Ugh. She finished her stew, thumped her spoon down and stood. “Please excuse me. I’m tired and wish to rest.”
“Your chamber shall be the one right next to mine. Understood?” Coll scraped the bench back and rose to his full and towering height, the soft, faded brown leather of his pants molding his strong legs.
“Since you’ve made it clear that I’m no longer welcome at Carron, then you can hardly order me about by saying where I’ll sleep.” She couldn’t help but issue that challenge. “No matter what you say, I’ll sleep wherever I please.”
“Ardan is the best place for you right now.”
“So you say, and so I disagree.” She shuffled around the table, kissed Ella and Duncan’s cheeks and murmured a good night to them. A simpering lass she’d never be. With her cloak draped over her arm, she snatched up her satchel and basket and marched around the room toward the innkeeper where he stood speaking near the stairwell with a young maid of mayhap eight and ten and stopped next to him. “Excuse me, Gordon. There’s been a change in plans regarding the third chamber the laird requested.”
“That would be?”
“I’d like to sleep in the stables.” The hay would make a soft bed.
“I cannae send ye out there, lass.”
“Call me Fiona.”
“The laird would have my head.”
“Papa.” The maid tucked a loose strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “Mistress Fiona can sleep in my room with me if she prefers.”
Ahh, that would work too. She jumped on the maid’s helpful offer. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
“This is Mary, my eldest daughter.” Gordon laid a gentle hand on the lass’s shoulder. “Are ye certain, Mary?”
“Aye, Papa.”
“Mary’s room will be more than sufficient for my needs, and our laird will understand.”
“Then Mary’s room it shall be.” Her answer seemed to satisfy him and he nodded at his daughter. “Ye make Mistress Fiona welcome in your room.”
“Of course.”
The innkeeper strode away and Mary plucked a candle from its holder on the wall and ducked into the shadowed nook under the stairwell. She opened a door. Wood creaked as she disappeared downstairs into the darkened depths. “This way,” she called back.
“I’m coming.” She followed Mary down the cramped stairwell, her shoulders brushing the gritty stone walls and the top of her head almost scraping the low beamed ceiling. Cool air swirled about and she dragged in a breath as her heartbeat raced. Never had she been all that overly fond of extremely tight spaces, and particularly not after being cornered by Jeremiah within just such a cramped stairwell a mere few days after Matthew’s death at Rhue Castle.
Jeremiah had pushed her up against the wall late one night, his beady black eyes glinting in the candlelight flickering from an iron wall sconce. In her ear, he’d muttered, “Now Matthew is gone, your care falls to me.”
“Please, let me pass.” She’d tried to heave past him, only he’d shoved his hips against hers, his whiskey-laden breath washing over her and his lustful emotions dumping down hard.
“For years I’ve watched Coll’s fascination for you grow. He followed your every move within my father’s home. When you entered a room, I found myself doing so as well. You intrigue me. Why is it you married Matthew, a man castrated in his youth and still grieving deeply for his late wife? Surely he couldnae bring you any pleasure in the marriage bed without his cock to fill you up.” Smirking, he’d gripped her breasts with his grubby hands, his fingers biting deep through the woolen cloth of her gown.
“Please, dinnae soil Matthew’s good name in such a way.”
“Could it be the empath in you couldnae refuse his needs?”
“You’ve no right to touch me like this, Jeremiah.” She’d wanted to thrust her knee up and stab him in the groin, but without Matthew, her life lay in this man’s hands and right now, she couldn’t take the risk of angering Jeremiah any more than possible.
“I have no issue taking an unwilling lass, but with you I’d want more than just a rutting in a damp stairwell. I wish for a lover, and when I one day marry, for you to remain my leman. When I give you sons, they’ll be bastards, but I’ll see them want for naught all the same, just as I will with you.” He’d gripped her chin, his fingers and thumb digging in either side of her neck. “Your door will always remain open to me, and only me. Am I understood?”
“Are ye all right?” Peering up at her from the bottom step, Mary waited for her, the candlelight flickering across the damp stone walls, just as it had done that night six months ago at Rhue. This time though, no Jeremiah remained as a threat. She’d never return to his keep in the far north. Never.
“I simply have a dislike of confined spaces.” She forced the memory away and stepped in beside Mary. “Show me your room, if you will.”