The distant expressionwas still on her face, and it was as if she had forgotten they were walking. He nudged her along, waiting for a response. It didn’t come.
He resistedthe urge to sigh. There was nothing to tease her about, nothing that he could draw on to lighten her mood. He was left hoping that by the time they finished his last errand and he got her to the castle she’d be back to herself again.
Hard to tellif she’ll feel any better. She seemed so put off by the weddin’. I’m sure the castle will do nothin’ but remind her of her situation.
Margaret couldn’t shakeoff the feeling of sorrow in her limbs. It felt ridiculous that she was so torn up over a decision she’d made. She supposed that today had been the first time she’d allowed herself to really think about what she was doing.
It seemedas though Ryan was trying to get her mind off of it. The sentiment was sweet, but it only made her feel more confused. If he were the kind of man she expected him to be, her feelings would have been less twisted. She was sad at being away from her family and the situation she had no choice but to put herself into, and a Highlander was trying his best to distract her from it.
After he tuggedat her for the second time, Margaret made herself focus on the present. She didn’t need to be dragged through the streets of the village. If she wanted to get lost in herthoughts, she could do so when she was safely in her quarters at the castle.
When they got backto the horse, Ryan tucked the package away in a saddlebag. Then, he looked down at Margaret. She sighed, already starting to get onto the beast, apparently attempting to skirt his assistance.
“I have to visit the inn,”he said as he untied the horse from the post, not looking at her as he did. “The owner made a complaint. Best I check on it meself since I’m in the village.”
Ah,right. The Laird does have responsibilities he has to attend to. I’ll have some of those myself when he decides to give them to me.
With that,he climbed into the saddle behind Margaret. She found that his proximity, the strength in his chest and arms, soothed the rawness of her worry. Still, it bubbled beneath her skin.
She triedto borrow some of his obvious strength, leaning into him and not caring if he noticed. He pressed forward, giving her what she wanted but couldn’t put into words. The steady rise and fall of his chest was a comforting rhythm.
Margaret letthe sound of horseshoes against stone infiltrate her ears. It became almost possible for her to ignore the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. They became nothing more than babble, like that of the great hall that she’d grown to enjoy dining within.
The ride was short,taking only a few minutes. Margaret was surprised to see a different inn from the one she’d spent time in on her first night here. The village seemed too small to accommodate more than one place for travelers to rest their heads, but when they entered, Margaret realized that this one was quite different from the one Agnes had recommended.
The exteriorof the building was nondescript. Nothing, aside from the sign hanging above the door, marked it as an inn. While it wasn’t an uninviting place, it certainly didn’t welcome newcomers to the village.
A bellabove the door jingled as Margaret and Ryan crossed the threshold. She could barely hear it over the roar of sound inside. There was so much going on that the worries that had plagued her before were forced into the recesses of her mind.
I thoughtthe meals in the great hall were lively… this is something else entirely.
Her hand restingin the crook of Ryan’s elbow, she took in the space as best she could. The tables were a bit older with chips in the lacquered finish. There were hardly any patrons, except at a few tables in the back corner. A large group of men was gathered there, sipping from pint glasses and speaking loudly.
They’rethe source of all this noise? I was sure this place would be packed full.
Their words filled the air,and she was only able to catch bits of their conversation. Though truthfully, she wished that shecouldn’t hear any of what they were saying. Vulgarities reached her ears along with the sounds of palms meeting wood. A loud burst of laughter made her shoulders tighten.
Somehow,rather than joyous, the cackling sounded ominous.
Thesewerethe men she’d heard stories about. They were the savages who did as they pleased to women and didn’t feel a lick of shame for it. Even now, though they seemed to be jovial, it felt as though a fight could break out at any moment.
Ryan’s armsnaked around her waist, tugging her close and pulling her out of her thoughts. She tore her gaze from the men and looked up at the Laird, whose jaw was set in fierce protectiveness, his eyes already fixed on her.
It feltas if he were reading her mind. She hadn’t uttered a word since they had come into the inn, yet it was as though he understood everything. Without being asked, he was protecting her.
He’s still a Highlander,but I can tell he’s different from the men that are drinking at this inn.
“Just stay close, lassie,”he said, soothing and strong. He was steady in the storm they’d found themselves in. “They willnae bother ye. Just a mess of pished lads. I ken they’re rowdy, but they’ll stay where they are. If nae… I’ll keep them from ye. I’ll make them regret it.”
There wasa bite of something dark in Ryan’s words. It was well hidden, and she was fairly certain she wasn’t supposed to pick up on its rasping drag. He wasn’t directing any of his ire at her. It was all for the men whose noise had put her on edge.
Margaret thoughtthat she should be scared of his temper, but right now, she felt safe because of it. The realization that he wouldn’t turn his anger toward her confused Margaret. He was a Scotsman, likely filled with fury and rough edges. Yet, this protection…
I don’t knowwhat to do with him. He doesn’t behave the way my aunt said Highland men do.
Still in a stupor,Ryan led her toward the front desk where an old, wiry man stood. His face lit up when he spotted the two of them, and he greeted the Laird as if he were an old friend. Then, his eyes found Margaret.
“And who’sthis ye have with ye, Me Laird?” he asked, his gaze kind.