Chapter Eleven
Ian lay awake unable to rid his thoughts of Jo’s mismatched eyes; her tall, sleek curves; and fiery courage. He could not remember in his twenty-six years ever being so profoundly impacted by a woman, especially one he knew so little about. What he did know, he was not sure he believed.
MacLemore had said that her father had been a weaver from London.
Certainly, she could work a loom. He had seen the evidence.
But her hands, although lightly calloused, were not the chapped, coarse hands of someone accustomed to the dregs of continuous labor.
Of course, prior to her father’s death and her mother’s decline, she may have enjoyed a more leisurely life, especially if her father had been successful, which could explain her schooled bearing and soft skin.
Members of the guilds, whether baker, weaver, tailor, or any of the organized trades, enjoyed prosperity beyond what the common laborer could ever earn.
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, he gazed unseeing at the wall, his mind racing to solve the mystery that was Jo.
She was a woman alone with no one to rely on but herself.
This could certainly explain her guarded reserve and distrustful nature, but he knew there was more to her story.
In fact, when it came to Jo, he had only one certitude—there was far more to her than met the eye.
She was clearly hiding something—what? Well, he could only imagine.
And imaging Jo was not only pleasing, but he also had no choice in the matter.
Despite how he had tried to forget her and get some rest, he was living up to his promise—he would never forget her.
At dawn’s first light, he left his room, determined to catch her before she started work for the day.
Mayhap, she would consent to walk with him for a spell or at least break their fast together in the tavern.
More than anything, he just wanted to sit with her, to look into her intriguing eyes, and listen to her speak from the heart.
For a moment, he imagined what she would look like if she were to smile, or better yet, if she were to laugh out loud.
The very idea of being the one to get Jo to let her guard down filled him with such excitement that he raced down the stairs.
The common was quiet. Two men sat in the corner. Judging by the ashen pallor of their skin and their slumped shoulders, he wondered if they had only just roused themselves from a drunken sleep on Lorna’s table. The owner of the tavern was busy wiping down the bar. At Ian’s approach, Lorna scowled.
“If you’re looking for Jo, she’s gone.”
“When will she be back?”
“She’s not coming back.”
Ian’s eyes flashed wide. “What do ye mean she’s not coming back? Where else would she go? Isn’t her mother ill? Surely, she’s not leaving while her mother is sick.”
“Her mother’s dead.”
Ian closed his eyes upon hearing such ill tidings. His heart ached for her. Now more than ever, he was determined to help her. “When did she leave?”
“She bid me farewell last night. Said she was going to make a fresh start.”
Ian turned his back to Lorna to conceal his disappointment. He knew that Jo would not continue to work at the tavern for long, but he didn’t think she would act so quickly.
“She’s gone,” he said softly.
“Aye, she up and quit.” Lorna’s words jarred him out of his state of shock. He took a deep breath and dismissed his selfish feelings. Instead, a slight smile curved his lips as he imagined a newly emboldened Jo, setting out at first light, purse in hand, to start a new life.
“I wish her every happiness. ‘Tis as it should be,” he said, more to himself than Lorna.
“What do you know about it?” Lorna snapped. “She was the best help I’ve ever had. Not too mention, fine to look upon.”
Ian set the coin he owed Lorna on the table. “I’m certain that another comely lass, hard on her luck, will show up at yer door looking for a job,” he said dryly.
“One can only hope.”
Ian raised a disapproving brow at the tavern owner before turning on his heel and heading out the door.
Jo lingered in his thoughts as he made his way to the stables where he would meet Ramsay.
They had to ride to Haddington Abbey to give their report to Abbot Matthew.
Ian approached the town’s livery and pushed open the swinging doors.
Straightaway, he saw Ramsay, his head and shoulders visible above the stalls.
“Good morrow,” the blacksmith called out. “My plan was to ready our horses, then get yer lazy arse out of bed, but I see ye’re as anxious as I am to head north.”
“Aye, that I am,” Ian agreed, although in truth he had no wish to leave Durham, at least not without making sure Jo truly was all right.
What if she encountered trouble while she was setting her affairs in order?
He had given her such a large sum of money, large enough to draw the eye of a thief, if she were to take out the purse in front of the wrong men.
Mayhap, he would remain in Durham for another day or two.
He could track her down and stay with her until she was settled in a new home.
He walked purposefully down the walkway. “I want ye to go ahead without me.”
Ramsay looked up from fitting the bridle onto his horse’s muzzle. “But we’ve accomplished what we set out to do. This mission’s over. Why in the name of all things decent would ye wish to stay in England another moment?”
“My reasons have naught to do with the cause,” he began to explain as he passed a stall where a slim figure was bent over examining one of the back hooves of a large black stallion. He froze before taking two steps back and looking again at the figure. Long chestnut hair skimmed the ground.
