was happy that he seemed to smile more today than he had yesterday. At least he did when he was alone with her. He’d scowled all through supper, sending warning glares to every man who dared to look at her.
She smiled and yawned. She loved the fathomless pitch and the melodious burr of his heritage. Oh, she wanted to hear him speak all night, for the rest of her life. But she was sleepy. She wasn’t sure if she’d even been aware of him shifting to his back and pulling her close under his arm.
She rested her head on his chest and heard his heartbeat and fell asleep while he told her of a knight called Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s nephew, who favored courtliness and love over martial valor. Rose liked this Sir Gawain and wanted to hear more about him…tomorrow.
She fell asleep in his arms and didn’t dream at all.
The morning came soon and found Rose alone in bed. She opened her eyes and looked up just as the door opened and Tristan took a tray from the innkeeper and stepped around him into the room. The innkeeper tried to look around Tristian’s body, but was unable and finally startled at the door being slammed in his face.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling at Tristan as he approached the bed with a tray of food.
“Mornin’,” he brooded then glared at the door. “I dinna know where I’m findin’ the patience not to punch the innkeeper’s teeth oot.”
Rose laughed softly into her hand and then smiled at him and the food when he turned his emerald gaze on her.
“When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see that you had left me.”
“I was just ootside the door the entire time. I called to the innkeeper and he came to me.”
Was he beginning to care for her, or was his concern due only to the fact that he’d saved her so he felt responsible for her? She would find out today when she asked him if he would take her home when he was done in Dumfries. Not to her home, but to his.
She would write to her father, telling him what had happened and that she was going to travel a bit with Tristan. “What is your family name?” she asked, realizing she didn’t know.
“MacPherson.”
“Oh, ’tis a bonnie name.”
He gave her a black look. “Bonnie?”
“Aye. MacPherson,” she practiced, repeating it. “It sounds pretty coming out.”
“Eat.”
Breakfast was poached eggs and salmon with black bread and freshly churned butter and honey. She didn’t eat too much and was finished before him.
She watched him chew his bread while she dressed in her kirtle. It was one piece, slightly fitted, with long sleeves that covered her knuckles. It had been yellow. Now it was stained with dirt and sweat, and God knew what else. How could Tristan even look at her? Her hair hadn’t been cleaned in a sennight. She needed a bath. She didn’t want to ask him for yet another thing, and one he would have to pay for if she had a bath here.
“Rose,” he said, taking a swig of his mead. “Why d’ye look sad?”
She realized she was frowning and stopped. “My gown is filthy.” She swallowed the rest.
His gaze roved over her long enough to make her feel even more aware of her disgusting appearance.
“Ye look fine.” He blinked his gaze away and stood up. “Are ye ready to go?”
She nodded and hurried into her shoes. She grabbed her mantle, which was even more soiled than her kirtle, and left the room with him.
It was early and not many people were about as Rose and Tristan headed for their horses. A loud bell rang out once. It came from the glorious cathedral a short distance away. Rose had read about cathedrals. She’d never been in one before.
“Can we go inside the church, Tristan?” she pleaded from her saddle. “I want to pray for your soul.”
“How can I refuse then?”
She beamed at him. “You cannot.”
“We will be quick.”
“Aye,” she vowed with a playful grin. “But this is your soul we are praying for. It may take a little while.”
He threw her a smirk and set his horse toward the cathedral.
Rose was so glad he’d agreed. The structure was like nothing she had ever seen before. Rebuilt about a hundred years ago with rows of lancet windows framed by slender columns and carved moldings, it was the perfect image of English Gothic craftsmanship.
The inside took her breath away. Every sound echoed