Chapter 4
4
“Tis a day or so more if the weather holds out. The roads are treacherous for a carriage such as yers. Yer better off on a horse.”
Remy cupped his mug, letting the warmth of his cider seep through the tin and warm his hands. After a hard night on the dusty floor of the room that was meant to be Gretna’s, he was ready to get moving. “Aye, but I canna get rid of the carriage. We will be fine.” At least he hoped so. Their journey so far had been uneventful and Remy wished to keep it that way.
The innkeeper muttered and moved back to his post to continue cleaning glasses and Remy leaned back in the chair, thinking about the night before. When Ian had asked him to accompany Gretna to the McCellan clan for a potential marriage between the two clans, Remy had agreed to do so as his position meant he protected the entire family, not just the laird.
What he hadn’t expected to find was that Gretna had something she had hidden from him for years. He had remembered Gretna as the sibling who had seemed so serious even at a young age. He had watched her blossom from the gangly young lass to a beautiful one, even with her haughty appearance.
The lass last night looked nothing like Gretna. He had seen the panic in her eyes, catching him by surprise, and the only thing Remy could think of was to startle her out of whatever was plaguing her. This was what he did well and it had worked for Gretna too, allowing him to also take a breath within her. He had been concerned, so much that Remy had felt a touch of fear thread through his body.
And he was never afraid of anything. He had faced death a thousand times over, but nothing had terrified him more than to see the look on Gretna’s face.
Remy didn’t know what that meant.
Soft footfalls caught his attention and the object of his thoughts appeared on the steps, looking well-rested. He thought he would have to wake her but then again, Remy also knew that Gretna was a stickler for order and schedules. “Good morn, lass.”
She made her way over to the table that he was sitting at, settling into the chair across from him. “Good morn tae ye, Remy.”
“Did ye sleep well?” While he had spent the night propped up on the wall to keep his face from touching the dirtied floor, he would have done it again to give the comfort she was used to.
A faint blush crossed her cheeks. “I did, thanks tae ye and yer men.”
Something tightened in Remy’s chest and he had to look away. “Are ye hungry, lass?”
“Of course, I am,” Gretna said primly. “I would like some toast and jam, with an apple cut just perfectly and bit of honey.”
Before Remy could remind her that they were in an inn and not at the keep, the innkeeper snorted from his perch. “Tis nothing ye will find around here girl. I have porridge.”
Gretna made a face. “Porridge? Truly? I canna eat that.”
Remy chuckled. “Ye will have tae, lass, or ye will starve.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him. “Then I will starve.”
She was stubborn, Remy decided, impossibly stubborn and he wasn’t about to take her in that carriage without something on her stomach. “Tis porridge she will have,” he called out to the innkeeper. “And some cider.”
The innkeeper ambled away and Remy looked at Gretna. “Ye need tae eat.”
“I willna eat that slop!” she hissed, her voice low enough so the innkeeper couldn’t hear her. “Why canna we just find an orchard? I will get mah apple mahself.”
“Why won’t ye eat it?” he asked, curious. A good porridge was often enough to warm his insides and stick to his ribs on occasion. Porridge was also good for the long weeks on a battlefield, easily fixed in an iron pot over the fire and reminding his men what they were fighting for.
Gretna huffed a breath. “When I was in my tenth summer, Stephan decided that he would dump a handful of salt in all our morning porridge.” She looked at him. “Have ye ever tasted salt in porridge?”
Remy tried to hide his smile. “Nay, lass, but I gather tis wasna verra good.”
“It wasna,” she confirmed. “I couldna get away from the table fast enough and, well, mah portion ended up all over mah da.”
Remy’s shoulders shook and he let out a large chuckle, unable to hide it. The former laird had been a very formidable Scot, not someone that he had seen smile a lot so he imagined that it had been a tense moment at the breakfast table that morning.
Gretna’s cheeks pinkened and she cleared her throat. “I’m verra glad ye are finding humor in it. Stephan was forced tae muck stalls for a week afterward.”
“A fitting punishment.”
His companion crossed her arms over her chest. “Tis why I canna stand the sight of porridge any longer. I’ve tried tae eat it since that day, but all I can taste is the salt on mah tongue.”
Remy felt a mite sorry for her, realizing she wasn’t trying to be difficult at all. Pushing back his chair, he rose, leaving behind his mug. “I will be back. Remain here.”
She gave him a curious look but Remy was already moving to the kitchens, where the innkeeper was ladling the thick porridge into a bowl. “Wot is it, lad?” he asked, his eyes widening.
Remy noted the bread on the scarred countertop, likely still warm from the ovens. “I will take a loaf,” he said, reaching into his pouch tied to his hip and removing several coins. “And any apples ye have.”
The innkeeper pushed the bowl aside, grumbling, but the gleam of the silver was too much for him to complain and he thrust one of the wrapped loaves Remy’s way. “Ye canna fall for their charms, lad. They will destroy ye and leave ye broken.”
“The apples,” Remy said, clenching his teeth as he took the bread. Gretna wasn’t weaving any sort of charm over him. She had a true reason for not wanting the porridge and he didn’t have many tunics to go around for her to lose the contents of her stomach on. He was doing her a favor, a very small one, but it wasn’t going to be something he kept up.