It couldn’t possible be her. “Jo?” he asked hesitantly.
The figure jerked straight. He met bright mismatched eyes. “Ian,” she said simply.
A smile he couldn’t contain stretched his lips wide.
“Jo, I didn’t think I would see ye again.
I thought ye were likely out purchasing a new loo—” His words trailed off as his gaze settled on the satchel in the corner and the cloak draped over her shoulders.
“Wait,” he said. “What are ye doing here?”
“I’m leaving Durham,” she stated while adjusting the length of her stirrups.
“I can see that, but where are ye going?”
She looked up at him and lifted her shoulders, not volunteering an answer.
He pressed his lips in a grim line as he took in the stubborn glint in her eyes. “Who are ye traveling with?”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Ruby.”
Ian jumped back startled as the door in the next stall rattled hard on its hinges and a fierce barking ensued.
“I can’t saddle the horse safely with her in the same stall. Anyway, I don’t think there would be room for the three of us in here.”
Having recovered from his initial surprise, Ian peered over the stall at Ruby who snarled and lunged at the door, her eyes wild with bloodlust.
“Good, lass,” Ian crooned, his words sending the dog into an even greater frenzy. “Sweet pup,” he said, smiling. Then he cleared his throat. “All jesting aside, ye cannot travel alone with only Ruby as escort. ‘Tis foolhardy.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I dare ye to get in there and tell her that.”
Ian shook his head. “Jo, I’m serious. Ye cannot travel the countryside alone. ‘Tis madness.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t care what you think.”
A chuckle from the other side of the stables drew both their gazes.
“Or what you think, blacksmith,” she snapped at Ramsay before turning back to face Ian. “Good day,” she said curtly.
His gaze passed down her tall, slim form and her unbound chestnut waves. She lifted a small satchel, secured it to the saddle, and grasped the reins, turning to leave, but Ian stood in her path.
“Ye’ve hardly any supplies.”
She shrugged. “I intend to get them in another town.” A shadow crossed her face. “I want to put Durham behind me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Jo, ye need to take a deep breath—trust me, I know all about having to calm down.”
“I don’t need to calm down. I need you to get out of my way!”
“Listen, I know about yer mother. I’m so very sorry for yer loss, but I think yer heartache is making ye act rashly.”
She looked away, shaking her head slightly. “Lorna talks too much.”
“Ye can’t mean to travel alone.”
Jo looked him hard in the eye. “You just said that you know about my mother. So it stands to reason that you know why I am traveling alone—I’m not a simpleton, nor am I guided by my grief. I know what I do is dangerous, but I don’t have anyone, just Ruby.”
“Ye have me.”
She dropped her gaze, but not before he glimpsed her suffering. When, once again, she looked up her eyes were clear, her face impassive. Without a word, she started to walk forward, the hooves of her massive stallion pounding the packed earth.
He moved to stand in front of the stall, his broad frame filling the doorway.
“You’re big,” she said. “But Star is bigger and Ruby’s meaner.”
Ian backed out of the stallion’s way and further still as she released Ruby from the stall. The half-wolf lunged at him, but Jo gripped the short leash, straining to hold the animal back.
“Do you still doubt that Ruby will protect me?”
Ian raked his hand through his hair. “As fierce as yer dog is, she wouldn’t have a chance against a broad sword.”
Jo’s gaze swept over the two massive warriors. She imagined them both with weapons raised at the ready, and their faces twisted in rage. In that moment, she knew Ian was right. Ruby was only a true threat to him if caught off guard and unarmed. But then, she remembered the bishop’s warning.
Trust no one.
She straightened her spine resolutely. “We will manage.” Then she started forward, leading Star and Ruby from the livery.
Ramsay came to stand at Ian’s side while he watched Jo pass through the stable gates. “My guess is that I’ll be reporting back to Abbot Matthew myself.”
“Do not forget to tell the abbot about the bishop’s plan to restore the Saints. And ye must track David, Paul, and Nick down on yer own. I will join ye as soon as I can.” Ian stormed across the walkway to the stall housing his own mount. “I can’t let her travel alone.”
Ramsay chuckled. “But didn’t ye hear what she said? She clearly does not want yer help. What are ye going to do? Follow her?”
Ian nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Chuckling, Ramsay pulled his horse toward the gate. “When our paths cross again, my friend,” he called out.
Ian saddled his own horse and quickly left the stables.
Jo had refused his aid, but in this one matter, he could not honor her wishes.
He would protect her, even from her own folly.
As he stepped out into the sunshine, the cobbled thoroughfare stretching out ahead of him, Jo’s less-than-inconspicuous black horse was easy to spot.
Ian led his own chestnut stallion at a distance, careful not to be seen.
She need not know that she traveled with an armed escort.
What mattered was that he would keep her safe and close, although not as close as he would like.