Highland Hellion (Highland Weddings #3)(35)

She fought to keep her attention off him as they rode. At least during the day, it was simple enough. His men were over forty strong, and they clung to her hem in groups of four anytime she was out of the saddle.

Which wasn’t often.

At least that thought offered her a twinge of distaste for Rolfe at last, but it wasn’t in the form she wished. Instead, what she felt was a sense of impending parting that was going to leave a scar on her heart.

At last she came to a hard truth, one that nauseated her.

The Earl of Morton was a man, like many nobles she had encountered among her father’s sort. They were men who had been raised believing they were elite, placed in their positions by God himself. There was no arguing with such men. They expected submission, and she suspected they enjoyed the odd person who didn’t give it immediately because it offered them the amusement of breaking that person.

Today was different, though. It drew her from her thoughts as Rolfe took them near a village and up to the doors of an inn.

She was grateful to him for it.

And chided herself for thinking of him in any way that was positive, but she simply couldn’t seem to loathe him.

More the fool her. He was driving them hard in an effort to deliver her to the man willing to pay the McTavish the most for her. She’d be wise to remember her purpose, because Rolfe certainly would.

Still, it had been raining the entire day and the opportunity to lay her head down in a dry place was too enticing. There was also something to be said for knowing when to see one’s blessings and enjoy them before they were gone. Katherine slid from the back of her horse and happily went toward the front of the inn. The McTavish retainers crowded around her, but tonight, she decided that they were just as eager to get out of the rain as she was.

Once they were inside, the scent of supper drew a rumble from her belly. Conversation filled the great room where trestle tables were crowded in with benches for travelers. A buxom woman by the hearth wore an apron sporting numerous splotches. She wielded a ladle and called out a greeting to them.

“Plenty of bread and supper for all!”

Rolfe still stole Katherine’s breath.

It was an admission she couldn’t avoid as she caught sight of him sending a smile toward the woman before he turned to her husband and began to discuss the details of business.

With the rain, the tavern was full. Katherine ventured toward the hearth, only to be pushed back by two large Scots.

“Excuse me.”

It was an ingrained response, polite manners that had always served her well. Tonight, they had the opposite effect. The two men turned on her, their expressions dark.

“English bitch.”

One of the men reached out and started to shove her away from him. Another response came from the years she’d trained with Marcus. She stepped to the side at the last moment, so that his own motion sent him stumbling past her. His companion roared with amusement.

The first man snarled and flipped around to face her. “Think ye’ll be getting the best of me? No English will ever live to see the day.”

“Causing trouble already?”

Rolfe was suddenly there, pressing her behind him as he shielded her with his body. The two clansmen faced off with him.

“What are ye doing with an English wench, McTavish?”

“Better still, why are ye bringing her into our taverns?” The second one spat on the ground at Rolfe’s feet. “Let her bed down in the stable.”

“But apologize to the horses first for making them suffer her presence,” the first man added with a grunt.

“I’m on me father’s business,” Rolfe said firmly. “And I’m no’ one to question him.”

Rolfe hooked Katherine by the upper arm, turning and pushing her toward the back of the room where there was a narrow flight of stairs. The woman from the hearth was in front of them, and she pushed open a door at the top of the stairs.

“In here.” She was flushed and gestured Katherine inside, as though she were stuffing someone with a case of the pox out of sight before word got out and her business was deserted.

Katherine made it inside and heard Rolfe snort. She turned on him. “Don’t think I will be apologizing for keeping that man from putting his hands on me.”

Rolfe had paused in the doorway. She looked past him and realized her two tormenters had followed them.

“Well, now,” the one who had tried to touch her declared. “I’ve misjudged ye, McTavish. Seems ye are putting the bitch to the only use she truly has. How much for a turn on her?”

“She belongs to me,” Rolfe said firmly.

Boyd and Adwin suddenly appeared to haul the two away, and Rolfe started to close the door but hesitated. He finally cursed in Gaelic before shutting the door and turning to level a hard look toward Katherine.

“If I leave, there is going to be a fight, and no mistake about it.”

Katherine was still standing in the middle of the room. Her belly had decided to twist with excitement, a very inappropriately timed sort, too.

“Unless ye prefer to sleep in the rain, lass, I’ll have to stay here, no matter the damage it will do to yer reputation.” He spoke softly but maintained his position right in front of the door, as though he was loath to venture any farther into the room without her permission.

Which was ludicrous, since she was his hostage.