Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days later, Fergus came to Jeane’s quarters, opening the door without knocking.
Jeane, startled, sat straight up in bed. She was already dressed, thank the Lord, but what if she hadn’t been?
“Ye could have walked in on me in me underwear,” she said incredulously, and Fergus just stared at her.
“It’s me castle, isnae it?”
Jeane looked away, rolling her eyes.
“I thought ye might want to go for a ride,” Fergus said.
Soon enough, Jeane found herself standing near the stables, watching the stable boy brush and saddle the horses. There were rows of them, and Fergus picked out a black stallion for himself and a gray mare for Jeane.
She was a pretty mare with a long, lustrous mane. Jeane got closer, stroking the horse.
She frowned, her thighs already aching knowing she was about to mount the horse. As pretty as the mare was, Jeane wasn’t looking forward to the ride.
She hadn’t ridden much since they first arrived at the castle, mostly because that ride had been so long, it had hurt her.
“We may need to stock up on supplies,” Fergus said, stretching as if to loosen himself up. “Aiden will take care of Lottie while we’re away.”
Jeane could not help but stare at the way his tunic rode up slightly across his muscled stomach as he stretched.
“I’m nae sure what the last healer left behind,” Fergus continued, and Jeane looked down at her feet so that she would not stare at how his tunic stretched across his broad chest.
What was wrong with her? This man had kidnapped her, and all she could do was stare at his lithe body.
Jeane had never found herself attracted to a man like this before. This was all new to her and a bit unsettling.
“Did ye forget how to speak, little mouse?”
When she looked up, she realized that Fergus was towering over her, looking down into her eyes. He was close enough that if she tilted her chin up just slightly, her lips would brush against his.
She shook her head to clear it.
“I havenae forgotten,” she murmured. “What happened to the last healer?”
Fergus’ face went stony. “Morna was a good healer. She was with us for many years, but she passed away in her sleep last winter.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jeane said quietly.
Fergus shrugged. “Death comes for us all. Now, get on the horse.”
Jeane groaned. “Do I have to?”
“Get on the horse, lass. It’s a long ride to town, and I want to be back before midnight.”
She sighed heavily as he held his hand out to her but took it so that she could mount the horse.
They rode into town, which thankfully was only a few hours’ ride. Jeane was already so sore, she could no longer get down off the horse without Fergus’ help.
He did not seem to mind helping her, though, his hands lingering on hers as he helped her down.
She trailed into the first shop, an apothecary. She gathered all the supplies she thought she would need, uncaring about the price. If Fergus wanted her to heal, he had better give her the right materials.
Cloths for bandages, antiseptics, draughts for pain and fever. Fergus, to his credit, did not complain when he placed a small bag of gold into the apothecary’s hand.
As he paid, Jeane walked out of the store ahead of him, looking around, wondering if Fergus would allow her to visit a dress shop.
She had not brought any clothes with her, and she and Lottie were not exactly the same size.
Lottie was smaller, less curvy, and Jeane suspected her clothes would make her look like a harlot.
She walked slowly down the street, peering into windows at the clothing. Fergus hung behind, admiring the swords in a blacksmith’s shop. Jeane thought nothing of going on ahead, knowing that the Laird was just a few hundred yards behind her.
“Good evenin’, pretty lass,” a deep voice sounded behind her.
Jeane jerked her head around, not recognizing Fergus’ voice, and sure enough, it was not her tall, handsome captor who looked back at her but a smaller man, balding and chubby.
He smiled at her, showing yellow teeth.
Jeane politely smiled back but shrank against the wall as he got closer.
“Good evenin’,” she said in a measured voice. “If ye will excuse me—”
“Daenae ye run off just yet, pretty lass.” He reached out to touch a lock of her white-blonde hair, and Jeane recoiled so that he touched only the end of the strand.
But the balding man only seemed to be encouraged by her obvious revulsion, leaning in closer, placing his hand above her head on the brick next to the dress shop.
“Aye, ye are an odd lookin’ thing,” he muttered, searching her face before his eyes fell on her cleavage.
Jeane crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide herself as best she could.
The man stepped closer and closer, so close that Jeane could smell the corn liquor on his breath.
“Please leave me be,” she pleaded, but she heard the crack of fear in her own voice.
“Come on now, lass. Daenae ye want to see how the other half lives? I see yer ripped skirt. I could buy ye all the fancy things, ye ken.”
Jeane doubted that since the man’s tunic seemed worn, and the smell of ale overwhelmed her as he leaned in even closer.
