Chapter 8
Watching Margaret with Agnes had stirred something within Ryan. It was like he was seeing another part of his little Sassenach. She’d allowed some of her uncertainty to trickle through the cracks in her exterior.
Her face had shifted in ways he’d yet to see. She’d smiled and feigned excitement for the seamstress, but he could tell that none of it was genuine. The smile hadn’t reached her eyes. In fact, she’d seemed almost sad at the prospect of the two of them actually going through with the wedding.
That wasn’t the way he wanted any lady of his to feel. He’d promised this woman protection, yet she seemed to be afraid of the life she’d spend with him. Even Agnes had picked up on Margaret’s hesitation before his Lady had invited her to the wedding.
Ach, am I really that terrifyin’ to her? Does she really think I’m as awful as the man she’s seekin’ shelter from? I daenae think I’ve done anythin’ that would make her so frightened.
Ryan offered Margaret his arm as they walked toward the horse.
She took it after a moment of hesitation, squeezing tightly when she finally grabbed onto him.
He was unsure of whether she was seeking comfort or if she was just attempting to steady herself against her situation. It was likely a bit of both.
“I’m sure ye’re glad to have another gown,” he said, attempting to make conversation.
“Yes,” she murmured, seeming lost in her own head. Her eyes scanned the streets, but he didn’t think she was seeing anything. “I am.”
“I’m sure Cali will be glad to have somethin’ else to dress ye in,” he continued.
He regretted not having more to speak with her about. Asking about her past seemed to be in poor taste. He wasn’t sure there were any topics that were safe.
“Yes, I’m sure she will be,” Margaret agreed, sounding just as far away as she did in the shop. “She’ll be glad that I’ve got more gowns coming, too. She mentioned that I’d need more.”
“Aye, she kens what Lady McGhee needs,” Ryan said, glancing down at Margaret when she slowed down slightly.
The distant expression was still on her face, and it was as if she had forgotten they were walking. He nudged her along, waiting for a response. It didn’t come.
He resisted the urge to sigh. There was nothing to tease her about, nothing that he could draw on to lighten her mood. He was left hoping that by the time they finished his last errand and he got her to the castle she’d be back to herself again.
Hard to tell if she’ll feel any better. She seemed so put off by the weddin’. I’m sure the castle will do nothin’ but remind her of her situation.
Margaret couldn’t shake off the feeling of sorrow in her limbs. It felt ridiculous that she was so torn up over a decision she’d made. She supposed that today had been the first time she’d allowed herself to really think about what she was doing.
It seemed as though Ryan was trying to get her mind off of it.
The sentiment was sweet, but it only made her feel more confused.
If he were the kind of man she expected him to be, her feelings would have been less twisted.
She was sad at being away from her family and the situation she had no choice but to put herself into, and a Highlander was trying his best to distract her from it.
After he tugged at her for the second time, Margaret made herself focus on the present. She didn’t need to be dragged through the streets of the village. If she wanted to get lost in her thoughts, she could do so when she was safely in her quarters at the castle.
When they got back to the horse, Ryan tucked the package away in a saddlebag. Then, he looked down at Margaret. She sighed, already starting to get onto the beast, apparently attempting to skirt his assistance.
“I have to visit the inn,” he said as he untied the horse from the post, not looking at her as he did. “The owner made a complaint. Best I check on it meself since I’m in the village.”
Ah, right. The Laird does have responsibilities he has to attend to. I’ll have some of those myself when he decides to give them to me.
With that, he climbed into the saddle behind Margaret. She found that his proximity, the strength in his chest and arms, soothed the rawness of her worry. Still, it bubbled beneath her skin.
She tried to borrow some of his obvious strength, leaning into him and not caring if he noticed. He pressed forward, giving her what she wanted but couldn’t put into words. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a comforting rhythm.
Margaret let the sound of horseshoes against stone infiltrate her ears. It became almost possible for her to ignore the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. They became nothing more than babble, like that of the great hall that she’d grown to enjoy dining within.
The ride was short, taking only a few minutes.
Margaret was surprised to see a different inn from the one she’d spent time in on her first night here.
The village seemed too small to accommodate more than one place for travelers to rest their heads, but when they entered, Margaret realized that this one was quite different from the one Agnes had recommended.
The exterior of the building was nondescript. Nothing, aside from the sign hanging above the door, marked it as an inn. While it wasn’t an uninviting place, it certainly didn’t welcome newcomers to the village.
A bell above the door jingled as Margaret and Ryan crossed the threshold. She could barely hear it over the roar of sound inside. There was so much going on that the worries that had plagued her before were forced into the recesses of her mind.
I thought the meals in the great hall were lively… this is something else entirely.
Her hand resting in the crook of Ryan’s elbow, she took in the space as best she could.
The tables were a bit older with chips in the lacquered finish.
There were hardly any patrons, except at a few tables in the back corner.
