached him, nearly knocking over the table on which his mug of ale was perched.
“Found ye,” Blair said, and sat down next to him.
Slaine heard one of the young men at the next table say to his drinking companion, “And that, lad, is why ye should never talk to a pretty lass who looks as if she’s alone. Ye can bet yer life on it—they seldom are!”
Slaine smiled into his mug as he took a sip of ale.
“What can I get ye from the tap?” he asked Blair, perfectly happy to accept the fact she seemed determined to tempt his restraint to its limit. When she had come into the room, Slaine had to admit she looked as beautiful as a rose in bloom. He swore a silent oath to himself he would stay in the taproom until Blair had gone to bed.
“Mead, if ye please,” she replied, and he got up to fetch a small mug for her. When he returned, Blair said, “Ye left a fine supper upstairs, ye ken. Shall we go back and eat together?”
Not to be fooled a second time, Slaine said in a neutral tone, “I ate down here already. Let’s talk about what we should do on the morrow. I suggest searching all the taverns and making inquiries about yer faither.”
Blair had to agree. She was a little upset it had been Slaine to bring up the plan first. She promised herself not to be put off the quest for Angus because of her pursuit of the man sitting beside her.
“Visiting every tavern in Cromachy in such bad weather is nae a very inviting proposition, Slaine, but if it means we might get word of me faither, I am happy to do it,” Blair declared.
“That’s the spirit, lass,” Slaine said approvingly. “I ken it’s hard gettin’ back in the saddle after a day in the rain, especially after a warm meal and bed, but the sooner we find out where Angus was last seen, the closer we’ll be to getting ye and yer faither back to yer farm.”
Blair stopped with her mug midway to her mouth when Slaine said this.
Back to the farm! Losh! That’s where I’ll be heading after we find Faither. And then Slaine is free to wander off and find some other young girl to help...and leave me behind to a life of drudgery.
She thought about collecting eggs, feeding hens, and herding sheep like she had done every day without complaint before meeting Slaine. It was then Blair realized her little adventure had changed her more than she knew—enough to understand she could never go back to doing the same thing all the time. And what about Slaine? An image of him riding off into the distance with no backward glance or regret made tears of vexation rise.
Slaine was looking out over the taproom but turned to Blair when he heard her whimper. It was only one doleful hiccuping sob, but he heard it over the noise. Noticing the tears, Slaine was immediately concerned.
“What’s the matter? Are ye worried about yer faither? Dinnae fash, love, we’ll get word of him tomorrow, I promise!” He took hold of her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Blair dashed the tears away from her eyes. “Oh, Slaine, what did ye call me? Did ye say ‘love?’ Because if ye did, it would make me the happiest girl alive!”
Too late to take back his words or lie about his feelings any longer, Slaine suited his actions to his words and bent to give Blair a kiss.
It was not passionate or full of the possibility of greater intimacy to come. It was a kiss overflowing with sweetness and hope. A tender brushing of his mouth against her lips, enough to let Blair know she was right, that she had always been right, and he was through trying to fight it any longer. The great warrior Slaine was finally beaten.
A loud clamor rose from the taproom’s street entrance. It sounded like the bark of some angry animal, but when the sound came again, it was closer and more recognizably human. Slaine and Blair were too caught up in their loving embrace to pay attention to the noise when it first happened, but by the time the indignant howl was heard a second time, they broke apart to see what was making all the racket.
They were greeted by the sight of a disheveled, middle-aged man trying to push his way through the busy taproom crowd to get to their table. He had one black eye and a hefty bruise on the left side of his cheek, but these outward signs of abuse did not seem to have dampened his spirit. From where Slaine and Blair were seated, all they could see was the top of the man’s tousled head bobbing toward them. For all the man’s furious scowling and shouts of anger, the taproom crowd did not seem to find the man’s appearance threatening. His clothes were damp and torn, but under the scruffiness, they could see the clothes themselves had once been well made out of costly materials.
“Woah there, auld man,” one drunk taproom patron shouted as the man tried to push him to one side. “Where are ye so anxious to get to? Ye have a real fire lit under yer trews!”
A burst of laughter greeted this statement and many of the men in the room raised their glasses and cheered.
“Me daughter! That man has me daughter!” the middle-aged man cried out in a greatly aggrieved tone.
By this time, the man had managed to push his way through the crowd and reached a space on the floor where Blair and Slaine were able to see him without obstruction.
“Faither!” Blair screamed.
14
Caught in a Trap
For one moment, the man seemed torn between giving his daughter an excited hug or attacking the man who had been kissing her. Undaunted by his size, Angus Carmichael chose to launch himself at Slaine.
“Ye brought me daughter to the wrong town for yer skuldudrie, ye cur! How dare ye make me eldest daughter into a wench! Take that!”
And with those words, Angus balled his right hand into a fist and punched Slaine hard in the stomach.
A howl of pain followed this action. Angus, his fist smarting from hitting a surface that had more in common with a blacksmith’s anvil than flesh and bone, shook his hand as though he’d stuck it into a fire.
“Ow! Losh sakes! What have ye got under yer doublet, fella? A hidden iron breastplate?”
Blair tried to divert her father’s attention away from Slaine to herself.
“Faither! Look at me, please. This is Slaine. He has been helping me search for ye. I swear, that’s all.”
Angus, unmollified by her explanation but happy to have something to take his mind off his pain, simmered down enough to forego further violence.
“A likely story, Blair, and yer mither will hear about this before nae many more suns have set.”
Slaine, aware of the catcalls and hoots of laughter coming from the rest of the taproom, felt it safe to make a suggestion, saying in the politest voice, “Shall we adjourn upstairs, sir? It will be quiet, and there’s a tasty supper waiting.”
Angus was tempted by the sound of supper but was still not ready to let the kiss slide by.
“Ye button yer lips,
young man,” he said stiffly, aware that his dignity had been further damaged by his failed attempt to hit Slaine. “That’s the least ye can do after plastering them all over me daughter.”
Blair caught Slaine’s eye and managed to give him a surreptitious shake of her head. Understanding her action, Slaine followed daughter and father upstairs, hoping a stolen kiss was all they had to explain to Angus when they got back to their rooms.
After pushing open the door to the parlor, Angus collapsed into one of the comfortable armchairs next to the fire.
Blair rang the bell rope, and when the maid knocked on the door, asked her for another pot of hot tea. Then she went to the supper table and began to butter her father a fresh bannock. As she did so, she kept one eye on the poor man. He looked so different from the confident, practical man she had watched riding off down the lane toward Flichity Market. She would not have been surprised to hear he had also been kidnapped by a group of bandits.
When she handed the plate with the bannock to Angus, he took it with a shaking hand. The collar of his shirt was loose enough to make her see he had lost a lot of weight in the last week.
After scoffing the bannock down with relish, Angus sat back and sighed. When the maid returned with the tea, and he had drunk a cup of the sweet liquid down, he regained some of his strength and looked around the room for Slaine.
Blair and Slaine realized they would get no explanation about his disappearance from Angus until the man had satisfied his curiosity about their relationship.
“That’s the last time I tell ye where to find me secret stash o’ gold Blair, so help me,” Angus muttered.
Blair and Slaine glanced at one another quickly. It was intimate and conspiratorial, and they were lucky Angus was too emotionally and physically shattered to catch it.
“Och, that I would live to see the day when me own daughter allowed a man to make a fool of her in public. I am shamed—shocked and shamed! When did ye meet?”
Highlander’s Road to Valor: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 8