Chapter 4
Rose’s nerves hummed incessantly as they walked into the inn. A large desk sat to the side of the main chamber, the attendant standing behind it, greeting them all with a smile. Peggy stood just behind her, and she waited a few steps back as Oskar and the Laird strode up to the desk.
“Good evening, how may I be of service?”
“Two rooms, please. Same floor and near one another.”
“Right away, sir.”
The innkeeper made quick work of retrieving two keys for Laird MacKay, requesting a servant to fetch their smaller bags for the single evening they would be staying here.
Rose sagged with a bit of relief as Oskar gave Peggy one of the keys.
They would not be spending their first evening together in an inn, of all places. She was elated.
“See to it that yer maid helps ye to ready yerself for dinner. I shall meet ye here for our meal after ye’ve had a moment to refresh yerself.” Laird MacKay narrowed his stare on her, making Rose’s pulse flutter in her neck. “Since we’ve had such a long day’s travel, of course.”
She was not foolish enough to miss the jab he’d sent her way, but Rose would not vex herself with caring.
A moment of solitude and refreshment sounded wonderful, and she would seize it as soon as she possibly could.
Peggy curtsied before the Laird, and Rose bowed her head before her maid showed her up the steps to the left.
The inn was a lovely place, with off-white walls that were clean and decorated with numerous bits of foliage and artwork. Peggy followed the servant in front of her with Rose’s case for the evening, and they stopped on the second floor, going down the hall to the right.
As they stepped inside and Peggy closed and locked the door, Rose let out another long sigh, dropping down to the edge of the bed in the center of the room.
“How are you faring, my lady? Do you require anything immediately? I will ring for a bath, of course.”
“Thank you, Peggy.” Rose gave her a smile, pulling on the fingers of her gloves to remove them. “I assure you; I can handle myself against the Laird.”
Standing, Rose crossed the room to the dresser on the far wall, depositing her gloves and then her bonnet onto the polished wood. A fire was steadily burning in the fireplace already, and it was warm and content in the space. Perfect for a moment of respite and a bath.
“My lady, please do not take offense when I say this, but,” Peggy sucked in a deep breath when Rose faced her curiously, “if you wish to seize this opportunity to flee from the inn, I will assist you.”
Mouth dropping open, Rose stumbled back into the dresser, making it shake slightly. She gaped at Peggy in shock, speechless for several moments.
“Dear Peggy, I understand that you likely care for me, wishing only my happiness. Still,” Rose chuckled, waving off the idea as she shook her head, “that is nonsense. You do not need to worry. I will be quite all right in Scotland. Especially with you by my side.”
“I thank you for your affection, my lady. In truth, I did not wish to remain in England without you.”
Rose walked over, taking Peggy’s hands and squeezing them in hers.
“We will make do. We will survive, without fail, wherever we are planted.”
They laughed together, and in no time, the hot water for a bath was delivered, carried in several buckets by the strapping young servants, and Peggy helped Rose to undress and bathe.
It felt marvelous to soak in the hot water after being in the carriage all day, her skin cleaned of the sweat and stagnation of riding in that tiny box.
Once she was dressed in a suitable outfit for dinner, Rose sat at the small table in her room, enjoying a spot of tea brought up to her room from the inn’s kitchen.
“I must check on the horses, my lady. I do not trust the Laird’s manservant Oskar. He might not arrange for their proper feeding and care. I must see that the horses are tended with my own eyes.”
Rose chuckled, dismissing Peggy so that she could ensure their animals were well taken care of. Unfortunately, once she was alone in her room, it did not take long for boredom to sink in, making the seconds drag as she waited for dinner.
She hardly made it another hour before deciding that she would go downstairs for dinner regardless of how early it was.
It is not by much, and I cannot sit in that room for a moment longer.
The inn offered a lovely dining room and bar area for its patrons, and she proceeded down the steps to investigate herself, rather than be cooped up in the quiet, unfamiliar room.
The sound of several voices drew her to the correct place, a spacious dining and entertainment room, where several tables, as well as a long bar that sat on the right side of the room, were bursting with energy from the numerous people already enjoying the inn’s libations.
But the moment she walked further into the space, Rose stopped short, her entire being freezing up.
Lord Egerton.
There, at the bar, was her ex-fiancé, well into his cups, stumbling, and undoubtedly using the money stolen from her family to pay for the copious amounts of alcohol he’d already consumed, at least going by the number of empty glasses in front of him and the apparent annoyance of the barkeep.
Everything that he’d claimed from her dowry before he ran off, and the man was foxed in an inn, making passes at every woman who walked by him.
Rose scoffed to herself, fury raging in her blood, and she stomped over to him, grabbing the cup out of his hand and throwing the remaining drink into the bastard’s face.
“How dare you. You steal from me and my family, leaving us so injured, and now you are drinking it all away in some inn!”
“Rose?” the Viscount stuttered, shaking droplets of the drink from his face as she gaped at her. Still, almost immediately after, his expression contorted with rage, only slightly held back by the fact that they were in public.