A large group of men was gathered there, sipping from pint glasses and speaking loudly.
They’re the source of all this noise? I was sure this place would be packed full.
Their words filled the air, and she was only able to catch bits of their conversation. Though truthfully, she wished that she couldn’t hear any of what they were saying. Vulgarities reached her ears along with the sounds of palms meeting wood. A loud burst of laughter made her shoulders tighten.
Somehow, rather than joyous, the cackling sounded ominous.
These were the men she’d heard stories about. They were the savages who did as they pleased to women and didn’t feel a lick of shame for it. Even now, though they seemed to be jovial, it felt as though a fight could break out at any moment.
Ryan’s arm snaked around her waist, tugging her close and pulling her out of her thoughts. She tore her gaze from the men and looked up at the Laird, whose jaw was set in fierce protectiveness, his eyes already fixed on her.
It felt as if he were reading her mind. She hadn’t uttered a word since they had come into the inn, yet it was as though he understood everything. Without being asked, he was protecting her.
He’s still a Highlander, but I can tell he’s different from the men that are drinking at this inn.
“Just stay close, lassie,” he said, soothing and strong. He was steady in the storm they’d found themselves in. “They willnae bother ye. Just a mess of pished lads. I ken they’re rowdy, but they’ll stay where they are. If nae… I’ll keep them from ye. I’ll make them regret it.”
There was a bite of something dark in Ryan’s words. It was well hidden, and she was fairly certain she wasn’t supposed to pick up on its rasping drag. He wasn’t directing any of his ire at her. It was all for the men whose noise had put her on edge.
Margaret thought that she should be scared of his temper, but right now, she felt safe because of it. The realization that he wouldn’t turn his anger toward her confused Margaret. He was a Scotsman, likely filled with fury and rough edges. Yet, this protection…
I don’t know what to do with him. He doesn’t behave the way my aunt said Highland men do.
Still in a stupor, Ryan led her toward the front desk where an old, wiry man stood. His face lit up when he spotted the two of them, and he greeted the Laird as if he were an old friend. Then, his eyes found Margaret.
“And who’s this ye have with ye, Me Laird?” he asked, his gaze kind.
Margaret would have expected the man who ran this place to be more like the men still making a ruckus in the corner. The innkeeper seemed warm and welcoming. She decided that she liked him.
“This is yer new Lady,” Ryan said, not letting go of her. “The weddin’ is in a sennight.”
“It’s about time ye were wed! I was beginnin’ to—”
“Ye filed a complaint,” the Laird said, cutting off the rest of whatever the man was about to say.
He wasn’t unkind, but he clearly wanted to take care of his business rather than dwell on gossip and pleasantries.
“I came to handle it meself. Tell me what ye ken, and I will see it is taken care of.”
When the man started speaking about violence, Margaret let herself sink back into her thoughts. She stayed stuck to Ryan’s side as the two men spoke. She let herself relax a bit, only half-listening to the conversation happening. Her mind was overwhelmed with confusion.
Perhaps she could interpret the strange way Ryan made her feel—the fluttering in her stomach when she touched his chest or when they were riding into town—as a new form of fear. This though… How could she explain the feeling of safety away?
Without a word from her, he’d seen something that made her feel as though she were in danger and took steps to protect her.
Even when he made threats toward the rowdy patrons, he had done his best to hide that violence from her.
Perhaps she could call that action nothing more than following up on his end of the deal they’d made, but she wasn’t so sure.
“I’ll increase the guards patrollin’ yer area,” Ryan said, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating into her bones. “I willnae stand for thieves, and if they’ve been stealin’ yer provisions, well I cannae have that. I will see to it that they’re taken care of quickly and decisively.”
Margaret shuddered at his tone. It was much more intense than the way he’d been speaking to her. She didn’t want to think about how he might deal with these thieves.
“Thank ye, Me Laird,” the innkeeper said, sticking his hand out for Ryan to shake. “And thank ye for comin’ by in person.”
Without removing his arm from Margaret’s, Ryan accepted the man’s offer. When he let go, he steered the two of them out of the inn. The voices of the patrons faded away as the door closed behind them.
For a moment, Ryan stood still, staring up at the sky. Margaret assumed that he was replaying the conversation that she hadn’t really heard. Perhaps he was coming up with some sort of strategy to take care of the complaint he’d been presented with.
“Thieves?” Margaret asked as they walked to where the horse was tied, a bit up the road from the inn.
“Aye,” Ryan said, nodding in affirmation. “Nothin’ to worry about. Me men will take care of it.”
“I…” Margaret began before stopping suddenly, her eyes locked on a figure down the road.
He was a man not dressed like anyone she’d seen here. There seemed to be an air of indifference about him, but she couldn’t tell for sure from this distance. Most notably, and perhaps most unsettlingly, he was looking right at her. And when she saw his eyes—
No, it can’t be.