The Earl of Callander's Secret Bride (The Scots and the Sassenachs) by Raven McAllan & Cassie O'Brien

Author:Raven McAllan & Cassie O'Brien [McAllan, Raven]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Historical Romance Fiction
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group
Published: 2021-10-19T00:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Cairstine undressed quickly and slid under the covers with a peevish, “This bed is as comfortable as a thorn bush. What on earth is the mattress made of?” It pained her to appear such a monster, but if she had to act a petulant person, she couldn’t afford to let the façade slip.

The chambermaid blushed. “‘Tis the best we have, m’lady. New last Michaelmas, it was.”

Cairstine nodded. “Then I best make the most of it.” She wriggled until she was comfortable and smiled at the chambermaid. It was so unfair to take her apparent annoyance out on the girl. “It’s not your fault. Now I’ll try and sleep as no doubt we will be off at some silly hour.”

The maid curtseyed and left the room quietly. When she shut the door behind her, Cairstine sat up again and hugged her knees over the covers. It was time to plot.

Slowly the sounds of the inn and its occupants died down, until she heard a nearby clock sound twelve. Then the only noises were the rustle of the trees and the hooting of an owl. The floor outside her room creaked and she heard the low voice of the innkeeper say something, to be answered by someone else, whom she presumed was his wife.

Then once more all was silent. Cairstine waited until the clock chimed the half-hour then slid carefully out of bed. Her toes curled as they hit the wooden floor and she thrust them hastily in her slippers, which the maid had thoughtfully placed beside the bed. Now to find her pelisse. That was hung on the back of the door. She donned it, gathered it closely around her and opened her door, pleased it didn’t squeak as she closed it behind her.

Luckily, she’d noted where room fifteen was, and that it was in the direction of the main stairs. If anyone came across her, she could always say she’d left her reticule downstairs or some such thing. The fact she should have rung for a maid to go and look for it could be a complication, but she decided she’d face that if it happened.

Creaky floorboards could also cause problems. In fact, the whole twenty or so yards were full of pitfalls. However, the trip had to be done. Resolute, she trod carefully along the corridor, thankful there was enough moonlight to add a glow to the infrequent candles flickering in their sconces.

I should be glad they are still lit. It seemed the inn left them alight for their patrons until the wicks were finished.

The hall outside room fifteen was almost in full darkness, the nearest sconce empty. Cairstine checked no one was around—though what difference it would make, for she was the one skulking in the corridor, she had no idea—and lifted the latch. A sudden thought struck her. What if he’d locked the door? After all it was a public inn, and not all patrons could be assumed to be good, honest, God-fearing citizens.

To her relief, he hadn’t.

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