Blue Bells of Scotland: Blue Bells Trilogy One by Laura Vosika

Author:Laura Vosika
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, historical fiction, middle ages, scotland, violin, music, time travel, medieval, musicians, scottish history, harp, trombone, bannockburn, stirling castle, robert bruce, shawn kleiner, niall campbell, medieval history, time slips, vosika, timeslip, timeslips
Publisher: Laura Vosika

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Chapter Eleven

Central Scotland

Early in the morning, with pinks and grays streaking the eastern sky, they reached a squat, stone inn with a thatched roof. Allene had said not another word to him for the rest of the night, hiking without pause. There had been no more water breaks. She led him around the back of the inn, and tapped on the door. A great, robust man opened it a crack. As before, she lifted the cowl off her face. The man's blue eyes darted side to side, he pulled the door wide, and whisked them in. "Henry of Forth," he addressed Shawn. "And your poor, mute serving boy. My weary inn looks ever forward to your music. I've a meal fer ye, and a place to rest yer heads. Come!" He clapped Shawn's shoulder and pumped his hand. Shawn winced. His hand throbbed painfully even without the greeting. The man leaned in and whispered, "Welcome, my lord! May God go wi' ye."

"Henry?" Shawn asked. He looked the man up and down, from his baggy pants past his flour-smeared apron to his ruddy, bearded face.

Allene, the mute serving boy once again, with her hood covering her hair, gave him a piercing glare and nodded, raising a silencing finger to her lips. "D' ye no remember Fergal," she whispered.

The huge man led them into the dining room, empty but for a serving girl, up early to cook and clean. "Maeve," the man said. "We've a visiting minstrel who may entertain us tonight if we feed him well. Dish up some bacon and neeps. Be quick, girl."

"And something to drink." Shawn glared at Allene. His heartbeat pulsed in his hand. "A beer would be good."

Allene shook her head.

"What do you mean, no?" Shawn demanded. "What, do you only have ale or mead," he bit the words out, heavy with sarcasm, "in this primitive place?"

The man shushed him in alarm.

"I'll pay for naught to drink for ye," Allene hissed.

"I've had a rough night," Shawn hissed back. "Primarily thanks to you and your silly knife. You da...." He re-thought his language and tried again. "I'm wearing tights, for Chr...for Pete's sake, and you butchered my hand. I haven't slept in a decent bed in two nights! You can buy me a drink. Buy me a couple."

Allene pursed her lips, barely visible under the hood, and shook her head one smart, angry shake.

Shawn stood up, threw the plumed hat on the floor at her feet, and stormed out. Allene and Fergal didn't stop him. He slammed the wooden door as hard as he could, and stood outside, looking around. A few houses lined the dusty road. A cock crowed. Pale morning light silhouetted endless black hills, rolling like rough seas in every direction. Storming out became less effective with nowhere to go.

He wandered to the stable at the back. It was a small, wooden structure. A bony horse nodded sleepily in one stall. A wagon sagged drunkenly in a dark corner. By the far wall, a girl in a heavy woolen dress pitched hay.

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