Chapter 37

“They’ve been in there for hours. Do ye think they’re stayin’ the night?” Angus asked as they peered out from the bushes toward The Red Lion.

A thin stream of smoke still rose from the chimney into the starlit sky, and the windows glowed with flickering firelight, but no one had come or gone for at least an hour.

Will nodded to the tracks that led to the inn. “The lame one’s been leanin’ heavily on his staff. He’s grown weary.”

“They’ll probably get a good night’s rest,” said Alasdair, “then light out early in the morn.”

“I say we go in now,” Angus said, clapping a hand on the pommel of his sword, “take them by surprise, rescue Jossy, and make a run for it.”

“Nae,” Will said.

“Nae?”

“I’ve no wish to brawl with a tavern full o’ drunken Englishmen.”

“Then what do ye suggest?”

“I’m goin’ in alone.” Will unbuckled his sword. “And I’m leavin’ this here.”

“Are ye barmy?” Angus said. “Ye just said yourself, the place is crawlin’ with bloody English.”

“All the more reason to go in unarmed.”

Alasdair shook his head. “But ye can’t take on Jossy’s captors by yourself.”

“I’m not goin’ to take them on,” Will said. “We’ll confront them when they’re sober, in the morn. And this time we’ll be ready for them. We’ll take turns on watch.”

“Then why are ye goin’ in now?” Alasdair asked.

Will frowned. “Because I’m half-starved, and I’ve been smellin’ whatever they’ve got cookin’ over the fire for hours now.” He got to his feet, dusted off his clothes, and tried to look as English as possible. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring somethin’ back for ye as well.”

’Twas partially true. He was hungry. But he also wanted to check on Jossy. The other two hadn’t seen the way she’d looked at that golfer. Prying her out of the lad’s grasp might not be as easy as Angus and Alasdair imagined. If Will made an appearance at the inn tonight, Jossy would know her fathers were watching over her, and she’d be mentally prepared to leave with them in the morn.

The instant he pushed through the door, however, and scanned the interior of the tavern from beneath his lowered cap, he realized that once again he’d arrived too late.

The three older Englishmen sat around a table near the fire, frowning into their ale, but Josselin and the golfer were nowhere to be seen.

The men glanced up briefly when Will walked in, then resumed their grumbling.

The innkeeper finished poking at a log on the fire, then looked over. “I hope ’tisn’t lodging you want,” he said, clapping the ashes from his hands. “We’re full up.”

“Just supper,” Will mumbled.

He cast an uncomfortable glance up the stairs. ’Twas probably best he hadn’t brought his sword. He might have done something foolish, like charge up the steps, fling open the door, and murder the bloody English bastard who was up there with Jossy, doing God knew what.

The moment Drew shut the chamber door behind them, Josselin whirled on him.

“I’ll have ye know I’m not sorry for what I said,” she stiffly informed him, adding under her breath, “though I am sorry I said it so loudly.”

He grinned as he unbuckled his swordbelt and leaned his sword against the wall. “’Twas worth every penny. You were brilliant.”

“Well, they bloody well deserved it,” she decided, though she was cursing herself for losing her temper. If his uncles hadn’t intended to turn her in before, they certainly had cause to now.

“Faith, their bark is worse than their bite,” Drew said, setting his satchel of clubs against the bed. “As fierce as they seem, they mean well. They always have. God’s truth, if ’tweren’t for them, I would’ve had no upbringing at all.”

“Are ye defendin’ their cruelty?” she asked, incredulous.

“Not their cruelty, but their intent.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boots. “They may blame the Scots for what happened to my father, but they also believe he was weak, that that was why he…why he died. So they’ve always been stern with me, hoping to make me a stronger man than he was.”

“Stern?” she said in outrage. “Is that what ye call it?” She frowned, pacing off her ire. “I think they’re vicious. And connivin’. And spiteful. My fathers would never have spoken to me about my mother like that.”

“You’re a lass.”

“Ach! My fathers paid no mind to that. They raised me like a son.” She shook her head in disgust. “But your uncles, they’ve treated ye worse than a hound.”

He chuckled. “Take care, lass. You’re coming dangerously close to defending your enemy.”

She stopped pacing.

Hell, he was right. Why should she care how Drew’s uncles treated him? He was English. The whole lot of them were. Bloody ruthless English bastards.

She sniffed. “I’m not defendin’ ye. If I were defendin’ ye, I would have run them through.”

He smirked. “Then ’tis lucky for them we’re foes.”

“And what about ye?” she challenged. “Ye lied for me.”

“Aye.” He shrugged out of his doublet and hung it on the peg beside the bed.

“Ye knew I could read. And now ye know I’m a…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “A spy.”

He lifted a bemused brow.

She repeated, “Yet ye lied for me.”

He shrugged. “I swore I’d keep you safe.”

“Ye made that vow,” she pointed out, “before ye knew what I was.”
”True.” He loosened the laces of his shirt.

Josselin frowned, perplexed. “We’re enemies,” she reiterated.

“Are we?” He smiled at her, and his eyes sparkled. “I’ve no quarrel with you.”

Damn it all, when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t think straight. “That doesn’t matter. Ye can’t turn your back on your blood and your breedin’. Our forebears have been foes for far too long to…”

He pulled his shirt over his head, and at the sight of his bare chest, all her thoughts flew straight out of her head.

“Aye?” he asked.

She blinked. Faith, he was half-naked. How had he come to such a state of undress?

“What are ye doin’?” she demanded.

He smirked and reached up to hang his shirt on top of his doublet. “I’m going to bed. What are you doing?”

She felt the blood rise in her cheeks. “But ye can’t… I won’t… I can’t share a bed with ye.”

“You did before,” he pointed out.

“Aye, but that was before I knew ye were my sworn enemy.”

He shrugged. “Fine.”
”Fine?”

“Aye. Fine. Then you can sleep on the floor.”

“What?”

“Look, ‘wife,’” he said, “I’ve been traveling for three days and have yet to get a good night’s rest.” He grabbed the pillow, punched it a few times, then stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head. “I’m not about to be robbed of sleep by your prejudices.” He closed his eyes.

Her jaw dropped. “I’m not your wife. I don’t care what ye told the innkeeper. I’ll not share a bed with—”

“Or your offended sensibilities.”

Fuming, she scoured the chamber, looking for another place to sleep. There was none.

Without opening his eyes, the cocky varlet patted the mattress beside him in invitation.

With a glower that would melt iron and a string of curses that would have earned her a scolding from her fathers, she flounced onto the bed. Her only satisfaction was his grunt of displeasure when she yanked the pillow from beneath his head and appropriated it for herself.

And even that was short-lived. A moment later, he shackled her to his wrist. She couldn’t blame him. At the moment, she’d like nothing better than to find her dagger and run him through.