Chapter 21
“There! They are there!” Callum heard the one calling out pointing at them from the far distance.
Bolt right! Tucking Nella close to his torso, he took off down a different cobbled street. “Move!” he roared at a pack of sheepmen who blocked, with their flock, the walkway.
Baa, baa. Protests sounded off as he plotted their way through the impending flock headed for a drier pen. As he charged left at the next corner’s puddles, the water splashing beneath his soles was drowned out by a harsh streak overhead. Nella whimpered.
He vowed, “I have you, my lady.” Just don’t let the Benefactor’s warriors have them too. Make that next left ahead… Wait. Who just kicked that sheep out from around the corner up ahead toward his way? Hide! Callum snapped his stride right into a thin passage between two cottages.
Splash. Splash. The sheep kicker was approaching.
Where! Where could he take Nella? Wildly, his eyes darted to a dead end.
Hell! An etching by firelight ebbed the edges on a door to his left.
There! Leaning back, he raised his heel.
Bang! The door’s hinges gave in as a family gathered around the hearth turned wide eyed at him.
The sire and son stood tall; really tall. Hell, they were part giant.
“Leave,” the larger giant threatened.
“Please,” Callum countered, his tone edged by begging, “we seek shelter only for a moment.”
The eldest Scotswoman seated by the roaring hearth looked at Nella. “Is the lass hurt?”
“Aye, we seek only a moment…” His explanation halted when he heard a hiss-like voice order. It was Hiss!
“I saw them go down that alley there, seize them!” Shite, it had to be their alleyway.
Charging past the family, he ran for the opposite door.
Lowering his shoulder, he bore hard against the wood, and the hinges groaned before breaking free and letting them back out into the downpour.
Inn, the inn was… Hell, which way was the inn?
With no stars to guide, he looked frantically toward Castle Wynd. The castle was north – go right!
A scream behind him sounded the alarm that they had been found out using the small cottage as a sanctuary. He raced right then rounded a new corner. Clergyman! He spun left, just avoiding crashing into the robed friar who looked wide eyed then took another right.
East; aye, they were headed east. The lights in any cottage or church or stable faded into the darkness ahead. It meant they had to be getting close to the edge of the burgh. If the burning like a bonfire in his thighs meant he could race same as the wind, they would have been there already.
That building was two floors tall! The inn! Blinking several times when water threatened to blind him, his step quickened, same as a stallion on the final leg of a race sailing over the cobblestones.
Rear door. Castellón had said rear door. He charged past the patrons who clamored to get inside from the foul surroundings. The shutters closed to avoid the rain seeping inside, but it didn’t silence the roar by Scots enjoying hearty food and ale.
“Almost there, Nella,” he huffed at the precious bundle in his arms. She tucked closer to him when a rumble by thunder echoed overhead.
This was why she kept checking the sky all day.
She was chancing herself to help him. If anguish could cause him to turn into a speck of dirt, he would have joined the soil under his feet as they reached the closed rear doorway.
He balanced Nella. Hell with knocking; use a foot. He kicked at the door with his heel, his eyes darting at everything behind them. Patron pissing on the forest’s edges. A wayward sheep who had escaped the flock. Good, no Benefactor warriors.
Creak. The door opened and there stood a face riddled with as many lines as the wood grooves on the oak gatekeeper.
“We are with Captain Castellón.” The door began to close. The saying, state it! He jammed his foot in the doorway, halting it. “The sky is gray but never stray.”
A stern nod met him as the gateway opened into kitchens.
Hell, it is as large as those at Stirling Castle.
It seemed the innkeeper was well paid by those certain patrons seeking “shelter”.
If this innkeeper knew he was the captain of the royal guard, those four muscled Scottish towers with eyes staring at him from the kitchen’s entry would draw that steel faster than one could say “go”.
The innkeeper fetched a torch from a wall sconce near the hearth where roast sizzled on a spit.
Walking in a deliberate stride at odds with the hunched spine, the innkeeper nodded at one of the Scottish towers who stepped over by a second unlit hearth.
One pull on the mantle’s end the wood gave way, showing a secret door.
Bending down, clutching Nella closer, he entered.
Click. The door sealed behind them with the innkeeper raising the torch on… on what? Where the hell were they?
Stone walls lined the passage before the innkeeper reached his hand toward a closed door on his left.
Releasing the latch, he motioned Callum inside.
Sparse but clean; a small straw-filled pallet on wood ropes so Nella would not be on the floor, a lone chair, and table.
Setting Nella in utmost care onto the fresh linen-covered pallet, he looked down at her tear-streaked face while she shivered.
