Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Leo had to give the Earl some credit. He'd somehow found two Highland lads to drive and mind the horses, who'd cheerfully told Leo they could either join as helping hands at the castle or find their own work.

It had been a relief to talk to two of his people, even if their accents sounded odd, a bit too English and proper at the edges. Yet, their skill with horses was unmistakable, and Leo knew they could find them a place.

They'd talked for a bit, but now the ride progressed in silence, with nothing but the creak of the saddle, the rumble of wheels, and the snorts of the horses. Around them, the land was flat and unremarkable, and it grated on Leo's nerves to have to traverse them so slowly.

Without this damnable carriage, he'd be nearing the border by now. He'd also rejected the Earl's offer of a ship—crossing the sea would not save them time, but perhaps it might have broken up this plodding monotony.

In this way, the afternoon passed, and then evening came. The landscape changed now, the hills rising and falling, with a swift river rolling along. Where the road had cut through flat fields and an unchanging horizon, it now skirted steep embankments and curved down hills that would've tested the nerve of a less seasoned rider. Finally, though, the hilly road promised a descent to fields again.

However, they had to traverse a thick forest first. Beyond it was the dim outline of a town. They had not encountered anyone on the road so far, but Leo did not want to take any chances. He rode ahead, scanning the dark trees and listening hard.

Nothing but rustling leaves. He relaxed and then tensed up again. Fafnir was alert, and Leo realized too late that there was no birdsong.

"Oy, Me Laird," cried one of the lads, and Leo turned his horse around with a snarl, not realizing he'd ridden too far ahead.

A cloaked, hooded man was almost upon the carriage, having snuck up the sharp hillside to the left. Leo hadn't even glanced down there; the bastard must have been hiding in the ditch. The lads were panicking, and one of the horses reared up.

Fear gripped Leo's heart.

Nay.

Then, James, the smaller of the lads, leaped and landed on the horse's back, causing Leo's jaw to drop. He soothed the creature, whispering in its ear, while Niall, the other lad, struggled to keep the rest of the horses calm.

Meanwhile, the bandit drew even with the carriage door, and Leo's heart leaped into his throat, his eyes burning. He thought he could smell smoke, and he helplessly realized, even as Fafnir pounded back down the road, that he wouldn't make it in time?—

Too late, Leo, drawled a cold voice in his head. Again.

There was a sudden crack, and Leo jerked in surprise as the bandit stumbled back and rolled down part of the incline, howling and holding his face. The carriage door had snapped open, hitting the man.

Agnes.

Amusement and fury roared in his blood, and he drew his blade as he shouted at her to stay in the carriage.

The bandit did not even have time to look up before Leo was on him. But the bastard was wily. He rolled down the hill, forcing Leo to leap down from Fafnir after him. Down in the ditch, the man was on his feet and brandished a stout blade. Still, he was disoriented by the pain and the blood trickling from his nose.

"I'll kill yer wench," he snarled and lashed at Leo, surprising him with both sword and sentiment.

By dumb luck, the bandit's sword grazed Leo's shoulder, driving him back.

But Leo roared and swung his blade before he drove it straight through the man's chest.

"Shouldnae have threatened me wife," he hissed in the man's ear before he dropped him and spat on him. "Rat bastard."

He turned, going to wipe his blade on the grass, when he looked up and froze. Agnes stood on the lip of the hill, Fafnir at her shoulder, and her wide eyes told him that she'd missed nothing.

Without thinking, Leo leveled his bloody sword at her and bellowed, "I told ye to stay in the carriage, woman!"

He was shaking from head to toe, barely able to focus as he cleaned his blade and then stormed forward. Agnes had disobeyed him further, going to check on Niall and James, and by the time Leo got back up the hill, she seemed to have things in hand.

"When I tell ye something, Agnes," Leo gritted out, "I expect ye to obey. Especially when it's goddamned common sense."

"If you wanted an obedient wife, you've made a poor match." Agnes tossed her head. "I did try to warn you." Her spring-leaf eyes focused on his shoulder, and she stepped forward. "I should bandage that."

"Get back in the carriage."

Agnes planted her feet and glared up at him. "Not until I look at it."

"Ye are testing me patience, Sassenach," Leo gritted out.

"You're testing mine, Highlander," Agnes said.

Somehow, ten minutes later, Leo sat on the carriage stairs, without a shirt on, as Agnes finished cleaning and wrapping his wound. She clucked and shook her head, but she seemed far happier to take care of it, as she had a bag of real remedies on hand.

Several times, Leo had fought the urge to tease her about having a bag of herbs and bandages but no clothes. Blood loss was getting to him.

"Strange," Agnes murmured as he pulled back on his shirt.

He started and then looked away. His throat was tight. He'd wondered when she'd summon the courage to talk about his scars.

"Aye, go on then," he bit out.

