Highland Jewel (The House of Pendray Book 3) by Markland Anna

Author:Markland, Anna [Markland, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-03-18T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

They’d been on the road for hours and darkness had fallen when Axton called a halt at a crossroads. He stood in the stirrups, listening. Jewel leaned backwards to avoid contact with the assassin’s body. She held her breath, wondering what it was he heard, or didn’t hear. Only the distant churring trill of a nightjar broke the silence.

They’d been following a range of low-lying hills and he’d kept a wary eye on the forested slopes.

“Is this the turn-off for Fàclann?” Balford asked.

“Aye, but we willna take it,” Axton replied, settling into the saddle. “Somebody’s camping in yonder hills. Can ye nay smell the fires?”

Catching a whiff of woodsmoke, Jewel swallowed the lump in her throat when she remembered happy evenings listening to tales around the campfire with Murtagh and his comrades. It seemed a lifetime ago.

Then she’d been a naive young lass with the world at her feet; now she was a dirty, disheveled captive who might not survive the night.

“Gypsies,” Balford sneered. “Who else can it be?”

“I dinna ken,” Axton replied. “But better safe than sorry. Someone perhaps expects us to go to Fàclann. We’ll lodge tonight with Covenanters in Strathmiglo.”

Jewel’s hopes of getting off the cursed horse dimmed. “How far is that?” she demanded to know.

“Closer than Fàclann,” Axton assured her. “And I might even allow ye to sleep in a bed.”

The prospect was welcome, but it chafed that her existence had narrowed to elation at the promise of a proper bed for the night. If he’d mentioned a bath, she might have burst into tears.

“We should ride further,” Balford said nervously.

“Our horses are spent,” Axton replied. “We won’t get far on foot.”

A short time later, they rode slowly into the darkened street of a small village she assumed was Strathmiglo. Axton went directly to the back door of a cottage with which he was clearly familiar, dismounted and knocked softly.

He was recognized by the elderly man who eventually opened the door. Light from his lantern flooded the doorway for a brief moment, then they disappeared inside.

Emerging a few minutes later with a youth, he reached up and lifted her down from the horse. “No bed. But we’ll be warm in the kitchen.”

Balford dismounted and the lad led the horses away.

Her stiff legs refused to function properly and she was annoyingly glad of Axton’s strong arm as he escorted her into a one-room hovel. The odor of unwashed bodies told her right away there’d be no chance of a bath.

However, her empty belly rejoiced loudly as a tempting aroma stole up her nostrils. She licked her lips when a woman beckoned them to the ancient trestle table near the kitchen fire and she set eyes on three bowls of broth. Good manners were no longer important, so she slumped into a rickety chair, seized the wooden spoon and slurped the tepid liquid. “Delicious,” she muttered, smiling at the woman whose heavily wrinkled features made it impossible to tell if she was smiling back or not.

Mumbling

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