Chapter 5
Helena awoke feeling better rested than she had any right to feel.
Also, completely ravenous.
Before climbing out of bed she snuck a peek at the other bed in the room, and was ashamed by the little sigh of relief she released when she realized Hunter wasn’t in it. Actually…she sat up farther. She was no expert, but the bed didn’t look slept in at all.
She’d fallen asleep on top of her counterpane and now a blanket was tucked around her. She’d been so exhausted from all the walking that as soon as she’d washed and changed into a fresh chemise, she’d laid down on the bed…and fallen asleep before she’d even eaten.
The meal still sat on the small table, along with the wash basin. So, what; Hunter had returned, seen her sleeping, and tucked her in without waking her?
The thought of him seeing her so vulnerable and caring for her…well, it made Helena frown. Or flush. Or both.
When had someone cared for her? Not since she was a very little girl had anyone fussed over her; Mister had been with her for years, but even she left Helena alone when she was sick or exhausted.
Helena was used to being the one to care for others—her employees, her servants, and poor dear Wulfie, who had hopefully deigned to accept his midnight snackie-poo from Amy.
There were so many who relied on Helena…
But Hunter had tucked her in.
And he’d kissed her neck when he’d undressed her.
The memory of his hands on her shoulders, his lips against her skin, had been part of the reason she’d had to lie down after washing. Good Lord, her body’s reaction to him had been outrageously unexpected. He…he made her breathless. How?
Remembering the kiss he’d given her on the train yesterday morning, the one which had been over and done before it had really begun, made her squeeze her thighs together.
Of course, that motion immediately reminded her of how sore she was from walking across the bloody country yesterday, and Helena was soon scowling as she groaned her way out of bed and hobbled about, trying to fix her disheveled coiffure to the best of her ability.
Although she’d long ago learned that few ladies’ maids could handle the tight curls her particular heritage had gifted her, she had come to rely on Mister’s skill with hair pins…
half of which were missing this morning.
Luckily the valise contained a skirt and shirtwaist more suitable to traveling—which she could don herself—and more importantly, clean underclothes. When they got to Stroken she’d have to spend some of her precious money to buy something new. Or at least something clean.
Exhaling deeply and completely unprepared for whatever was going to happen to her next, Helena scooped up a stale loaf of bread and hobbled her way downstairs.
Seeing Hunter again should have been embarrassing, and she was fully prepared to be embarrassed…except he met her with a cup of coffee and a full Scotch breakfast, and she forgot about being embarrassed.
It wasn’t until her plate was clean that she came up for air to see him grinning at her, and a hot flush seared her cheeks. “What? I was hungry.”
“Aye, I can imagine.” Her fake spouse nudged his toast across the table toward her. “I try no’ to eat bread in the morning, ye can have mine.”
A lady would likely demur. On the other hand, a lady wouldn’t have shoved a full plate of eggs and sausage and black pudding into her mouth, so Helena decided she had little to lose.
Trying to maintain her remnants of dignity, she reached for the toast and began to spread it liberally with whisky marmalade.
“And are we walking again today?” she asked haughtily as she bit into the toast. Oh that tasted wonderful. Why hadn’t they made any Bruadarach marmalade?
If anything, Hunter’s grin grew. “Nay, lass, dinnae fash. I arranged a ride for ye. No’ perhaps the comfortable passage ye’re used to, but it’ll do.”
It was a farm cart.
They stood in the courtyard of the inn and watched the carter load the conveyance with crates of fruits and grain. Helena sighed, deciding her arse would be able to stand only a few hours of the hard bench before she’d get out and walk alongside after all.
“Och, I almost forgot!” With a flourish, Hunter pulled something from behind his back. “I bought ye a pillow to sit on.”
He…bought a pillow. For her. He’d guessed her complaint and had fixed it before she could even voice it. Hell, she likely wouldn’t have voiced it at all, since he’d gone through the trouble of arranging the ride…
“Thank you,” she murmured as she took it from his hands. “That is…well. Quite kind of you.”
And last night, he’d tucked her in.
“I’m quite a kind fellow.” Hunter winked and gestured toward the cart. “Let’s get ye loaded up and we can be on our way.”
“Will we reach Stroken tonight?” It was easier to ask such a thing than to focus on the feel of his hands on her waist, lifting her onto the bench. A touch over too quickly.
“Nay, we’ll stay at the inn at Blair Atholl and reach Stroken tomorrow. Uncle Thorne will hide ye for a bit, and we can decide how best to get ye to Islay.” He swung up beside her. “If nothing else, he’ll send men along to guard us on our final journey to Islay.”