"Well, I thought it was a lucky strike on that bandit's part, and unlucky for you, but I think he knew where you'd been hurt."

Leo stilled and looked at Agnes, who had rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Do you think he knew those other bandits? Only, why wait till now?"

As was becoming far too habitual with this petite nae-yet-a-nun, now his wife, Leo felt completely at ease. He also felt that stirring, that hunger to hear more of her keen observations.

But he could not have that.

He pulled away, tense from head to toe. He was annoyed that he let his curiosity carry him away again, but more annoyed that she might be right. Which meant he'd somehow failed to see that bandit twice.

"Leo?"

"Get back in the carriage," he said and stood up, going to Fafnir. He did not look back once, even though he could sense her disappointment.

And the silence only grew heavier as they journeyed on.

Night came too fast, but before the moon rose, they had come across a town with a big, rambling inn. The lads were safe in the stables with the horses, having a hearty dinner, and Leo was inside, dealing with the stubborn innkeeper.

"I need two rooms."

"I have one, My Lord," the innkeeper said with intense patience.

Leo almost laughed, for it was rare to meet a man who was unperturbed by his appearance or accent.

"Is she not your wife?"

"Aye, but?—"

"No time to be shy," the innkeeper interrupted. "And no better time to settle your quarrel."

Indeed, Agnes, who was sitting alone at a table, looked as sulky as a thundercloud. Yet, somehow the pout on her face only made her more alluring to Leo.

"Or you can continue on, but there are bandits."

"Ye dinnae say," Leo muttered and accepted the room.

He went back to the table, unsure whether to tell the lass now or just let her see for herself. She did not seem inclined to talk, so they sat in silence, waiting for their meal.

Around them, the inn was clean, bright, and crowded. Snatches of song rose up, laughter swelled, and a fire cast dancing light over everything. More than one bright-eyed drunk cast an appreciative glance at Agnes, then blanched when they caught Leo's scowl.

He glanced at his wife, and his heart fluttered. No wonder. Agnes's sulkiness had faded away. She inspected the room with fervent, cat-like interest, her eyes roving over their surroundings, a wide smile on her face. It faltered when she met Leo's gaze, and his stomach twisted with guilt.

But she gave him a speculative look as she leaned forward, and he could not help but do the same. "I have never stayed at an inn before."

Leo almost laughed. "I imagine nae."

He wanted to ask what she thought, but he stopped himself. How was it that this woman, who'd grown up in a convent, was as near to a bloody siren as Leo had ever come across?

"It's about what I imagined, but also…"

She tapped her finger on her chin, and Leo remembered the feel of her soft skin. What had she thought when he'd touched her? Had she liked it?

"It's not exactly a den of iniquity."

"A den of what ?" Leo asked before he could stop himself.

"Sin, vice—you know," she said, and Leo broke into a cold sweat. "It's just people," she continued, resting her chin in her hands. "And so much color."

"This is a fine inn in a rich town," Leo said, and Agnes raised her eyebrows. "That's part of it. Those other types of inns do exist."

Agnes's eyes flashed with interest, and Leo cursed himself. Why had he told her that?

"Have you been to one of those?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

"What was it like?"

Leo glowered at her. "Perilous."

Agnes shivered and sat forward more. "Why go?" He shrugged, and she made a face. "Will we stay at other inns?"

"Probably."

"Hm, there's still a chance," she murmured, and Leo bit back a retort. "How long until we get to your home?"

Our home, he almost said.

"Depends. Ten days, at most. Mayhap longer or shorter, depending on the weather and the roads."

Agnes's eyes widened, and he sensed more questions coming, but then an inn hand appeared at their table, his arms laden with dishes. Leo did not glance up as the man set everything down, naming the dishes. But when the man spotted him, he let out a loud squawk that caused the clamor in the room to falter.

The man stammered out an apology as Leo glared at him, and then gathered up his wits and fled. The noise in the room seemed subdued as Leo turned to his plate and stabbed at it. A heavy feeling twisted in his gut, and he wanted to rip off his mask, really terrify them.

Then a gentle hand touched his balled-up fist on the table. He looked up to see Agnes giving him a searching look, and his gut churned.

"Do people always react that way around you?" she asked softly.

Leo huffed out a bitter laugh. "Do ye blame them, lass?"

Agnes withdrew her hand, and silence fell between them. The meal seemed to take too long and no time at all, and then they were walking upstairs, nerves jangling in Leo's gut. He should have prepared her. He should have gone and slept in the stables. But no, he couldn't leave his wife alone.

They were given a room at the end of the hall, well-sized, but the bed seemed laughably small as the door swung shut behind them. Their bags were already in the room, and Leo busied himself, pretending to check his wound, even as he surreptitiously watched his wife.

She went to the washbasin, washed her face and neck, and then sighed. She turned to him, resolute. "I've decided on my conditions."