Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

T he rest of their day was spent riding and putting as much distance as they could between them and the castle. They were still too close for comfort and Hugo didn’t allow himself to be lulled into any false sense of security by the distance they had covered. For all he knew, Finnian and Niall had already sent people after them, and so had Laird Robertson.

However, it was Niall’s men that he didn’t want to encounter. They were the ones they had to fear.

Though it was a pleasant enough day, chilly but dry, the sky overcast but showing no threat of rain, the travel still exhausted them. By the time the sun began to set, Hugo wanted nothing more than to find a comfortable bed and a warm plate of food, and so he brought the horse to a stop at the next village they found on their way.

It was a small place, but upon seeing it, Hugo let out a sigh of relief. In front of him, Abigail seemed to relax as well, the tension bleeding out of her when she realized they would be spending the night there.

After dismounting the horse, Hugo led Abigail inside, looking around at the place to see if there were any signs of threat. Though people turned to look at them when they entered, none of them seemed to recognize them or pose any threat, so Hugo continued towards the innkeeper, who smiled when he saw them.

They looked less than proper, Hugo thought, what with all the dirt on their clothes, but they still looked expensive enough to warrant good treatment. A man like the innkeeper could surely see such details—he must have seen all sorts of people pass through his inn and he knew who could afford a bed and who couldn’t.

“Welcome,” the man said. He was older, short and stout, with greying hair and warm, brown eyes. “Ye look weary. A room fer the night?”

“Two, please,” Hugo said as he reached for his pouch of gold, which he luckily always had on him, otherwise they would have had none with their quick escape.

For a moment, the innkeeper looked between him and Abigail as though he couldn’t figure out why they would need two different bedrooms, but he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m afraid there is only one room left,” the man said. “We are small, ye see. We only have three rooms tae spare, an’ two o’ them are already taken.”

Hugo glanced over his shoulder at Abigail, who was standing right behind him. She seemed anything but pleased, her lips pursed into a thin line, but then she only nodded.

“One will dae,” she said. “I’m too tired tae find another place. Let us spend the night here. Ye can sleep on the floor.”

“How very gracious of you,” Hugo told her with a saccharine smile, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He turned back to the innkeeper and handed him some gold, taking the key offered to him. “We will also need some food an’ a bath. And clothes, if you have them.”

“O’ course,” the man said. “One moment.”

While he disappeared into another room, Hugo leaned over the counter with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been looking forward to spending the night in a nice bed—or at least a bed, as any bed would do at that point—but apparently, his hopes had been in vain. He had been looking forward to some peace and quiet, too, since it seemed that he and Abigail could hardly spend more than a few hours together without fighting, but that hope had also dissipated.

When the innkeeper returned, he was holding two changes of clothes in his hands, one for Hugo and one for Abigail. With growing horror, Hugo realized that what the man had brought him was a plaid, just as the clothes were thrust into his hands.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Clothes,” the man said with a small, confused frown. “Well, how dae ye say this, vêtements ?”

“Yes, thank you, I know that. I asked for them,” Hugo pointed out. Behind him, Abigail was giggling without even trying to suppress it, and he turned to glare at her for a moment. “I cannot wear this.”

“Why?” the man asked. From the way he narrowed his eyes at him, Hugo feared he was about to start a war between Scotland and France.

Hugo glanced over his shoulder at Abigail once more before he leaned forward to speak softly. “I feel too… exposed, you see?”

“Exposed?” the innkeeper shouted, giving a full-bellied laugh. Just as he had expected—and had tried to avoid—Abigail’s giggles turned into a hysterical laugh. “Nonsense, laddie! Everyone wears these here!”

Something told Hugo that he was not going to win this battle. With a sigh, he nodded once, firmly, and resigned himself to his fate. He hadn’t worn a plaid since he was a child and his father had had him dressed in one, but now it looked like he would have to get intimately reacquainted with it.

With a sigh and one last, tight smile at the innkeeper, Hugo made his way up the stairs, Abigail following close behind. The room they had been given was spacious enough, a large bed sitting in the middle with a window across from it that overlooked the street below, while a dresser and a washbasin stood at the far wall. There was a chair and a small table, too, and Hugo wondered for a moment if he should sleep there instead, but even the floor sounded more comfortable than spending the night curled up in a sitting position.

“I’ll go and find us another horse,” Hugo said. “You can bathe first.”

“Wait!” Abigail called. “The horse is Lachlan’s. What will ye dae with it?”

Hugo had had every intention to trade the horse for another, but now he doubted Abigail would allow it. “I’ll tell them to keep it safe for us. We can take it back to Lachlan when we return to the castle or have someone take it to him.”

That seemed to reassure Abigail and she nodded, all but shooing Hugo out when two women knocked on the door, bringing a tub and water inside. Hugo sighed at the dismissal and left the room, asking the innkeeper for anyone in the village who would have a horse to spare.

After finding another horse and making sure Lachlan’s would be taken care of properly, Hugo returned to the room. He had been gone for a long time, enough for Abigail to have bathed twice over, and so he didn’t bother knocking before he opened it.

He was wrong not to. Abigail stood in front of him in the process of putting on her dress, fully naked. Hugo froze, his gaze taking in the slopes of her curves, dragging over her breasts, her waist, her hips; her nipples, hardened from the chill in the room; her mound, where he could imagine kissing, stroking and li?—

“Get out!”

