She smiled and kissed Mary’s cheek when she came near. Together, they watched Mr. Jones return with a coil of rope around his shoulder.
Tristan bent over Neill and pushed him over on his belly, his face in the dust.
Mr. Jones cut a length of the rope and handed it to him then he handed another cut piece to the captain, who knelt at Neill’s ankles. They tied his wrists and ankles together and left him lying where he was.
“Your husband saved me from the flames,” Mary said softly.
Saved me from the flames.
He’d saved Rose, as well. She understood such gratitude. “What happened?” she asked the captain’s wife.
Mary looked off into the distance, remembering, the smoke, the fire, the fear. “They bolted the door from the outside and set fire to the house. I was locked inside.”
Rose glared at Neill, realizing that he did know Mary was in her home when her cottage was lit on fire. They’d bolted her door to keep her in. Oh, how could he have become so despicable?
As Mary spoke, her eyes glistened with tears in the firelight. “I think the smoke would have killed me sooner than the flames. I could not breathe anymore. I know I was dying. But then I heard something loud like a crash. It was the door being kicked in. Light and fresh, clean air filled the house. I took a few blessed breaths. He picked me up and asked me about you before I passed out. Next thing I remember I was waking in their presence—alive.
“We set out to find you and William and Tristan would not rest. He would not even sleep.”
“I am thankful he saved you, Mary,” Rose told her, looping her arm through her friend’s.
“As am I,” the captain said, reaching them. “He got to us all just in time.”
Rose grinned at her friend. How long had he admired Tristan and now to meet him, to know he saved him and his wife?
“I knew he would come, Captain,” she reminded him.
The captain smiled and then put his arm around Tristan when her husband grew closer.
Tristan’s smile was slight, his green eyes, vivid and eclipsed by a few black curls when he looked at the captain. “We will talk aboot yer curiosity over me tomorrow, on the way to Hamilton. All right then.” He swept the curls over his head with a quick rake of his fingers and looked around at all of them. He took Rose’s hand and pulled her away.
“Good dreams,” Rose called out when what she really wanted to do was cry out for help.
No. Hadn’t she nearly purred all over him just a few short hours ago? She didn’t know what to expect! No one had ever told her what it was like or how she should feel.
“Tristan,” Jones called out softly before they disappeared into the darkness to the horses. “There is an inn about a half-mile west of here. There is no reason why your bride should spend her wedding night on the hard ground.”
Rose blushed but thanked him. She didn’t like sleeping outdoors.
When they were alone in the dark, Tristan put his arm around her and pulled her close as they reached his horse.
“Ye are weary,” he noted, helping her into his saddle.
She loved his voice. It was deep and soothing, mesmerizing in its lyrical timbre.
Was he giving her a way out? If she was too tired, he would not force her.
“’Twould not be right for me to withhold my affections from my husband.”
He leaned forward. His deep laughter tickled her ear and sent heat down her spine. “I think the good Lord knows how difficult yer life has been these last days.”
That was how long they had known each other, and they were already wed.
But why wait? They could be dead tomorrow. At least Tristan had made her his wife and did not disgrace her. She loved him. She thought if he left that nothing in her life would ever make sense again.
She wanted to tell him she loved him tonight.
They found the inn a short while later and Tristan paid for a room. He carried his weapons and bags up the stairs, behind her.
She felt his eyes on her buns in her well-fitting trousers and covered herself with her hands. “You must think me odd.”
“I think ye magical…or somethin’ that explains why I want to be with ye all the time.”
“I feel the same way,” she whispered as the innkeeper showed them to a door in the middle of the hall. He worked the key and then pushed open the door.
Rose stepped inside first.
There was one narrow bed by a window, a chair, and a small table. Rose didn’t care what the room looked like, or if the wood on the headboard was polished. When the innkeeper lit all the candles, the room was cozy and perfect.
When the innkeeper left, Tristan bolted the door.
She stood by the chair trying not to look nervous then realized she was twisting her shirt.
He smiled warmly and she thought she might not be able to sleep with him looking so fine in the candlelight.
He walked to the bed, kicking off his boots.
Rose watched him, breath held, nervous and thrilled to see what he would take off next. “Tristan,” she spoke his name softly. “I do not know anything about what we are to do.”
He looked at the bed, and then at her again. “Ye know nothin’?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. After all of this…” She laughed at herself, but the sound was more one of disgust than amusement.
He pulled off his léine and tossed it over the chair. She stepped back. She’d seen his bare chest before. It was most pleasant to gaze upon, shaped more like a “T” with a carved belly. He fell into
