"Right then." Michael appeared at Tòrr's shoulder. "I'll get us rooms."
Michael disappeared into the inn, and Tòrr guided Liliane toward the entrance.
The common room was warm and thick with the scent of roasting meat and ale. A handful of patrons looked up as they entered, their gazes curious but not hostile. Tòrr positioned himself slightly in front of Liliane, his body language protective without being obvious.
"Evenin'." The innkeeper appeared from behind the bar, a portly man with shrewd eyes that took in their travel-stained clothes and weapons. "Rooms fer the night?"
"Aye. Me man's already arrangin' it." Tòrr's voice carried easy authority. "We'll need dinner as well. Whatever ye have ready."
"Stew's on. Fresh bread. Ale or wine as ye prefer." The innkeeper's gaze lingered on Liliane for a moment before sliding away. "Ye're a ways from home, by the look of ye."
"Business in the north," Tòrr said shortly. "We'll keep tae ourselves, cause nay trouble."
"See that ye dae." But the innkeeper's tone was more cautious than threatening. "Supper'll be ready shortly. Take any table ye like."
They claimed a corner table, backs to the wall, with clear views of both doors. The other men filtered in gradually, some heading straight upstairs with their saddlebags while others joined them at the table.
Liliane sat beside Tòrr, acutely aware of how every muscle in her body protested the simple act of sitting. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the cup of ale a serving girl placed before her.
"Drink slow," Tòrr said quietly. "Ye'll make yerself sick if ye gulp it down."
She obeyed, taking small sips despite her thirst. Around them, conversation flowed in low murmurs—men discussing the road ahead, sharing observations about patrol patterns, speculating about what tomorrow would bring.
The stew arrived in wooden bowls, thick with vegetables and chunks of meat. Liliane hadn't realized how hungry she was until the first bite touched her tongue. Then she had to force herself to eat slowly, to not shovel food into her mouth like a starving animal.
"Better?" Tòrr asked after she'd made it halfway through her bowl.
"Aye. Thank ye." She set down her spoon, suddenly self-conscious about how ravenously she'd been eating. "How much farther tomorrow?"
"If we leave at first light? We should reach the border by midday. Then another few hours tae get intae position near Foulis." His voice dropped lower. "That's when things get dangerous. Munro's men will be watchin' the approaches. We'll need tae move carefully."
Michael returned with a set of keys. "Rooms are sorted. Top of the stairs, last three doors on the right. The innkeeper's wife is preparin' baths if anyone wants them."
A bath. The thought was almost unbearably tempting. To wash away the dust and sweat of the road, to soak her aching muscles in hot water...
"Go," Tòrr said, apparently reading her expression. "I'll finish up here and join ye shortly."
She didn't argue, just stood—carefully, so her protesting legs didn't betray her—and made her way upstairs. The chamber Michael had secured was small but clean, with a narrow bed and a washstand. A copper tub sat near the hearth, already half-filled with steaming water.
Liliane closed the door and leaned against it, finally allowing herself to feel the full weight of her exhaustion. Her hands shook as she began unlacing her riding clothes, fingers clumsy with fatigue.
The water was still hot when she finally sank into the tub, and the relief was so intense it nearly brought tears to her eyes. She let herself sink down until the water covered her shoulders, the heat working into muscles she hadn't known were tense.
The following day, they would reach Munro lands, everything would become real—the danger, the risk, the possibility of failure. Tomorrow, she might see her sister again. Or she might lose everything.
But that night, for those few hours, she could rest.
The door opened quietly. Tòrr entered, securing the latch behind him. His eyes found her in the tub, and something in his expression softened.
"The water's still warm," she said. "If ye want tae join me."
He crossed the room, stripping off his shirt as he moved. She watched the play of muscles beneath his skin, the way firelight caught in his dark hair.
"Scoot forward," he said, unlacing his trousers.
She obeyed, making room. He settled behind her, his long legs bracketing hers, his chest warm against her back. The water rose nearly to the tub's rim as he displaced it, sloshing gently. For a long moment, neither spoke. His arms came around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder.
"Tomorrow," she whispered.