She opened her mouth to cry out Fergus’ name, even though she hated being beholden to him, and then she heard a booming command.
“Stop.”
She looked over the balding man’s shoulder to see Fergus standing there, jaw clenched, holding a bag of her supplies in one hand.
The man did not seem to hear Fergus, or was ignoring him, because he just put a hand on Jeane’s face, cupping her cheek.
Jeane shuddered in fear and revulsion.
“Daenae ye touch her!” Fergus growled, and suddenly, the man was off her.
In a move so quick Jeane barely noticed it, Fergus used one arm to slam the balding man up against the brick, his fingers wrapped around the man’s throat.
Fergus squeezed. “Ye daenae touch what is mine.”
His voice was low and dangerous, and Jeane’s eyes widened as Fergus tightened his hand around the man’s throat.
The man wheezed and clawed at Fergus’ fingers but to no avail.
“Tell the lass ye’re sorry,” Fergus snarled, and the man wheezed again.
“Cannae breathe—” he started, but Fergus clenched his hand even tighter, and the man’s eyes seemed to almost pop out of his head.
“Fergus—”
“Apologize to the lass,” Fergus said again, loosening his grip just slightly.
“S-sorry,” the man who had accosted her managed, his voice thin and reedy, high-pitched instead of low like before.
“I hope ye learned yer lesson,” Jeane said quickly, glancing up at Fergus.
His dark brown eyes had bled nearly black, and he looked at the man, not Jeane.
“I’m all right,” Jeane said again, placing her hand on Fergus’ bicep, and finally, Fergus let the man go.
The man gasped and clawed at his throat for only a split second before running down the street and disappearing around the corner.
Then it was Fergus pressing her up against the brick, his hand on her jaw, popping her mouth open as if to check for injuries.
“Did he hurt ye?” he asked, no, demanded, his dark eyes searching her face.
“Nay,” Jeane said quickly, her breath coming shorter at his touch. She should be afraid, and she supposed that part of her was, but another part of her was titillated by the display of power. Her skin felt hot all over.
Fergus hummed in the back of his throat and finally took a step back. Jeane felt like she could finally breathe again.
“Come, lass,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the street. They were walking away from the stables where Fergus had put his horse, and Jeane frowned.
“Where are we going?”
“To the inn of course.”
Jeane stared at him, flabbergasted. He wanted her to stay at an inn with him? Alone?
Fergus fought a smile as Jeane glared up at him. Her ferocity amused him, and he could not help but adore how her chin tilted up and how her brown eyes flashed.
“I’m nae stayin’ the night alone with ye,” Jeane said stubbornly. “I thought we were goin’ back.”
“I thought we were too, but it’s gotten so late. I daenae want to ride through the night. Daenae worry, lass, I will get ye yer own room,” he assured her. “What kind of man do ye think I am?”
“I wouldnae ken, would I?” she asked sullenly, and Fergus let out a frustrated breath.
“It’s too far back to the castle to ride now, and ye havenae eaten.”
“I had some dried meat and bread this mornin’,” Jeane argued, but Fergus just grunted in response.
“I mean a real meal, lass. I ken an inn that serves the best rabbit stew.”
Jeane did not complain further, even though her small hand slipped out of his as they walked.
Fergus wanted to be at home, too and wanted to get Jeane set up in her living quarters, but he was sore from all the riding, so he knew that a lass like her had to be half-dead.
Too bloody stubborn to admit it.
He walked into the inn ahead of her, and Jeane stayed close behind him, as if she were afraid of her surroundings. He supposed it made sense, given that man had nearly assaulted her.
Rage boiled in Fergus’ blood. If he had not been in the middle of town, he would have drawn his sword and beheaded the man.
As it was, though, the man got off with an apology. Lucky.
Perhaps it should frighten him how much he cared, how angry he became when he saw Jeane in trouble. The way his mind screamed “mine!” when he saw another man touching her should disconcert him, but Fergus felt nothing but good about Jeane being in his life.
Which should be frightening all on its own. He had not felt good, felt happy, in many years. Not after all he lost.
“Two rooms,” Fergus said to the innkeeper.
The innkeeper swallowed visibly, flinching back as if Fergus might hit him. “Me Laird, I’m so sorry, but there’s only one room left.”
Fergus nodded. “Aye. I will take it.”
He felt something like glee rush through him. He would be alone with Jeane, and he did not mind sharing a bed with the lass, not one bit.
“One room?” Jeane piped up behind him. “Are ye sure there’s nothin’ else?”
“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper said again, and Fergus grunted.
