Chapter 11
“Angus, are ye married?”
The warrior looked shocked, his cheeks above his full dark beard going red, and from the periphery of her vision, Isabel saw Elsa sit up straighter.
She’d been watching the two of them make eyes, flirt even.
And well, Isabel was bored, and ready to stir up a little trouble.
This ride was becoming monotonous with a capital M.
It was very late, the sun was starting to set, and they had been on the road for hours—so many hours that Isabel had lost track of time and feeling in her legs.
Behind her James and Duncan sputtered a laugh, while beside her Angus’ mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from a loch.
“Um, nay, my lady.”
“And why no’?” Isabel was well aware this was none of her business, but this plodding ride was making her forget she was a good horsewoman and had ridden since she could walk.
Daily rides had been one of the ways she’d been able to cope with the myriad of emotions that threatened to swell to bursting since her parents had passed and she’d felt as though her life was floundering.
That said, this grueling pace was something altogether different. Even Freckles was starting to gnaw on the buttons of her bodice in agitation.
Angus’s face flamed even redder, and she was fairly certain if he didn’t get doused in cold water soon, he might combust. Perhaps she ought to change the subject.
But the only other thing she wanted to talk about was how tiresome this journey was.
Complaining would likely not go over well in conversation with a warrior who was used to far worse.
Besides, stoicism was a virtue in women.
Just as it was in men. Of course, men didn’t realize how much women had to endure in their daily lives.
Likely because they didn’t ask. Or think.
But also because it was a man’s place to protect a woman, and what right did she have to utter a word of discomfort when her very life was being saved?
And who was she being saved from? Other men…
there appeared to be a common denominator, but she, as a woman and not a mathematician, couldn’t seem to figure out what it was.
That didn’t mean she didn’t have a running commentary in her mind, however.
“Well, I supposed ye dinna have to answer that. ‘Tis not really any of my business. But a handsome one such as yourself should have a wife.”
Angus sounded like he was choking, and Elsa did too for that matter.
Isabel twisted in her saddle, trying to find where Lachlan was, riding somewhere near the rear. ’Twas hard to gauge at this distance whether or not he too was suffering. He had to be. If her legs were as numb as they were, his ought to be too, and more so considering the terrible wound he had.
“I will endeavor to find a wife upon returning home,” Angus said. “If my laird agrees.”
“Oh, I’m certain he would,” Isabel said. “Why would he deny ye eternal happiness?” She nearly swallowed her tongue with those words, sounding quite the hypocrite since she herself was willing to put off her “eternal happiness” for as long as it was possible.
“Eh, Mungo, ’tis my turn to ride point.” And with that, Angus shot forward, and Elsa looked immeasurably disappointed.
With Angus at the front of the line, their caravan picked up speed slightly, almost like he was running away from her conversation.
After being delayed the night before by the rain, she understood the need to make haste today, covering the ground they’d missed already.
Especially now that there was evidence that they were being followed, not to mention that they were now traipsing across enemy lands.
If they lived to see tomorrow, she wished she could ask for a day of reprieve.
Alas, that would likely only gain her an eye roll at best, a judgement at middling, and a toss on her rear at worst. Besides, she wasn’t going to put herself in a position for anyone to think less of her.
She’d have to just think happy thoughts instead, like how sore everyone else’s arses must be.
Isabel leaned out of her saddle to look around the other men, Angus’s big head and James’ broad shoulders making it almost impossible for her to see Lachlan.
She spotted his fist first, as he held it up and the entire line stopped moving all at once.
They’d kept their horses in the trees, not wanting a line of warriors and two women to be spotted by MacDougall scouts.
A slight breeze whistled through the pines.
A horse stamped its foot, crushing a pinecone.
Isabel held her breath, and so did Elsa judging by the inflation of the maid’s cheeks.
Though they’d only been on the road a couple of days, she’d already come to understand what they listened for, and to discern the noises for herself.
There was something off about the quiet of the woods.
Not a bird chirped, nor a squirrel scurried.
As if this part of the woods had already been disturbed by a human’s presence.
