That made the man look up, his eyes narrowed.
Torin pressed, “M’wife is weary. We were assaulted upon the road. She needs rest and shelter. We need a meal. Allow us tae enter and provide room and board.”
The innkeeper squinted. “Twas on the pass?”
“Aye, ruffians.”
The man muttered, “Och, there’s a great deal o’ trouble about. Ye’ll pay well for the difficulties it causes?”
Torin didn’t hesitate. “Aye. I will pay well.”
The innkeeper’s wife appeared in the doorway, her apron food-stained, a kerchief binding back her hair. He bent to whisper in her ear, and she disappeared quickly into the smoky interior.
He said, “I’ll move the drovers from Kincardine tae the stables, and free up a room for ye. But I warn ye, Sire — there are ruffians about. A murder up near the pass. Ye must be cautious.”
Torin said, “We heard tell of it. Dost ye ken the reason?”
“Twas likely outlaws battlin’, but ye best keep yer wife safe.”
Torin gave a single nod. “Will there be room in the stable for our horses?”
“We’ll make room, Sire.”
Torin swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the dirt. He turned immediately, arms raised. His hands closed warm and firm around my waist as he lifted me free and lowered me slowly to the ground. Protective, steady — and for one dizzy moment, I had the ridiculous urge to swoon.
“Come with me tae the stables,” he said, still holding me a breath longer than necessary before letting go. Then he gathered the reins and led us there.
The stables crouchedlow and dark, the smell of hay, horses, and damp wood heavy in the evening air. A boy darted past with a pitchfork, startled wide-eyed at the sight of Torin’s broad frame and our fine mounts.
Inside, shadows stretched across straw-strewn floors. A single lantern swung from the beams. The air was warm with horse and peat smoke. Other travelers’ beasts shifted uneasily, the close air thick with their snorts and stamping hooves. Torin guided our horses to a corner stall as though the place belonged to him.
Dude leapt from the saddlebag, winding around my legs. I crouched to scratch behind his ears, and he began to purr.
While Torin unlatched our bags, I explained solemnly to Dude, “We’re staying in this hotel. It’s not big, I don’t know if you’re invited, but we’ll be right inside.” I pointed.
Dude rubbed once more beneath my hand, then darted out into the night. I straightened, hands on my hips, watching him go.
“Do you think he knows what I’m saying? That he needs to stay close?”
Torin dropped a bag at my feet. “He’s a cat of verra few words, but clever enough. He kens the horse is his ride and ye are his master. He ought tae stay near.”
“If the vessel starts working, we can’t leave him here. He’s not a medieval cat — he’s a modern cat.”
“Aye, we winna leave the cat tae fend for hisself. He has lived on Mistress Lexi’s lands, rulin’ over yer house, what did ye say twas called?”
“Laurel Ridge.”
He nodded. “Laurel Ridge must have its cat, the cat must have his home. Tis m’first priority.”
He untied the last bag, stacked it on the pile, and passed the reins to a stable boy. “Rub them down proper, lad. Twas a long day.”
“Aye, sire.” The boy bowed and led the horses deeper into the shadows.
Torin’s stomach growled again. “Finally, I can eat.” He hefted the pile of bags to his shoulders, a ridiculous amount of weight.
“Icouldhelp.”
His eyes went wide. “Och nae, Princess, ye would hae me walk intae a tavern with m’ladycarryin’ the load?”