“Daenae worry,” Fergus said. “She will be fine.”
“I will be fine,” Jeane argued as he led her to the room after getting the key from the innkeeper.
“Calm down, little mouse. I willnae ravish ye.” He ducked his head, close to her ear. “Nae unless ye beg me to.”
Jeane scoffed, but Fergus could see the red flaming her cheeks.
He opened the door and walked in to see a single bed, albeit a big one, in the middle of the room. The room was sparsely furnished with only a chair and a bed with furs thrown over them.
Jeane huffed out a breath as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I cannae sleep here. Nae with ye.”
“Aye, ye can,” Fergus said easily. “But first, we need to get some food in ye.”
Jeane opened her mouth to continue protesting, but then her stomach growled as if in agreement, and Fergus held out his hand to her.
She groaned, joints popping as she stood, and Fergus kept hold tight of her hand as they travelled downstairs.
Once each of them had a bowl and a cup of ale, they sat and ate.
Jeane devoured her food like a hungry bear, leaving nothing behind.
“I’m sure ye can get seconds if ye like,” Fergus urged, and Jeane flushed, shaking her head.
“I shouldnae eat too much too fast; I will be sick.”
Fergus frowned. “Have ye nae been eatin’ well?”
“I’ve been on the run,” Jeane answered although it was not much of an answer at all. Still, Fergus understood what she left unspoken. Before she arrived at the castle, she’d been wan and thin. It must have been a long time since she had eaten properly before she arrived.
Fergus chugged down his ale and noted that Jeane seemed to be keeping up with him, probably thirsty from all the work she had done today and all the riding.
By the time they were finished, Jeane’s cheeks were permanently flushed.
She stumbled as she stood, and Fergus put a hand on her hipbone to steady her.
“Ye’ve had yer fill?” he asked, bemused by how she swayed on her feet.
“Aye. Still cannae sleep, though.”
“How do ye ken?” Fergus teased, unable to help himself. “Ye might fall right asleep as soon as ye lie down.”
“I’m nae lyin’ next to ye,” she muttered, stubborn.
Fergus sighed as they ascended the stairs, righting Jeane when she swayed one way or the other.
The woman was infuriating, especially while she was drunk.
She pouted as she sat down heavily on the bed. “Nae tired.”
“Fightin’ sleep?” he teased, but there was no bite to it. She was bonny, all flushed and swaying, looking small and fragile in the middle of the bed.
He sat across from her, cross-legged, and reached into his knapsack and brought out a deck of cards.
“Ye play?” she asked.
“On occasion. But of course, a lady wouldnae ken the games I ken.”
“Would she nae?” Jeane grinned widely, and Fergus blinked at her, surprised.
“Oh, ye’re a surprisin’ little mouse, ye ken that?”
She giggled, and the sound made Fergus’ heart skip a beat.
“Are ye ever goin’ to tell me how ye got those scars?” Jeane asked suddenly after she won the third hand, and Fergus threw down his cards.
Fergus stiffened. “It isnae a good bedtime story, lass.”
“Aye, but I’d like to hear it, all the same,” Jeane said quietly.
Fergus stared at her for a long moment, considering. In the end, though, he shook his head.
“Nae tonight, little mouse.”
Jeane pouted but quickly recovered, crowing as she won the fourth hand.
Fergus cursed in Gaelic under his breath.
“That’s no way to speak in a lady’s presence,” Jeane teased.
“Ye’re a faerie, not a lady,” Fergus teased back.
Jeane laughed, loud and hearty, her cheeks flushed with ale. She looked beautiful, so beautiful that Fergus could barely look at her.
“I daenae think anyone else has ever called me a faerie. Just plain,” Jeane mumbled, looking down at her new hand as Fergus dealt the cards.
“Plain?” Fergus’ voice came out more incredulous than he imagined. “Who called ye that?”
His blood seemed to heat with anger that someone might call Jeane plain. All that white-blonde hair, her doe brown eyes—how could anyone think her plain?
“Me father, mostly,” Jeane admitted, discarding two cards. Fergus dealt her two more.
“Yer father doesnae have a thought in his head,” Fergus said derisively.
“Ye daenae think me plain?” Jeane asked, leaning toward him, and if she weren’t so full of ale, Fergus would have kissed her soundly.
“Nay,” Fergus said quietly. “I daenae think ye plain.”
They played long into the night before she finally fell asleep, on her side, clutching her last hand. Fergus could not help but smile, even though she could not see it, pushing her hair back from her face.
He did not sleep but watched her.
She had captivated him.