Cold. It wasn’t only pain, she was cold. Her clothes were soaked.
With one glance up at the innkeeper who lit two candles on a small table, he demanded, “My lady requires a fresh gown, cloak, clean linen strips, wine, and a bowl of that hot pottage I spied in the kitchens. Also parchment, quill, and an ink horn.”
“Aye,” was the only response. The lone sound was Callum tossing the second bag of coins into the innkeeper’s palm. The proprietor weighed the leather bag in his grasp then gave a toothless grin. “Straight away.”
The door closed behind him as Callum leaned over the pallet in attending Nella.
Meeting his gaze, she slowly lowered her palms from her ears while her eyes squinted by discomfort.
She raised her finger on her lips. Silence.
Aye, silence must reign. He nodded at once and made a hand gesture like writing.
She inclined her brow. He knew she could read and write; he’d taught her.
It was the first thing that had sparked their relationship, when he saw her giving a parchment and quill a longing look at a merchant’s stall on market day.
He asked if she enjoyed scribing at which she shook her head sadly before declaring her sire “only wanted a daughter who bore sons, nothing more”.
He took his fingers high up before shaking them down before him like a bolt of lightning would look. She nodded. When returning, the innkeeper would knock, hurting her further.
Ripping a healthy portion from the linen on the pallet, he fashioned two clumps of fabric.
He placed them over her ears before weaving what was left of her wimple like a strap over her skull and under her chin.
He paused. She looked soooo delicate. Completely different than the Scotswoman who’d met him with a sharp tongue at each challenge they threw at one another.
Aye, it was the fighter in her he loved.
Knock. Nella held quiet. Excellent, the cloth had done its job.
The innkeeper bore the tray holding the steaming pottage and wine and clean linen strips and writing tools.
The elder raised his forearm slightly at the thicker blanket he’d brought.
“I have this here to aid in warmth. The clothes shall have to keep till the morrow.” Not ideal but better than forging in the streets.
“Those huntin’ you both have paid call and gone – for now.
” The elder eyed Nella a moment. “She is safe here, both of you are. However, by first light you must take your leave.”
Callum nodded. “I shall require my charger at the stables be brought here to the edges of the forest behind your establishment.”
“It shall be done.”
Setting the table near the pallet preparing the first spoonful in pottage, he turned but stilled when Nella shook slightly. Her teeth chattered before she whimpered in pain at the sound. Cold.
Inwardly cursing no hearth was present, he carefully removed her clothes with exception of her chemise when she stopped him to do the action herself.
Leaving only the wee ear coverings, he tucked the thick woolen snugger about her gently.
Her teeth chattered again, but this time the whimper became a sob.
Shite! Had he ever felt so helpless? No.
He ripped off his scabbard, mail tunic, all his linen undergarments from chausse to braise, and her eyes grew a tiny bit at his sudden nakedness before he sought under the blanket too.
He pulled her close into his embrace, draping her over him fully till each of her soft curves pressed his hard angles. The chattering halted. Thank all above.
Reaching for the pottage he had situated on the table beside them, he gathered a warmth-filled spoonful for her. Leaning up slightly so she could feast, he fed her the first helping.
In care she chewed, not gnashing her teeth together. After swallowing the third spoonful, she leaned over and the warmth from her lips kissed his torso. His brow furrowed while his arm set about her waist snugged more.
If a silent form of appreciation from her could cause his soul to brighten, the dark chamber they took refuge in would have become a sun’s ray.
His lips brushed her brow; he then offered another spoonful.
Four more later, she shook her head and pointed at him.
She wanted him to eat too. No, she needed it more.
He shook his head before pressing the spoon forward. She pursed her lips closed then cocked a brow at him. Well, she must be feeling better; look at that spirit again. He inwardly grinned and munched on the bequeathed provision.
Hhmm, rich flavor not greasy with just a touch by rosemary herb; delicious. As he scooped the next helping, Nella pointed at herself, and his inner grin turned outward as he fed her the sustenance.
They finished the bowl in quick order with bread off the small plate sopping up the last remnants before the wine was tackled next. Once done, she sighed while sneaking her temple up under his chin. Few more breaths, her breathing turned long and low. She slept.
His eyes stared at the empty bowl with the shadows by the candle playing across it.
Had he harmed her? Was this permanent? How would he dare live with himself if either held merit?
He pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders, and she gave a small purr sound.
Huh, she didn’t wake in pain; this was a hopeful sign.
Resting his chin on the strap atop her skull holding the two tiny pillows in place over her ears, all turned dark as he fell asleep. They were together and safe.
This.
Was.
All.
That.
Mattered.