She rolled her lips inward and shuffled her feet nervously. “I was just looking to get out of the cold for the night. Might you have a room? I promise not to ask aught else of you.”
The undertone of desperation in her voice pierced his heart. The melancholy that ebbed from her in waves had him wondering how she’d managed to find herself here. What had happened that she sought out a room in a foreign land from a stranger—alone. He looked behind her and didn’t see anyone accompanying her.
He sighed. He couldn’t turn her away.
“Of course. I’m closing the pub for the night, but the inn is open.” Walking to the door, she quickly stepped out of his way, and he locked it, turning the sign hanging on the door to closed. He gave the woman what he hoped was a welcoming smile.
“Follow me,” he ordered.
Making his way through the pub, he entered the connecting door that led into the inn. He held it open until she passed through, then closed it and engaged the lock.
“Do ye have any bags?”
She shook her head and held up a small worn leather bag that had seen better days. “Just this one.”
His brows furrowed. He found that just as odd as her being alone.
At the desk that held the booking ledger, Gunn scanned the page. Though he wasn’t sure why. Currently, there wasn’t anyone renting any of his available rooms.
“Name?”
Her big blue eyes darted to the door, looking worried as if someone might see her or hear her name. Her reaction reminded him of a mouse backed into a corner by a starving cat, searching for any means of escape.
“Are ye well?” he asked.
Turning to him, she gave him a faltering smile. “I’m sorry. Jocelyn.”
“Well, Jocelyn, ’tis nice to make your acquaintance,” he said cheerily, trying to lighten the mood and set her at ease. “I’m Gunn, the owner, and ye’ve arrived at a time that all of my rooms happen to be available. Do ye have a preference? Front room. Second floor. Back room.”
“Second floor, back room, please.”
She was frightened of something. Or someone. That was evident from the way her eyes kept darting around the lobby of the inn and the way she hadn’t stopped wringing her hands since they’d entered.
“Of course. ’Twill be five shillings, please.”
Her eyes rounded and she took a deep breath as she opened her reticule and pulled out a small coin bag.
The lack of jingles from coins rubbing against each other led Gunn to believe that the woman didn’t have a lot of money. Shite. She wouldn’t be the salvation he was looking for. Not one to take a person’s last coin, he cleared his throat.
“My apologies. Ye said ye wanted a back room, aye?”
“I do, if you have one available.”
He chuckled. “I most definitely do. But I stated the wrong price. My back rooms are one shilling.”
Her brows drew together in confusion. “Surely, you jest. They must cost more than that.”
They did, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. The lass looked like she had been through enough rough times and he didn’t want to add to her burdens, whatever they may be.
“Nay, I wouldna do such a thing. One shilling.”
Her slim shoulders dropped in visible relief. In the light of the inn, he could see that the shading on her face was certainly fading bruises.
Instantly his fists clenched. His protective instinct kicked in. He inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm his irritation. He didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was. Men that laid their hands on women in a violent manner were naught but cowards. So unsure of themselves that they needed to beat women into submission so that they felt strong. Gunn held back a scoff. Bastards like that were aught but weaklings that needed to be shown how their fists and kicks felt on their own body.
He’d gladly teach the lesson.
Handing him the shilling, she noticed the way he watched her and tugged on her bonnet, bringing it down to cover more of her face. Trying to hide the marks no doubt.
