Chapter Six #2
The roadways were now starting to fill with carts, mail coaches, and conveyances of every ilk, but it was nothing as bad as the crush of London traffic. Their horses were sturdy, obviously bred for endurance, and they made fast time southward.
In a stroke of good fortune, they had excellent weather for the next few days. It remained dry and sunny for most of the ride, so they took advantage and put as many miles behind them as possible.
Miranda expressed her relief when they reached York a day earlier than expected.
Her ribs had taken a beating with the fast pace their carriage had made, but she was too stubborn to admit that she was in any discomfort.
In truth, she was in a surprising amount of pain and silently prayed heavenward in an offering of gratitude when they reached the Old Norse Inn, a little oasis located within the heart of York.
When she stumbled getting down from the carriage, Solway insisted on their remaining here an extra day. “Dinna bother to protest. Ye’re hurt and it shows.”
Miranda huffed, even though he was right. Had it not been for his fast reflexes, she would have taken a bad tumble. Fortunately, she had landed clumsily against his chest. But even that soft stumble had evoked a whimper out of her.
Her ribs were now on fire from the impact that felt as though she had just run into a stone wall. Tears welled in her eyes, and this did not help her cause either.
No one believed her when she insisted that she was fine.
“Enough, Miranda,” Solway said, wrapping her in his arms. “Ye’re no’ convincing anybody.” He frowned at her to emphasize his point, his resolve obviously firmed. Well, he wasn’t really frowning but looking fiercely concerned. “Ye’re to rest today and tomorrow. We’ll take it day by day after that.”
“It will take us forever to reach London,” she grumbled while attempting to slip out of his arms, which felt far too comfortable for her liking.
“I hardly think an extra two or three days qualifies as forever. I asked ye to be honest with me about yer injury, but it seems ye will do anything to get yerself home and be rid of me. Too bad. We’re staying on for an extra day…or more if I deem it necessary.”
She frowned at him. “That is ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do ye hear yerself? I might believe ye if yer arms were no’ wrapped around yer ribs as ye stand there glaring at me.”
Nor did it help that her body was trembling, although she attributed that to Solway’s nearness and not her pain.
He drew her close again, placing an arm around her waist to draw her up against his body, his intention obviously to keep her warm.
He also offered a comforting hand as he escorted her into the inn.
“Remaining here an extra day actually works for me, too. I have some business in York that will take me at least a day to address.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “I would have had us stay on whether or no’ ye needed to rest. But ye need to take care of yerself. Ye’re no’ on a military march in the midst of a war. Give yer body the respite.”
She opened her mouth to continue the argument, not even understanding why she was being so obstinate.
Well, it was Solway. She had not stopped thinking about kissing him since the possibility entered her head.
“Och, now ye are shivering.”
“I am not,” she said, and shivered again.
“Then are ye burrowing against me because ye fancy me?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” she grumbled.
He let out an exasperated breath. “We’re staying and that’s an end to it.”
“All right.” She gave in, but only because little stabbing pains were darting up her rib cage. She did not think she could stand on her feet much longer.
The innkeeper was about to give them rooms on the upper floor, but Solway immediately shook his head. “No, that won’t do. We’ll require a room for the ladies on the main floor.”
Miranda looked at the narrow flight of stairs that led upstairs and breathed a sigh of relief when the innkeeper cast a frowning glance at his reservations register and hastily made a notation. “You shall all be accommodated in our best suites. Right this way, Your Grace.”
Solway arched an eyebrow and grinned at Miranda as the innkeeper led them past a cozy seating area, then an elegant dining room, and down a beautifully decorated hallway to their guest quarters.
“Stop gloating, Solway,” she whispered.
“Why do ye think I am gloating?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and grinning because he knew he had done a good deed for her by insisting on rooms on this main floor of the inn.
“I would not have made it up those stairs. You have won the day.”
“I’m no’ gloating,” he said quietly. “It hurts my heart to know ye are in pain and that my family was the cause of it. I’ll never forgive myself.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “No, ignore my grumbling. How can you possibly be to blame? You’ve done all in your power to atone for your idiot kinsmen. I would never blame you.”
Her words must have surprised him in return, for he paused to allow Gwenys to move on with the innkeeper, and then he smiled. “Och, Miranda—could it be ye are softening toward me?”
