Page 12 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“Miss?”

A voice from down the hallway startled her, sending her charcoals flying. In fright, Teasag put down her sketch to look around. For a moment, she had thought Neacal had woken up, but of course, the voice was not from him, but the young bartender from the previous night.

Hurriedly, she stuffed the parchment back into her bag, her cheeks already scorching red. God knows what he would think if he saw it.

“Miss?” called the barman again. He was still some way off at the bottom of the hall. Fortunately, the hazy sun that streamed in through the open window obscured his view, but he was growing closer.

“Miss, what are ye doing?” the lad asked, as Teasag recoiled in horror.

The lad was closer now, sticking his pockmarked face towards the room door where Neacal lay sleeping. Teasag waited tensely, wondering what he would say.

To her surprise, the lad just shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the sleeping heap as if guests regularly slept in the corridors. Then again, perhaps they did, thought Teasag, remembering her encounter the previous night. This was obviously quite a rough establishment, even by Highland standards.

The pale lad turned to her, his blighted face even more pronounced in the cold morning light. “Lassie, yer cart is leaving,” he said briefly, “if ye hurry ye can still catch it…”

“Och!” said Teasag, quickly gathering up her things. “The cartman promised to knock me up afore he left!” she chided, to no one in particular.

“Aye,” said the spotted barman, his eyes scanning the scene in the corridor more curiously. “I think he did, Miss, but, um, ye didnae hear him, perhaps…”

From the pink glow on the lad’s cheeks, Teasag realized what he meant. The young cartman had been down here, hovered over her door, and seen the lad outside before thinking the better of it. Undoubtedly, he’d departed with entirely the wrong impression, and now it was Teasag whose face burned with shame.

“Och,” said Teasag, but this time more to herself. “Nae…”

By now, she was halfway down the long corridor, which led to the public bar. All this time, Neacal’s sleeping form had lain undisturbed. As she turned to go, she wished more than anything to bid him goodbye, but she could not. Not with the young lad watching her.

God knows, he already had the wrong idea. They all had.

Hurrying through the door to the public room, Teasag looked back to glance at Neacal. He had not stirred once.

Giving him a rueful smile, she rushed along to the waiting cartman in the public bar.

“Coming!” she assured him, as her heart gave a tug, pulling at her not to leave.

“Maybe we’ll see ye again someday,” said the spotted bar-lad as she mounted the rickety cart in the street outside the tavern.

“Och,” said Teasag briskly. “I dinnae think so, it’s nae likely I’ll have any cause to.”

But as the cartman started the horses, Teasag couldn’t help thinking of one huge reason to return, sleeping at the foot of her bedroom door.

CHAPTER FIVE

“L assie! Slow doon!”

They had barely got started when his voice sounded in her ears. Immediately, Teasag whipped her head around to see Neacal waving down the moving cart in the road.

“Och,” muttered the young cartman driving the horses. “What’s he want? I’m already late on my rounds to Blackness!”

“Please, I need to speak to the lassie, son,” said Neacal, running along the road and trying to get the cart to stop.

His actions didn’t really give the cartman much choice, and so he stopped, but in very bad grace, as Neacal raced up to the edge of the cart to find Teasag.

Teasag’s heart was pumping in confusion and joy. On the one hand, she was mortified Neacal had made such a spectacle, but on the other, was secretly pleased to see him again. It took all her self-restraint not to leap from the cart and hug him.

Of course, she did no such thing. In fact, she frowned as the cart came to a halt, and the disparaging cartman looked on.

“Teasag!” called Neacal, coming up alongside the rickety cart. Teasag was squashed on one side amongst the milk churns. That morning there were no other human passengers in the cart and just a bale of hay in which to make herself comfortable.

“Neacal, what is it?” Teasag asked, her features stern. It wouldn’t do to look too pleased with the interruption, especially not with the cartman looking on, staring daggers while making an attempt to smoke a pipe on the side street.