Abigail’s shriek had him scrabbling for the door, hurrying out of the room and closing it firmly behind him. Suddenly, his trousers felt uncomfortably tight, his manhood giving a valiant twitch despite the hot wave of embarrassment that coursed through him. Perhaps he was cursed, he thought. Perhaps he would always be aroused around Abigail because his traitorous body couldn’t understand that he did not, in fact, like her, despite her physical appearance.

If only she were more agreeable.

It wasn’t long after, that the door swung open and Abigail came out of the room, still fuming. Her face was a bright shade of red and her pretty mouth was twisted in a snarl as she pushed past him, her shoulder colliding with him just to make a point.

For a moment, Hugo watched her leave, only entering the room once she was out of sight. Once again, he seemed to have managed to offend her greatly, though this time, he could hardly fault her for it.

He should have knocked. He had been a fool not to.

With a weary sigh, he undressed and when a servant brough two more buckets, he added some hot water into the tub, sinking into its warmth. It was like a balm on his sore muscles, heavenly after so many hours on the road, and he instantly relaxed, all thoughts wiped from his mind.

Well, most thoughts, at least.

As he bathed, he looked down at himself, his manhood still straining against his stomach as though it hadn’t yet understood the situation. Slowly, he dragged a hand down his chest and stomach, wrapping his fist loosely around himself, the touch more teasing than anything else. He wondered how Abigail would touch him, how it would feel if it was her hand instead of his around him, but then he quickly let go of his length as though it had been burned.

He was stronger than this. He wasn’t going to pleasure himself at the thought of the very woman who had just yelled at him for seeing her nude. Besides, it was Abigail—Billie’s little sister, who would kill him if she knew what he was doing.

Hugo made quick work of his bath, scrubbing himself clean. The wound on his shoulder was already starting to close, though it was far from healed, and he wondered if he should ask Abigail to put some more paste on it or if he should look through her bag and try to find the jar on his own. Neither option seemed particularly appealing. If he looked through her bag, he was certain she would walk into the room at that very moment, demanding to know why he was rummaging through her things. Asking her also seemed impossible now that she was surely mad at him.

He would have to leave that for later. For now, he simply dressed after drying himself off and then headed down for some dinner, wondering if he should try and sit with her or if she wouldn’t want to see him at all.

Before he could make a choice, he came to a halt when his gaze fell on her. She was sitting at one of the tables and a man had slid across from her to speak to her. Though Hugo couldn’t see his face, he could see hers: eyebrows pinched together, lips curled back, eyes narrowed like a cornered beast.

Anger bubbled up inside him as he approached, stepping behind Abigail and resting a possessive hand on her shoulder. Perhaps she was still angry with him, but he wasn’t going to let that man bother her. If she wanted to yell at him later for it, then she could do so for all Hugo cared.

When the man saw him, his grin slid off his face and he straightened up, looking at Hugo as though he was trying to figure out whether or not he could fight him.

“An’ who might ye be?” the man asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” said Hugo. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” The man tried to imitate Hugo’s accent and laughed, the sound filling up the room. He was large, tall and muscular, much like Hugo himself, but he didn’t look like a soldier. A farm hand, perhaps, or someone used to some sort of manual labor, but with no real training. “I’m only tryin’ tae have a pleasant conversation.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Hugo pointed out, letting the mocking slide. “I could tell all the way from there. Is it not obvious to you?”

“I didnae hear her complain,” the man said with a shrug. “If ye’ll excuse us now, I was here first. Find yer own lassie.”

Hand curling around Abigail’s shoulder, Hugo leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. It was barely more than a brush, but for a moment, he could have sworn she reciprocated.

When he pulled back, he grinned at the man. “I believe it is you who must find another. Leave my wife alone.”

At that, the man pursed his lips and stood, leaving without saying another word. It was better this way, Hugo thought. It was better if everyone thought they were together, and he would make sure to ask for one room everywhere else they went, even if it meant that he had to sleep on the floor.

Abigail seemed a little shaken by the ordeal, her breath shaky as he peeled away from her and slid into the seat across from her. Still, he was glad to find her smiling at him, as though she had never been angered by his behavior in the first place.

“Forgive me,” Hugo said before she could speak. “I didn’t mean to enter the room like that before. I thought you would be done with your bath, but I should have knocked. I promise you, I will always knock from now on.”

Though Abigail hesitated for a moment, she eventually nodded, and Hugo was thankful that she at least accepted his apologies. They could at least be civil with each other, if nothing else.

And yet, there was more to it now. He had never thought of Abigail as a woman—she had always been the annoying little sister, the one he reluctantly put up with whenever they were around each other. But now that he had started to get to know her better, he had also begun to understand there was more to her than met the eye. She was kind; she was fierce and loyal; and she was devastatingly beautiful. Hugo couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her now. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her, trace the contours of her body and bring her the kind of pleasure she had only imagined. He had already tasted her lips, albeit briefly, but he wanted to taste the rest of her, too. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to know what she sounded like, calling out his name in the throes of passion.

A serving wench brought them their dinner and Hugo was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts and brought back to reality. Across from him, Abigail watched him curiously, one of her brows slightly raised in a silent question he couldn’t answer.

He knew one thing for certain: it was going to be a long trip.