Fiona smiled and shook her head. “Och, nothing really. We were headed to Skye to stay with family, start over. Heard the prince was headed there too and thought wouldna it be grand if we caught sight of him? But alas, ’tis no’ meant to be.” She gave a whimsical sigh and patted her chest over her heart, hoping the man fell for her feminine ruse.
Fortunately, he did, passing her a gentle smile before grinning at Brogan with mirth. “Oh, aye, ye’ll no’ be seeing him there. ’Tis a shame, because I have heard he’s quite bonnie and might give this lad a run for his money.”
Fiona burst out laughing at that, unable to help herself. There was simply no comparison whatsoever between the two. “Aye, I have no doubt, sir.”
The prince was handsome to be sure, but in a soft, pretty way. He was clever, funny, brave even, but he was not a soldier in the true sense of the word. Brogan epitomized everything there was to be seen in a Highland warrior. He was rough, rugged, handsome in a way that made a woman pant rather than sigh, and he was so very large. He too was clever, funny, and brave, but while in the prince it would bring about the fluttering of lashes and girlish laughs, in Brogan it would bring a woman to her knees before she lost her breath altogether.
And having been in his arms, Fiona knew just how well he could take away her breath, take away her sense and her balance. Even thinking about that had a shiver of need coursing through her veins, and she shifted uneasily on her feet, feeling the heat between her thighs go up several degrees. The prince had never been able to do that, not even when he bent over her hand and kissed her knuckles, calling her a clever beauty. She might have been his mistress if she wanted to, but she was more than happy to have that role filled by Lady Clementina. The prince simply wasn’t her type. But Brogan, however… Sigh.
Aye, there certainly was no comparison whatsoever.
“How many are ye, not including the lady?” asked the barkeep, swiftly changing the subject.
“Seven of us.”
“All right. I can tell my missus so she knows how many more to prepare for at supper.”
“Our thanks.” Brogan placed several coins on the counter, tapping his hands over them.
He turned toward Fiona, lowering his voice. “Alone, ye’ll be able to get some rest. And I can stand watch with my men in case we were followed.”
Fiona nodded. “Makes the best sense.” Which it did, even if she wished it were otherwise.
The man called back to someone behind the counter and had an answering call of denial. He rolled his eyes and called for someone else, and a young lass about age ten or so came from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked just like him, though with a feminine line to her chin.
“Molly, take the lady upstairs to room three. Make sure ’tis suitable.”
“Aye.” Molly curtsied and then skirted around the counter where her father stood and led the way up the rickety stairs to a room that had a number three carved into the wood of the door. The lass unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Right, there ye are, ma’am.”
“Thank ye,” Fiona said, taking the proffered key and winking at the wee lass. The room was small, sparse of furniture, and with not a speck of dust in sight, shocking considering the state of the tavern below. The owners took good care of the chambers, at least.
“This will do nicely. Did ye decorate it yourself?” she teased.
“Nay.” The lass laughed.
“Your parents have done well with the room then.”
“There’s no’ much to it.” The girl shrugged. “Will there be anything else?”
“Nay, thank ye.”
But the girl tarried, either really wanting to help or trying to get out of some other chore that awaited her. “Would ye care for a bath?”
“Do ye have one?” A bath would be nice.
“Aye. My da will charge ye extra for it, but my brothers can bring it up, and I can help. I can be your lady’s maid.”
Fiona smiled and nodded gratefully. “I’m happy to pay for it. I’ve no’ had a good wash in a while. But I’m no’ a lady,” she lied.
She hadn’t been able to bathe since the last tavern they’d stayed at a week ago. Och, but the last sennight had gone by in a blur of racing horses and snoring on the ground, then doing it all over again. It was a wonder she was even still standing.
“That’s all right,” the lass said. “I can still pretend.”
Fiona grinned. “All right.” There was a lot of pretending going on lately; what was one more?
The lass disappeared back into the hallway and down the stairs, and Fiona could hear her issuing orders to her brothers. Fiona wondered if the lass was the eldest, the way she bossed them all about. Then again, she herself wasn’t the oldest and she still bossed her siblings around when she could. Oh, how she missed them.
Fiona went to the small window and peered outside. The men were no longer in the road, having taken the horses round back to get them settled in the stable, and they too would like to wash up before coming back into the tavern for refreshments.
Movement caught her eye, and she watched Brogan walk shirtless from behind the barn. Water dripped down his abdomen, and he was shaking remnants of his bath from his hair. A slender woman slinked toward him. The coy drop of her shoulder and the way she reached out to touch his arm left no question as to what she wanted of him.
But Brogan shook his head, offered a polite smile, and walked around her.
The woman watched after him longingly, and all Fiona could think was He’s mine.
* * *
The men gathered in the tavern, Sorley and Fin by the bar, James and Charles having engaged in a game of cards with some of the other patrons, while Brogan, Keith, and Dugall sipped their ale, taking it all in.
Fiona had yet to reappear, and Brogan wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to take her supper upstairs. Lord knows if he were a woman surrounded by over half a dozen men, he just might. She’d been stuck on the road with them all for days. Not a moment of privacy at all.
At his feet was Milla, who looked up expectantly anytime she heard steps approaching the main tavern hall and then settled down with disappointment when it wasn’t Fiona who walked through the door. He reached down and gave her a scratch behind her ears.
The atmosphere inside this tavern was worlds different from the one they’d been in before. There had been something sinister in the air there. They’d all felt it the moment they stepped through the doors. But not here. This place could have been in another time. A time well past men being harassed by dragoons, for all Brogan could tell. The air was charged almost with lightness, happiness. And he knew it couldn’t be that they didn’t care about the war, but perhaps they’d not been touched as heavily as those near Inverness.