“Are you out of your mind? What right do you have to come up to me out of nowhere and treat me as if I were some common lout!”
The Viscount stood, the stool he’d been seated on scraping against the floor with a terrible groan. She had forgotten that the man was a fair bit taller than she, even if the Laird put him to shame. And strangely enough, as she looked at him now, she could not help but compare the two in her mind.
Ambrose Lockhart, Lord Egerton, the man who had stolen a great deal from Rose and her family, looked so much slimier and more off-putting now. Perhaps it was the drink that flowed in his system, but Rose could also see him better now, without the optimistic allure of a potential match.
He was almost thirty, with receding blonde hair. The years, though not terribly numerous, had not been kind to Ambrose, nor had he been kind to anyone else during that time. He was slender enough, but hunched ever so slightly, and his blue eyes were unfocused and mean as she faced off with him.
“Be gone, woman. Before I have you dispatched of directly.”
“I will go,” Rose quirked a brow, crossing her arms, “because standing in front of you is like being too close to a rubbish bin. But I will have you know, Viscount, you have achieved nothing of great importance by seeking to ruin me. I have still matched with a husband, and your fingers did not close upon everything in my dowry before you left like a thief in the night.”
That beady stare of his flared wider, his brows raising as the anger radiated off the man, hot and scratchy.
“What?” The word was a coarse snarl.
“I travel with my new husband to this very inn. Or did you think I’d come solely to find you?”
The tension between them hit an all-time high, and Rose watched as the man she’d once believed to be at the very least kind enough to wed reared his hand back, his stare wild and furious.
He means to strike me.
Rushing through her like lightning, the thought warned of the pain to come, but Rose did not flinch away or pull back.
They stood in a dining hall in a public inn.
If this man wished to hit her in front of all these people, he could face the consequences, and she would not make herself small to appease him.
“Hedge-born cat.”
Rose’s jaw dropped as the quickly whispered words struck her before the Viscount’s hand. She felt her pulse dance in her throat, preparing for the impact as the booming sound of footsteps hurried in her direction.
Him. The Laird is here.
She could tell it before she turned and looked over her shoulder at his hulking figure.
Something about the power of the steps, the flash of intensity that escorted them, told her precisely who rushed in her direction.
As Lord Egerton’s hand swung down, another shot out from over her shoulder, catching him at the wrist.
Heat filled her, and Rose looked back to find Laird MacKay standing right behind her.
“What in God’s name—”
But before the Viscount could manage another word, the Laird stepped around Rose, putting her behind him as he seethed, the rage dwarfing the pitiful amount she’d seen from Ambrose. Were he not there to defend her, Rose honestly would have been terrified.
As it was, she stood behind her new husband at a loss for words, staring wide-eyed as he exchanged words with the Viscount.
“Only a very brave man, more likely, a monumental fool would lay hands on anyone who isnae his, let alone the wife of a Scottish Laird.”
Lord Egerton blinked up at Laird MacKay, who genuinely towered over everyone, vainly attempting to free his hand from the man’s grip. His voice a low growl that shook her bones, her husband continued to berate the Viscount, stepping forward without releasing his hold.
“So, which is it? A brave man or a fool?”
Silence thickened around them, congealing like soup left out to go cold. It was clear Laird MacKay meant to hear Ambrose’s answer, not letting up, squeezing the man’s wrist bones so that he hissed, and raising his brows as he leaned into the Viscount’s face.
Rose shook, too enraptured by the display to look away or move more than an inch. Ambrose would surely meet his end if he professed his bravery. The question was indeed a trap, and there would be no way out of this situation without admitting what the Laird wanted to hear.
His face falling, the air of a kicked dog hovering over him, Rose watched as the humiliated Lord Egerton dropped his eyes to the floor, his lips pressed together for a second longer.
“A fool, my Lord. My sincerest apologies.”
“I see.” The Laird’s voice was even and steady, and Rose believed this would be the end of it.
But as soon as the thought had crossed her mind, her husband grabbed Ambrose by the nape, as if he were some small animal, and hauled him bodily out of the dining hall and to the front door of the inn with everyone watching.
Only then did Rose realize that Oskar and Peggy were there, the Laird’s man-at-arms laughing mercilessly at Ambrose as he was dragged out of the room and tossed into the street like a piss-poor drunk. Peggy yelped as he hit the ground outside, scuffling over to Rose and taking her hand in hers.
“Dear Lord, what on earth happened, my lady?”
Peggy glanced at Rose as if she had some type of answer, but she was too flabbergasted to say so much as a single word.
She could merely watch as Laird MacKay stomped back into the dining room, the patrons surrounding them keeping resolutely to their own business as the tension still clogged the air.
“Are ye all right?” The Laird was right in front of her, and Peggy quickly retreated, leaving Rose to stand alone, face to face with her husband.
“He…” Rose shook herself before she forced out a nod. “Yes, thank you. Truly. I am quite unharmed.”
Laird MacKay’s jaw tightened. Something she could not parse out played over his features, but then he nodded, turning away from her and walking to the nearest attendant to request a table for dinner.