Send men? Perhaps Hunter’s uncle was more influential than she expected. The prospect of staying in a home with amenities was appealing. If she was going to have to hide from an assassin and delay her return home, at least she’d be able to do it in a modicum of comfort with a flushing loo.
The farm cart did move faster than walking, but only by a bit. To Helena’s surprise, the old man who drove it—he introduced himself as just Graeme—was polite and affable, sharing his knowledge without having to be prodded much.
“That’s rowan.” He pointed his prod at the pink flowers growing along the road. “There’s plenty of legends surrounding it, and some think it has the power to ward off evil.”
Helena eagerly sat forward. “In Jamaica, we have the croton plant with the same legends.”
Graeme nodded. “My missus used to make rowan berries into a jam that would be my favorite part of the meal. Sharp as her tongue, and just as unforgettable.”
How sweet. “She does not make it any longer?”
“She’s dead.” A shrug as the man clucked at his horses. “But she taught our daughters the recipe, and they make sure I get some each year.”
Oh. “I am sorry for your loss.” She glanced at Hunter, who had tipped his hatless-head toward where the sun would be if the clouds would move. “I am glad you have your daughters.”
“Aye, me too. Good lassies, and they’ve given me a muckle great number of grandbairns to cuddle when I need a hug.” The old man glanced at Hunter, who was rooting through the boxes.
“Are these apples, Graeme?”
“Aye, help yerself,” grinned the older man at Helena’s supposed husband. “Both of ye.”
“He eats it like a horse,” she couldn’t help but remark with a raised eyebrow. “Seeds and all.”
Hunter merely grinned. “Apple?”
She took one reluctantly, and turned her attention back to the man above them. “Your daughters are nearby, Graeme?”
The older man nodded. “Sometimes I think they need me more as they get aulder, not younger. Ye’ll find that out yerself one day, lassie, God willing. Ye two have any children yet?”
“Ah…no.”
Another shrug. “Well, God’s got his own plans, aye? How long have ye two been married?”
Oh dear. Oh dear. Helena shifted, accidentally brushing against Hunter causing a cascade of unwelcome heat through her. “We are…” What had the innkeeper said last night? She needed to keep their stories straight. “Newlyweds.”
As Graeme hummed, Hunter sat forward. “She didnae want me at first, but I’m persistent. Stood outside her house and warbled romantic songs until she gave in. Remember, sweetheart?”
“How could I forget?” she mumbled. But in an effort to participate, she then blurted, “He has a terrible singing voice.”
“Aye,” Hunter chuckled, stretching his arm out across the back of the bench and wrapping it casually around her shoulder. “But that didnae stop me. Yer father tried to throw an auld boot at me.”
Actually, this was a bit of fun, wasn’t it? “I recall you told him you would keep singing until he threw the other boot at you—”
“So I’d have a set,” he finished, outright laughing now. “Aye, that’s right, lass!”
The way he squeezed her made her feel…well, proud, perhaps? As if she’d done something right.
The old man was chuckling now. “Ye two have a strong marriage, and that’s important.
In my grandda’s day, marriages were made between two families who needed to ally for some reason.
Two farms next to each other, or the baker and the miller’s daughter…
they’d arrange their children to marry so their grandchildren would be wealthier. ”
Hunter grunted. “Easier, perhaps.”
To Helena’s surprise, Graeme shot him a frown and shook his head. “Perhaps, but no’ nearly as fulfilling. My Effie and me were married for thirty-five years, and every day I woke up and chose her. That’s important in a marriage.”
I woke up and chose her. “That is beautiful,” Helena whispered.
“Aye, it was.” The older man nodded firmly.
“Ye two remember that. Wake up and choose each other, even when ye’re still spitting mad about whatever ye fought about the night before, aye?
Dinnae listen to the auld advice about going to bed angry—aye, ye can do that, as long as ye still choose each other in the morning. ”
Helena glanced at Hunter, wondering if this had gone too far—receiving poignant marriage advice from a stranger? But to her surprise, Hunter slapped his knee with a firm nod.
“A fine piece of advice, Graeme, and one we’ll be sure to remember. The last time I made my Helena angry, she didnae speak to me for a week!”
Helena swallowed, trying to remember the game they’d been playing. The last time Hunter became angry, he’d nearly killed a man. “It was more like four days.”
“Aye, and ye didnae forgive me until I brought ye that jar of honey, remember?”