When the sun had first started to dim, and her fingers and thighs had developed blisters from clinging so hard to her mount, Isabel had prayed for some kind of refuge. And there it was, ahead of their stopped horses, she swallowed a cheer of hallelujah at the sight of a small roadside inn.
Lachlan frowned in the direction of the inn and its accompanying stable, and her heart sped up with a panic that he might tell them to keep riding.
Freckles danced in her bodice, likely listening to the strange rhythm of her heartbeat.
The place did not look too crowded to her.
From what she could see through the open doors of the stable, there were plenty of empty stalls, and no one was loitering outside save for a small lad who was likely a stable-hand.
“Stay here,” Lachlan ordered, while he dismounted, taking a few moments longer than his guard Angus to adjust on his feet.
There were pinched lines around his face, enough that she almost ordered Angus to find him a long stick for a crutch.
At last, he turned on his heel, and though he walked with a limp, made his way inside the inn.
“My lady,” Elsa whispered harshly, her features pinched and pale.
Isabel gave the poor dear her attention, but Elsa’s tongue appeared to be tied. “What is it?” she asked softly.
“I have need to…” But her words trailed off, and she grimaced. Where Isabel had not felt comfortable voicing her discomfort, it was worse for Elsa and any other servant. They might be tossed out for uttering so much as a request for a piss pot.
“I do, too,” Isabel said, her bladder feeling as though it might explode. She climbed off her horse, ignoring the stares of the men who eyed her. “Come along.” Not wanting any of the men to chase after them, Isabel said, “We’re going behind that bush. Dinna follow.”
Duncan and Padraig physically leaned back as if she had the plague.
Isabel rolled her eyes and led the way with Elsa limping behind her.
She took out Freckles and let her jump from her hand to the ground.
Crouching down, skirts lifted around her hips was excruciating, her thighs screaming for her to quit, but she held tight in that squatted position, too afraid to fall into her own puddle.
By the time they returned to the horses, Lachlan was there, passing her a glance that said he was displeased she’d not followed his orders, and her returning stare dared him to bring it up, else feel the lash of her tongue. He did not. So maybe there was some intelligence to him after all.
“Lad,” Lachlan called to the young one guarding the stable door. “The horses need water, oats. An apple or carrot if ye have them.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Anyone else here to help?” Angus added.
“My brother, sir.”
“Call him out, then.”
Isabel stroked her mare, feeling awful about the grueling intensity of their travel across the moors and through the woods. She’d been on hundreds of rides, but never had she felt that she’d ill-used her horse as she did now. The poor beast needed a long nap and a treat.
“Make sure she gets two apples,” Isabel said, handing the reins to another wee lad.
“Aye, my lady. We’ll spoil her right.” Isabel tossed the two lads each a coin from the purse she kept folded in her skirts.
As they entered the roadside inn, where tavern tables had been set about and at least a dozen people were eating a hearty-looking stew, her stomach grumbled at the savory scents of meat and rosemary.
The only thing she’d eaten today were the apple slices and oatcakes for breakfast and a strip of venison jerky mid-day on the road.
When was the last time she’d had a hot meal?
Even at the castle, she’d been so busy rushing from wounded man to wounded man that she’d barely scarfed down bread and cold chicken, let alone anything that was still warm.
Isabel sat on an uneven stool at a table with Elsa on her left and Lachlan on her right.
The rest of the long wooden table was filled by Lachlan’s men, Angus, James and Malcolm closest, followed by the other eight, and moments later bowls of stew, chunks of crusty bread, and cups filled to the brim with ale were placed in front of them.
She wasted no time gulping the ale and tearing off a hunk of bread to dunk it in the thick brown stock.
Thank goodness for the volume of voice in the inn, else they all would have heard the moan of delicious satisfaction as she scooped a hunk of carrot and meat into her mouth.
She didn’t even care that she ate like a woman who had been starved—with gusto and ferocity—for she was as hungry as they came.
Beside her, Elsa did the same. Even Lachlan ate with hurried spoonfuls as though he were worried someone would take it away.
Or maybe as though the enemy would burst through the door, and he’d have to abandon his good meal.