When Remy emerged from the kitchen, he had the loaf tucked under his arm, two apples, and a steaming mug of cider. Gretna’s eyes widened as he set his items on the table, a look of pure pleasure crossing her face. “Where? I thought.”
Remy ignored the tightness in his chest. “Eat quickly. I want tae be on the road before the sun sets today, lass.”
She looked up at him, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Remy, I, thank ye.”
Remy felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but he gave her a curt nod and strode away before she could see it. He was doing this because his laird had asked him to watch out for her, to ensure her comfort for the journey and her safety when they reach the McCellan lands.
That was why he was doing this.
Later that afternoon, Remy halted his horse just over the rise in the road. The small village of Hensha stood before him, a pitiful village with rundown buildings and not much else. He had hoped that they would get past it before night fell, but their journey had been plagued by a broken axle on the carriage and while Remy would have abandoned it, he couldn’t very well have the potential future lady of the McCellan clan showing up on horseback.
He and his men had repaired the axle, but Remy had remained far removed from Gretna as they had done so. He didn’t like the way she made him feel when she bestowed a smile, a true smile, or a thank you to him.
It was, well, unnerving, so he distanced himself from the opportunity, hoping that they could get to the keep today and end this torturous journey.
Now it looked as if they would be spending the night in Hensha and his stomach curdled at the thought.
“Wot do ye want tae do?” one of his warriors, Mandel, asked as he paused beside him. “We can camp in the woods a few miles down the road.”
“Nay,” Remy said with a shake of his head. “She canna be forced tae camp in the woods.” If it was just them, then Remy would be turning his horse around, but Gretna deserved more than a hard earth floor for a bed. “The carriage will be guarded all night. I will take care of the lass.”
Mandel rode off to tell the others and Remy forced his horse forward, down the remaining distance into the village. Hensha was known for outcasts of clans to frequent, along with some of the most dangerous Scots he had ever encountered in his lifetime. The inn would be nothing short of a hovel and Gretna’s presence could pose issues as many lasses didn’t stick around these parts for long unless they were working on their backs.
Not only was night approaching, but darker clouds were gathering, a sign of a storm on the horizon. He couldn’t risk Gretna’s safety.
If something happened to her… Remy shook off the thought and halted his horse in front of the inn, climbing down his saddle. His men moved the carriage quickly toward the stables, but there were enough Scots milling about the rutted roads that their eyes lingered as it rolled past. Before long, the entire inn and anyone within earshot would know of its arrival.
There would be very little sleep for any of his men tonight.
Remy walked over to the carriage and opened the door, finding Gretna already ready to depart. “Ye will heed all mah requests,” he told her quickly, offering his hand. “Do wot I tell ye when I tell ye.”
She arched a brow, sliding her hand in his. “Are we in danger?”
Remy attempted to ignore how small her hand was in his, the way her skin slid over his calloused one and helped her down. “Aye, lass, we are in danger.”
Instead of cowering, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Then ye willna have any trouble from mah.”
Remy prayed to the gods that she was telling the truth. He was already going to have a time keeping her safe. He directed her toward the door, placing his hand on her lower back as he opened it. The moment his hand touched her, she stiffened but didn’t pull away and Remy didn’t relinquish his touch from her. It would be best for the entire inn to know that she belonged to him.
The great room was just as he had remembered it to be, packed with Scots from various clans and some from no clan, all looking their way as he ushered Gretna forward. The air stank with unwashed bodies and stale ale, but Gretna kept moving forward. “Wot do ye want?” a young lass stated from behind the counter, a dirtied rag in her hand. She couldn’t have been more than twelve summers, but Remy already saw the hardness in her eyes, a fighting spirit that would serve her well in this sort of place. “I need a room for tonight,” he said firmly.
The girl gave Gretna a once over, her lips curling in disgust. “Tis no place for ye or yer fancy carriage.”
So word had already gotten around. “She’s with mah,” Remy stated, pulling Gretna to his side and wrapping his arm around her slim waist. He felt her jump, but she remained firm at his side. Bestowing a smile to the young girl, he reached in his pouch with his other hand and gathered a few coins. “A room.”
The girl’s eyes lit up at the sight and the coins disappeared quicker than he could place them on the counter. “First door at the top of the stairs.”
“Supper too,” Remy told her, moving them to the stairs. “And there could be more for ye.”
Gretna said nothing as they walked up the stairs, Remy at her back in case anyone decided to try and take him out sooner than he expected. The moment they reached the second landing, Gretna stepped away from him. “Wot are ye doing?”
“Keep yer voice down, lass,” he hissed, pushing open the door. “I will explain it all in due time.”
She huffed but her attention moved to the room and Remy saw the rejection on her face. “Nay,” she started immediately. “We canna stay here.”
Remy shut the door behind them, frowning when he saw that the lock was broken on the door. “We have tae.”
She turned to him, her hands on her hips. “Nay, we donna. I would rather sleep in the carriage than sleep here.” She gestured with her hands at the stained blanket on the single bed. “I canna, nay, I willna sleep on that!”
Remy closed the distance between them. “There is a storm coming,” he firmly told her. “That we will never make it through with the carriage. Besides, the roads aren’t safe from here tae McCellan. This is our only choice.”