Chapter 5

5

A lasdair was relieved when the main street of their first stop came into view. It was a small town with little more than an inn, a tavern, and a general store. A few houses were scattered around it, their fields of crops making patchwork colors across the land.

Alasdair brought his horse to a stop in front of the Black Sheep Inn and dismounted, feeling how stiff his legs were from their long ride. He walked around his horse to the other side of Juniper and reached up to take Ben from the horse. He put the boy down and turned back, offering assistance to Charlotte.

He felt suddenly uncertain as he put his hands around her waist and let her slide off the horse as he guided her to the ground. He was reminded of their time in Charlotte's office yesterday and how good it felt to have her in such close proximity. But the second Charlotte's feet touched the ground, she moved away from him, eager to explore where they would stay for the night.

As soon as they pushed through the door of the inn, Hayden headed toward the bar which was in a small room off to the side of the main entrance.

"I'm grabbing a drink," he said. "Let me know what room to look for."

And with that, Charlotte, Alasdair, and Ben were left alone, standing at the innkeeper's desk.

"We'll need two rooms," Alasdair told the man, stepping forward. "One for the lady and one for the rest of us."

"Very good, sir," the innkeeper smiled as he collected Alasdair's money, a hair too eager for Alasdair's taste.

"Won't this be fun, Ben?" Charlotte asked. "A night with your father and your uncle."

But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Ben rushed back to Charlotte, burying his face in her skirts. It didn't take an expert to figure out what this silent communication meant. Alasdair caught Charlotte's eye and let his breath out with a sigh.

"Ye want to sleep with Charlotte?" Alasdair asked, feeling defeated once more. He didn't know how many times he could stand to be rejected by his own son.

"I don't mind," Charlotte said, hugging the boy close to her. And then, as if issuing him a warning, she said, "If it makes him feel safer, we have to, right?"

It left Alasdair no room to argue, not without looking like a horrible person in front of the innkeeper who was still staring at them.

"Very well," he said carefully. Alasdair's mind raced through his possibilities, but the last thing he was going to do was leave his son's side when they were in a strange place.

"The three of us, then," Alasdair said. "It's the only way. I won't let Ben out of me sight in this unknown town."

"The three of us?" Charlotte repeated, and even the innkeeper picked up on the surprise in her voice.

"Sir?" he asked, clearly wondering if he needed to help this woman, who looked so utterly surprised by this sudden change of events. Alasdair needed to calm down the situation before he wound up with a scandal on his hands.

"Forgive us," Alasdair said, forcing a smile. "Our son gets a bit particular about his bedtime. The three of us will be in one room: meself, me son, and me wife. And me brother will sleep in the second."

"Which side of the bed will ye take?"

Charlotte nearly dropped her bag at the question. She swallowed hard as she took in the small room that held nothing except a bed and a small table.

"I… I will take the floor, sir," Charlotte said, staring at her shoes. Alasdair slid his eyes to her, clearly noting her stuttering words and the shaking of her body that she couldn't control.

"Daenae fret," he assured. He looked at her with confusion, clearly surprised by this strong reaction. "Ye are quite safe with me. I willnae touch ye."

This only made things worse. Alasdair's mention of touching made Charlotte eager to flee the room as butterflies danced in her stomach. She looked around herself in the small space, as if seeking a place to hide, but the room was cramped with Alasdair, Ben, and Charlotte inside of it.

"I… I've slept on the floor many times," Charlotte told him. She thought of the nights she curled up on the floor beside sick children's beds or when she slept on the hearth to keep the fire going lest they all freeze. Charlotte knew she would be much more comfortable on the hard wooden planks than in a bed beside Alasdair.

"Nonsense," Alasdair said. "We have a long ride ahead of us, and I cannae have ye catching a chill that will make ye ill. These places get cold at night."

Charlotte swallowed hard and looked back at him, racing through all the many excuses she could give. She couldn't find something that would convince Alasdair.

"The child will be between us," he continued. "There is no harm in it."

With nothing else to do, she gave a simple nod before immediately turning toward Ben to help him dress. She couldn't look at Alasdair without burning in shame. Her stomach fluttered as she heard the man rustling through his saddlebags. She struggled to keep her eyes on the child, but Alasdair's movement drew her eye.

He was turned away from her, and she suddenly saw the flash of skin as Alasdair pulled his shirt over his head. She saw the man's broad and muscled back as he replaced one shirt for another. It was then that she saw the scars that crossed his back, the same marks she already knew covered his face and arms.

Ben noticed them too. She felt the little boy grab her hand, and she looked down to see him staring. Charlotte squeezed his hand in comfort and guided the boy to the bed, forcing her eyes away as Alasdair covered himself with his nightshirt.

Charlotte tucked Ben into bed, happy to have a task in front of her. She pulled the covers tight around the boy and rubbed his back as his eyes fluttered closed. He was clearly exhausted from their long day on the road. As Ben's breathing became steady, Charlotte felt Alasdair's eyes on her. She looked up to find him staring.

"Will ye sleep in yer dress?" he asked, and Charlotte couldn't miss the glint of mischief she saw in his eye. It sent a jolt to her stomach that was unfamiliar, the same feeling she had when Alasdair had pinned her against the wall in her office.

"Could you… perhaps…" Charlotte stood up and looked away, unable to form the question.

You are a brave woman. You have suffered much larger hardships.

This reminder was a mantra Charlotte used when life got hard. It brought her comfort now, and she found the courage to look up at the man with a firm-set jaw.

"Could you leave me, sir?" she asked. "So I may undress for bed?"

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

"I told ye," he said, stepping closer to her. "Ye shouldnae call me sir."

"Apologies," Charlotte said, shaking her head in her mistake. "Could you please leave me, Laird O'Malley?"

"I don't like that either," he said. He looked softer somehow in his nightshirt, the clean white linen a sharp contrast to his jet-black hair and the short beard he wore on his face. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as he closed the distance between them.

"My Laird?" she asked. She didn't know what he wanted, and she couldn't think straight in this small room with Alasdair standing over her.

"Call me Alasdair," he said.

She looked up at him, wanting to object. Charlotte had been raised to respect men more than anything, and she did not remember using a man's given name in her whole life. Well, except for George. The old man at the monastery was the one man familiar enough to her to be on a first-name basis.

"Say it, and I'll leave ye."

And so, Charlotte gave in, desperate to have Alasdair out of the room.

"Please, Alasdair," she said, "could you allow me to change?"

He left with a smug smile, keeping his eyes on her until the door was closed. Charlotte undressed as quickly as she could, terrified Alasdair might return to the room at any second. For the first time in her life, she thanked the Abbess for teaching the nuns how to dress efficiently.

When she was finished, Charlotte tucked herself into bed, climbing over Ben carefully, so she wouldn't wake him. She turned her body toward the wall and squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to move until the sun rose in the morning.