Chapter 11 #2
An image of the tub flashed in her mind, the water red with the blood she’d washed from her hair.
From her hands. She looked down at her palms. They were absent any traces of gore.
Her fingers, however, contained flecks of it, clinging to the cuticles of her nails.
Blood from the man she’d killed. His face lodged stubbornly in her mind.
Those blue eyes, bulging with surprise, his stare slipping into the distance as his life—
Someone plunked down onto the seat at her left. “Are ye enjoying the feast?”
Sir William tossed her one of his charming grins.
She tried to put on a pleasant smile. “Aye.”
“How did ye find yer food?”
She slid her gaze to her trencher, where the small amount she’d taken had been pushed around the slab of stale bread until it had begun to soak through. “Delicious.”
“Ye enjoyed the two bites ye had?”
She pursed her lips.
He leaned closer, bringing with him that scent that so enticed her, that masculine, warm spice, and spoke in a quiet voice. “Can I be honest with ye?”
He was so near, the heat of his body was evident against her skin. It made her want to nuzzle against the strength of him, to feel his arms embrace her.
She shoved aside that longing. “Of course.”
“I dinna care for raids.” He frowned. “Too many innocents get hurt.”
Kinsey’s heart squeezed at the memory of the woman who had been slain. How many unarmed people were killed without thought or mercy?
“I didn’t know it would be like that,” she admitted.
“I have another confession,” he said.
She looked up at him.
“I dinna like this feast.” He shook his head, and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it away thoughtlessly. “I dinna like to celebrate what our king forced us to do.”
It wasn’t wise to speak ill of their monarch, especially when he was in the same room, no matter how large it might be. But his candor touched the tender, wounded place inside her.
“I can walk ye back to the inn if ye like,” he offered.
Normally she would refuse with a curt reply. She would assume he might try to take advantage of their time alone with an eager mouth and hands. She would flash her dagger and remind him how she could care for herself.
Of course, that would have been before he’d kissed her.
Before she craved him.
Before she’d killed a man and so desperately needed to forget.
Right now, she didn’t want to be alone. Not at the feast, or on the road walking back, or in her room at the inn, with only a flickering candle to keep away the dark and the press of loneliness.
“The men are too sotted to notice.” He glanced around at the men by way of confirming what he’d said.
Duff swayed beside Kinsey, while several others all spoke at once, their words slurred and their faces ruddy with drink.
He was right. They wouldn’t notice if she stayed any more than they would notice who she had left with.
She nodded.
Sir William didn’t offer a cocky reply or bother with any other form of arrogance. He simply stood and offered her his arm, his expression earnest.
The streets of Edinburgh were crowded with the sort who emerged only at night. Those seeking entertainment, those willing to provide it—in all its forms—and those whose intentions were doubtless nefarious.
Regardless, the night was quiet and cool, a soothing balm to her ragged nerves. And a refreshing contrast from the crowded, overly lit feast that buzzed with noise and blazed with the heat of too many people.
William walked her into the inn, then up the stairs to the rooms, stopping when they arrived at the door before her chamber. The reminder of the bloody tub shot forefront to her mind once more, the water clouded red and her stained clothing balled up beside it.
She didn’t want to go inside and face the metallic odor of death.
“Kinsey.”
She started at Sir William’s voice and looked up into his concerned gaze.
“Would ye rather go downstairs and have an ale first?” he asked.
The thought of being surrounded by people once more made her chest constrict. She shook her head vigorously.
“We could find a quiet corner,” he suggested.
There would still be too many people. She wanted quiet. Peace. Would there ever be peace with that tub of soiled water?
“There’s blood in my room.” She said it so abruptly that she surprised even herself. “I—in the tub. And on my clothes.” Bile rose in her throat.
He put his hand to the handle of the door. “May I?”
She gave a terse nod.
He opened the door, went in and quickly shut it before she could see within. Her breath remained locked in her lungs as she waited, her nerves strung tautly. Several minutes later, he opened the door again. “’Tis fine.”
She peered inside where a fire had recently been lit, its smoky scent overwhelming the odor of blood. The tub and her clothing were gone. She blinked in wonder and looked at him.
“It wasna me.” He indicated the cleared space. “The maids saw to it.”
All at once, Kinsey felt like a complete and utter fool for her fears.
“Thank ye,” she said. “For opening the door to check. And lighting the fire. Ye must think me daft.”
“Nay.” He put his hands to her shoulders gently. “Nay. Raids are…difficult. I dinna like them.”
“Ye said as much earlier.” She studied his handsome face. “Why did ye do it?”
He scoffed. “Our king commanded it of my men and me. I canna decline the king.” He struck a bit of flint together and lit a candle by the bed. “I should go.”
Her pulse kicked up with a panicked flutter. “Please don’t.” Her forced smile was tight. She was being ridiculous. “Stay. For just a moment.” She searched his eyes, silently imploring him. “Please.”
He studied her in quiet consideration, then nodded and shut the door.
She stared hard at the ground before squeezing her eyes closed. “I’d never killed a man before joining ye. It was different at Mabrick Castle when they were far away. But today…”
“I know,” he said gently.
She blinked her eyes open and found him opening his arms to her. He didn’t come to her, but rather remained in place so that she could accept his offer if she wished.
Without another thought, she rushed into his embrace, and finally yielded to the strength she’d spent the night craving.