He swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, shifting once more. Blasted idiot, that he was unable to stop from glancing at her.
They had not spoken a word to one another since leaving her friend’s home. Well, at least he and Seraphina had not spoken. Once the blasted bird had settled in, it had started up a constant stream of Scottish insults that would have made any Highlander proud. And each one seemed aimed toward Iain.
Like now, as it cocked its gaudy head to the side and speared Iain with one bright yellow eye. “Ye scabby bawbag.”
He glared at it. So now he was a scrotum, was he?
“Where, for the love of all that is holy, did you find such a creature?” he growled.
Seraphina, who had kept her gaze firmly out the window, turned to him with a scowl. “Phineas is not a creature,” she snapped. “He is a parrot. A red-crowned parrot, to be precise. His particular species is from Mexico.”
“Which doesnae answer how you came to be in possession of him.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a bit less on edge now that the awkward silence had been gotten out of the way. He would take incensed, vocal Seraphina over quiet Seraphina any day. “In fact, it creates more questions than answers. Such as: How does a parrot from Mexico wind up in England talking like a blasted Scot?”
The change in her was swift, and not at all how he had expected her to react. Pain flashed in her bright blue gaze and she seemed to draw into herself. “He… belonged to a dear friend of mine who sadly passed away.” She looked toher pet. “She gave him into my keeping. And we have been together ever since.”
Suddenly her voice turned contemplative, almost soft. “He grieved when she died, and it took him so long to recover. He has developed a fear of being abandoned because of it. So now you know why I could not have possibly left him behind. Where I go, he goes.”
There was a beat of silence as she pressed her fingers to the bars and the bird gently nibbled at them, a surprisingly deep affection in the act. Well, damn and blast, he certainly never expected to feel compassion for the creature.
Nor, he thought with no little bit of frustration, had he wanted to feel compassion for the bird’s mistress. Scowling, he looked out the window to the horizon. The Isle of Synne was a distant thing now, slipping away from view as the carriage worked its way up the coast. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Seraphina crane her neck, leaning farther and farther out the window until she could see the Isle no more. Then, with a defeated little sigh, she slouched back against her seat, the color seeming to have been drained right out of her.
And there went that twinge of sympathy again, as well as more than a fair bit of disgust. At whom? Himself? Because he had forced her to leave her little island to make things right?
Yes, you damn blackguard.The voice whispered through his head, setting his teeth on edge. Forcibly turning away from the sight of Seraphina looking so dejected, he squashed that small voice like a bug beneath his boot. He would not allow himself to feel compassion for his wife.
By the time the carriage stopped for the night, Seraphina ached from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. There had been moments of respite, of course. They’d had to stop the carriage to change the horses and eat. And Seraphina had made certain that extra time was given so she might let Phineas out of his cage for a bit of flying time. The poor dear would go mad if he had to spend every moment in that blasted cage.
But they were few and far between. The rest of that day had been one long, torturous affair; between Seraphina holding her legs as still as possible to prevent her knees from knocking into Iain’s, craning her neck at an unnatural angle to keep from looking Iain’s way, and keeping her hands looking as relaxed as possible in her lap to prevent Iain from seeing how much this whole ordeal affected her, she was an absolute wreck. So much so that, upon stepping from the carriage into the busy yard to the inn, she nearly tumbled to the ground as her legs screamed. It was only through sheer stubbornness that she kept her feet under her, waving off Iain’s offer of help with a dark scowl before storming inside the whitewashed, timber-framed structure.Just let me make it to a room, she bargained with herself, even as she hid a wince from a particularly painful cramp in her thigh.Let me make it to a room, and a bed, and away from Iain’s gaze.
Blessedly they did not have to wait long; the moment the proprietor caught sight of them he was scurrying forward, his eagle eyes taking in not only Seraphina and Phineas, but Iain behind her as well.
“Welcome to the Boar’s Head,” he said with a wide smile. “Do you require rooms for the night?”
Seraphina cast a quick look about her, noting what shehad not seen before, namely, the cleanliness of the place and the quality furnishings. Damnation, couldn’t Iain have chosen a place a little less high in the instep? She had limited funds, after all, and while she could afford a decent room, she had certainly not budgeted a room at one of the higher-end inns in the area. She opened her mouth to say that no, they would be taking their business elsewhere—preferably an inn that would not cost her a month’s worth of earnings to stay in—but Iain was there before the first syllable emerged.
“Aye,” he said, “your finest pair of rooms for my wife and me, as well as soft beds and good food for my men.”
But Seraphina hardly heard the innkeeper’s response for the roaring in her ears. Hiswife? The blasted idiot. It did not matter that it was true—much to her disgust. The whole purpose of this trip was so they might dissolve their union, not tell everyone from here to Scotland that they were indeed wed.
But she could not very well reprimand him in full view of everyone. And so she waited. And waited. Finally, when their cheery back-and-forth was done with and the book was filled out—dear God, he was writingMr. and Mrs. Iain MacInnes—and the innkeeper led the way up the stairs, Seraphina was at Iain’s side. Her hand on his arm pulled him back just far enough so they were out of earshot of the overeager innkeeper. “What the devil do you think you’re about?” she whispered furiously. “You should not have introduced me as yourwife.” The word came out like a curse, her lip curling as if possessed of a life of its own.
He raised a brow. “Why nae? It’s true enough.”
“Not for long.” Thank God.
His gaze said he thought the same. But, stubborn manthat he was, he would insist on defending his decision. “And what would you have had me introduce you as?” he demanded. “I dinnae think these fine people would look kindly on two unmarried people traveling together.”
“I don’t know,” she replied hotly. “Introducing me as your sister would have sufficed. Anything but as your wife.”
A low, rough laugh burst from his lips. “I hardly think that would work. Though your hair is as red as any Scot, you dinnae have our lovely accent.”
But to no one’s surprise she was as stubborn as he. While she grudgingly admitted to herself that he was right, she found herself declaring mutinously, “I can speak in a Scottish accent.”
Apparently they were no longer even attempting to follow the innkeeper, for Iain stopped on the landing and stared down at her, massive arms crossed over his chest. “Is that so? Well then, give it a go.”
And because she could not back down from a challenge, she did, using some of Phineas’s more colorful phrases.
“Noo jist haud on. I’m fair puckled, ye ken?”
