Jaxon raised his hand. “There,”he called, “we shelter and give thanks for what falls from the sky.”
Gracie looked at him,eyes bright despite the storm. “Aye,” she said, “for even a delay can be a kind of mercy when it’s rain that causes it. Since the land has gone dry, rain is now a blessin’ even if it causes a delay in deliverin’ the supplies.”
16
To Gracie, it looked like sanctuary after the long, muddy road.
The Rose Innrose from the roadside like a warm promise, its stone walls darkened by rain and its thatched roof sagging with age. Yellow light glowed from narrow windows, and smoke curled from the chimney in a gentle ribbon. A painted sign of a blooming rose creaked above the door, swaying in the damp wind.
Jaxon reined in beside her,rain beading on his lashes. “We’ll rest here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “The road beyond grows cruel in weather like this.”
She nodded,grateful, and answered, “It looks kind enough to weary bones.”
She watchedas he dismounted and strode to the guards, voice carrying authority without cruelty.
“Seethe carts in the stables, and set watch in turns,” he ordered. “These supplies are for our folk, and none will touch them.”
Gracie’s chestwarmed at the sight of him, the way men moved at his word with trust rather than fear.
Jaxon returnedto her side and offered his hand. “Come, wife,” he said, “let’s get inside before night claims the sky.” She placed her palm in his and slid from the saddle, the simple contact stirring her more than it should have.
Together they crossed the threshold,leaving rain and road behind.
The tavern portionof the inn breathed warmth and life, thick with the scent of peat smoke and roasted meat. Rough-hewn beams crossed overhead, and long tables bore the scars of years and stories. Laughter murmured from a corner, and a fiddler plucked a soft tune near the hearth. Firelight danced upon Jaxon’s face as they took seats near the blaze.
Gracie foldedher damp cloak and asked, “How far now to Glenmoor?” He leaned back, eyes thoughtful. “If the road holds, we’ll reach it by midday on the morrow.”
Her stomach fluttered,nerves rising as she met his gaze across the small table.
A serving wench approached,auburn hair braided and eyes bright. “Evenin’, me laird,” she said, voice lilting, “whatever ye need, I can give it to ye, as always.”
Gracie felta sharp heat in her chest, sudden and unwelcome.
Jaxon merely smiledwith polite ease. “It’s good to see ye, Mary, as always,” he replied, “bring us two mugs of ale and some bread and cheese, and tell the innkeeper to ready his best room, for we will stay the night.”
Mary dippedinto a curtsy so deep her bodice strained, and she purred, “Aye, me laird, as ye please.”
Gracie’s eyesfixed on the display, on the way Mary’s glance lingered upon Jaxon as though she alreadyknewhim. The jealousy struck swift and bright, a sting she had not expected to feel so fiercely. She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
Jaxon turned back to her,unaware, and asked, “Are ye warm enough?”
She forced a nod. “Aye,”she said, and her cheeks burned.
The fire cracked,and she wondered how many nights Jaxon had spent in places like this, how many women had smiled that same way and accompanied him into bed.
Gracie’s thoughts churned,questions she had no right to ask yet could not quiet. He was her husband now, yet his past stretched wide and unseen.
Hadhe bedded this woman before, beneath this very roof, in some other time of his life?
Gracie narrowedher eyes across the small table, firelight flickering in their depths.
Jaxon lifted a brow,the corner of his mouth twitching. “Lass,” he said lightly, “why do ye look at me so?”
“I am simply wonderin’,”she replied, voice tight, “how well ye ken this servin’ wench.”
The words slipped out sharperthan she intended. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.
Jaxon smirked,clearly amused. “Her name is Mary,” he said, lifting his mug. “I ken her well enough, as she always waits on me and me men when we come through here.”
