“Lad,” he blustered, “my wife will take my hide if you are here for a simple…” His words stalled when he looked accusingly at Keirah.
“Nae, Iain, the chamber is for my wife and myself.” He felt a very long hard tug with a spark of fire within her gaze. This washow she had survived all the years in the Northmen’s grip; she was a fierce spirit. He unknowingly leaned closer toward her.
“Good.” The man puffed an exhale with relief and his gut looked ready to pop. “You may take a rest at the benches there; my wife will fetch some pottage for you both while I see to your chamber,” Iain said, quickly scraping the last coins off the bar.
“My wife requires a bath as well,” Aonghus demanded, laying out two more coins.
“Aye, it shall be seen to,” the innkeeper gushed, then dove for the final two prizes before bolting toward his plump wife, who grinned after seeing the rich exchange from across the room.
“MacCade, your wife?!” Keirah’s voice may have been hushed but it was feisty. “Was there a moment I missed where we were handfasted among the folds in bolting for our lives?”
He grasped her arm firmly, leading her toward the only open bench beside the wall, then sat her down at the table covered by dried wax before he took the seat across.
“Smooth your feathers, lass…” he began.
He was interrupted by her leaning over the table toward him to grind out: “Raging hell, MacCade, do not order me to smooth feathers. I may be a bit of an elder lass at twenty and one, however this does not proclaim I am…”
We are fire – together. “Cluaran,” he cut her right back off, his temper kicking up a notch like the flames in the hearth. “You arenotan elder lass, and I will not have you aloneallevenin’ in a chamber within the current enemy terrain…”
“Aonghus MacCade!” A tone rivaling the screeching owl from earlier took the air.
Oh hell,Fiona’s present. He stifled a grimace when Fiona stepped up toward the table, her hands holding two heaping bowls filled with pottage.
Chapter 8
“Good eve, Aonghus MacCade.” Keirah observed a lass about her height, but this was where the similarities ended. She was prettier and curvier and cleaner. Why the sudden urge to hide beneath the table?
“Fiona,” he replied, tightly.
The buxom lass set the bowls before each. Keirah’s stomach sounded off another loudgrrrin acknowledgment of the tantalizing steam from roast venison which caressed her nose. Fiona gave a smirk on her flawless mouth before looking Keirah over with sharp gray eyes rife with judgement. The tavern lass then took her sweet time wiping her hands upon the apron before leaning over and settling her elbows on the table –plop– the action causing her ample breasts to almost spill out between the two bowls.
“You are lookin’ well, Aonghus.” Her words were smooth as ice.
Fiona was certainly as bonny as the sun was hot. Keirah cast her eyes down to the pea in her pottage – aye, tiny and smeared with goo, yep, that was her.This bonny must be what drew his fancy. Her shoulders dropped to her ankles. Obviously, he had lain with Fiona. Why did this trouble her so? Only asecond before she was ready to skin him for claiming to be her husband.
“If you require any other needs, lad,” Fiona offered, her voice thick as the gravy in the pottage, “you need only ask.” The meaning was clear; it wasn’t about the food.
With a puff of dismissal at her from Fiona’s pouty lips, sounding the same as a queen consort at court, the perfectly shaped arse took its leave toward a rowdy gathering of four wealthy-looking lords sitting on benches over, who bellowed a greeting to receive her.
The words stumbled from her mouth awkwardly. “Aonghus…if…you…wish…” The remainder fell in a haste to see them done: “I shall wait here while you seek…”
“Nae, Keirah,” he halted her off at the quick.
Why had he rushed his reply? The steam from the pottage beckoned her; giving a humble nod, she took her pewter spoon to scoop the very pea she had been looking at into her mouth. The warm tiny pop unleashed on her tongue. Oh, it was heaven upon a spoon. She took the next heaping spoonful before closing her eyes with ahhmmm, the richness erupting into her taste buds. When did pottage become so savory?
Her dining companion wondered, “Cluaran, what does the taste call to?”
Her lashes opened to find him observing her intently with his fingers oddly blanched while gripping his spoon’s handle. Despite their turbulent juncture, she couldn’t stop the sigh of bliss in one word: “Freedom.” She took another heaping helping to stuff her face eagerly, wiping her chin at the dribble. Absolutely delicious!
He grinned back at her comment before diving into his own. Two bowls each and four more glares from Fiona later, Keirah sat satisfied as a cat in the sun.Ahhh.
Clank!Fiona clapped the pitcher down, announcing her presence formally before re-filling the honeyed mead, which Aonghus appeared to be enjoying. It was divine – maybe Iain brewed his own? The honey had a unique spice taste; however, as Fiona went to re-fill her tankard with a glare, the server appeared to be casting an unspoken hundred-year curse on her.
The words Keirah heard surprised her. “You may halt the looks in threat at my wife, Fiona,” he said, warning.
“Simply trying to determine where you found the lass – perhaps the pig’s trough?” the brunette hissed. “Or was it the rat’s gutter?”
Maybe it was the entire eve or full tummy or spicy mead. She inwardly waved her hand – let Fiona have the moment; she was drunk on freedom and happiness and peace.