“Do not get ahead of yourself. I am merely acknowledging your good care of me and Gwenys during our travels. I know I have been a difficult patient, but I promise to rest and do better to heed Tilda’s instructions.”
“Thank ye,” he said with a nod.
“It is I who must express my gratitude to you. I do apologize for behaving like an obstinate donkey.”
“Nay, lass. Ye do no’ owe me any apologies. I know how hard it must be for ye to endure the constant jostling to yer ribs.”
“Your carriage is quite comfortable. I know this trip home could have been a lot worse for me.”
“Indeed, it could have,” Gwenys interjected, calling to them with her typical cheer from a nearby room that was to be theirs for the evening. “Keep up, Aunt Miranda. Have a look at our lovely guest quarters.”
The innkeeper, a jovial man by the name of Mr. Thatcher, was obviously well acquainted with Solway, and pleased Gwenys was most complimentary about the arrangements. “Have a look, Your Grace. I gave the ladies our best guest chamber. Yours is also quite excellent and right next door.”
“Well done, Thatcher,” Solway replied with a congenial nod. The pair kept up an amiable conversation as the innkeeper led Solway to his bedchamber.
Of course, Miranda and Gwenys followed out of curiosity after a quick inspection of their own.
Both guest chambers were spacious and immaculately maintained.
There was fresh water in their ewers, scented soaps and fresh cloths atop their bureaus.
The beds appeared soft and generously stuffed with down and not cheap straw.
“Shall I have meals delivered to your rooms?” the innkeeper asked.
Solway looked to Miranda for an answer, since he was obviously concerned about her injured ribs.
“No,” she said, not really understanding why she was being so stubborn in refusing to admit she was not yet fully recovered. Of course, it galled her to admit any weakness on her part. “We shall dine in the dining room.”
“Give us yer best table, Mr. Thatcher,” Solway said, although his gaze suggested she was being stupid and ought to just take to her bed. “I’ll call on ye ladies in half an hour. Will that give ye time to ready yerselves?”
“Yes,” Gwenys replied for both of them.
Solway nodded, but he was frowning as they left his chamber with Mr. Thatcher.
In truth, it eased Miranda to know he had been given the room next door to theirs.
She was feeling much better by the time they had washed, changed into fresh clothes, and entered the dining room.
They had just been led to their table and taken their seats when Gwenys gasped. “Oh, no! I don’t believe it.”
Miranda followed her gaze and groaned.
The Lawsons were also returning to London from the Aberdeen wedding. In their party were Gwenys’s father and odious stepmother, her newlywed stepsister, and the spoiled girl’s new husband, who happened to be a Scottish baron by the name of Montrose.
“What’s wrong?” Solway asked, frowning. “Do ye know those people?” He watched the Lawsons making a fuss over their seating arrangements.
“We asked for your finest table,” Gwenys’s stepmother intoned with a raised voice to ensure everyone noted her displeasure.
The innkeeper was wringing his hands, for the Lawsons were now disrupting the dining pleasure of everyone in this elegant common room. “My lady, I have given you the best possible.”
“But I expected you to give us that corner table by the window overlooking your garden,” she retorted, too busy giving the innkeeper a hard time to notice she was complaining about her own sister-in-law and stepdaughter, namely Miranda and Gwenys, who were keeping company with Solway.
“My lady, please understand that I cannot displace the Duke of Solway and his party, since he also requested this table and is already seated.”
Solway was still gazing at her, seeking an answer to his question.
Gwenys obliged by responding when Miranda could not seem to find her voice. “That’s my father and stepmother. The prune-faced girl beside him is my stepsister, Louisa, and that is her new husband, Baron Montrose.”
Solway nodded. “I have no’ had the pleasure of meeting yer father before, although we serve together in the House of Lords.”
“He isn’t very attentive to his duties,” Miranda muttered. “He only bothers when someone in power twists his arm to attend because his vote is vital for passage of some bill or another. Sorry, Gwenys, I should not speak so ill of him.”
Gwenys placed her hand over Miranda’s. “You are only speaking the truth. I know firsthand just how ineffectual he can be.”
Solway let out a breath, obviously realizing there were bad feelings toward these Lawsons. “I know of Montrose. He’s a decent fellow. How did he end up with yer stepsister?”