A Most Dangerous Profession(36)

“After you’d retrieved the wrong box.” She lifted her brows and waited.

Robert regarded her for a long moment. “I suppose you think I owe you an apology.”

“Several.”

“A pity. You’re not going to get a single one. You were ill and still aren’t well enough to travel.”

“Nonsense. I’m tired, but only because your valet apparently feels he is very important to your comfort and he pushed the coachmen the entire way. I rode almost nonstop, and I didn’t expect that.”

Robert sighed. “Buffon thinks I can’t pull a shirt on without his assistance.”

A soft knock preceded the innkeeper’s wife, who brought in a small tray with a bowl of gruel and a glass of milk. When she caught sight of Moira wearing trousers, she gasped.

Robert smoothly cut in. “My wife’s love of a good joke sometimes betrays her sense of decorum.”

“I see,” the woman said primly. She set the tray before Moira and said in a disapproving voice, “There, miss, some gruel fer ye.”

Moira looked at the thin, watery gray gruel and tried not to curl her nose. “That’s very kind. This will serve as a beginning. Do you have anything else to eat in the kitchen?”

The woman looked surprised. “Och, o’ course we do. We’ve a braised goose, some hard cheese, a bit o’ haggis, and—”

“The gruel will be enough for my wife,” Robert broke in. “I’ll have some of the goose, please.”

“Actually, no goose,” Moira countered. “My husband’s stomach is a bit off, but fortunately he loves good haggis. And I’ve heard yours is excellent.”

“So I think, madam. I make it meself, and I add cracked pepper, too.” Her chin firmed. “Me husband’s mither says I have too heavy a hand wi’ th’ pepper mill, but I use th’ recipe from me beloved mither, and ’tis a guid recipe.”

Moira said in a warm voice, “I’m sure it’s quite tasty. We’ll have that, of course.”

The woman beamed. “Then ye’ll see fer yeself. Will there be anythin’ else?”

“No, thank you. I’m sure the haggis will be more than enough.”

Robert turned to countermand her order, but the innkeeper’s wife was already out the door. “Blast it! Now I’ll be stuck with that damned haggis.”

Moira’s gurgling laugh caught him unaware. He’d been shocked to see her in the courtyard, and even more so when she’d collapsed before him. He should have known she wouldn’t stay at the squire’s house, damn it. Even when choices weren’t available, Moira made them.

Robert watched her now, noting that the corner of a bandage peeked from under her braid at her temple, a bit of a bruise showing at the edge. “How’s that hard head of yours?”

She made a face. “I had the devil of a headache this morning, but it’s better now.”

He didn’t believe a word she said, for though her color was better, there were delicate blue circles below her eyes, and the tension in her shoulders told him she was still in pain. “You look tired. You will go to bed as soon as we’ve had our delicious haggis.”

“We? I’m going to eat this miraculously healing gruel.” She lifted the bowl, put a spoonful in her mouth, and grimaced. “That is horrid.”

“If you don’t eat the gruel, then you have to eat the haggis. I won’t have you going to bed without some food.”

She replaced the gruel on the tray. “I’d rather have haggis. I couldn’t help requesting it; you should have seen your face when she mentioned it.” Moira chuckled.

Robert gave her a reluctant smile. “I shall eat it.”

“As will I.” She regarded him from under her lashes. “I wonder which of us will manage to eat the most?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Of course.”

Heat stirred in him at her challenge. “And the winner of this haggis-eating contest will get what?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . What do you suggest?”

He shrugged, though his body had an immediate answer. He wanted more of her. More of her caresses, more of her silken hair beneath his fingers, more of her body in his bed. “Bragging rights will be enough.”

“Fine, then. We’ll see who can stomach the most for bragging rights and for the thicker blanket in the coach tomorrow.”