Just then, he heard the sound of women’s voices outside his door. There were two of them, giggling as they shared a joke. He froze with alarm, afraid to give himself away, but he listened carefully. Perhaps he could ascertain where he was.
“Did ye see him?” one of them said. “I thought he was goin’ tae choke tae death, he was laughin’ that hard!”
“Aye, the poor auld fella should no’ listen tae him!” the other replied. “Honestly, Donna, I don’t know how those men can stand the sight o’ one another! They are always fightin’!”
“That’s men for ye!” the other said, laughing again. “They love tae fight!”
“Aye!” Donna agreed. “Never happy unless they are bashin’ lumps out o’ each other.”
“An’ they will be best pals again after the drink wears off!” the other remarked. “I will never understand them!”
They passed out of earshot, still giggling. His earlier impressions of being at a tavern or an inn were strengthened. These ladies could be discussing customers in the bar. He had to find out.
Fraser brought his mind back to the task at hand. He braced one hand against the wall, then tried to get to his feet again, but this time he succeeded. He sighed with relief and took one wobbly step forward, then another. His legs felt like jelly, but it was a start. He crossed the chamber in shaky, pitifully short strides and eventually made it to the chair and sat down by the table to rest his head on his elbows. He was exhausted, even though he had only gone a few feet.
Could he sit in a saddle? He was determined that he would, and if pain could be overcome by sheer determination, well, he had plenty of that. He had willed himself to live, after all. He scowled, then punched one fist into the palm of the other hand. Damn! If he wanted revenge on Rowan, he would walk through fire to reach him.
Spurred on by his thoughts, he stumbled to the window and looked out. It was the kind of morning that sank a man’s spirits as effectively as a stone dropped into a pond. It was pouring with rain, and a strong northwest wind was blowing sheets of it almost horizontally. The trees were thrashing in the gale, howling their protest at being flung around in the horrendous storm. It was flattening the grass and lashing against the windows so hard that Fraser took a step back as he imagined them breaking. He shivered at the thought of going out in such weather, but he knew he had to try. All he needed was a horse and a saddle.
Presently he heard the door opening and turned to see Evanna arriving with a full tray of food and ale in her hands and what looked like men’s clothes hanging from her arm.
Her eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at him. “What are ye doin’ out o’ bed?” she demanded. She jerked her head toward the bed. “Get back in there right away.”
“I am standin’ beside the table,” he pointed out irritably, sitting down with a mutinous glare at her. “Ye can put the food there. I think I can be trusted no’ tae faint.”
Feeling rather foolish, Evanna made no further protest but deposited the meal on the scratched wooden surface. Fraser’s mouth watered as he looked at the food, which consisted of black pudding, scrambled eggs, bacon, and mushrooms with a huge bannock that was slathered in fresh butter. The mulled ale was warm, and he drank half of it down before he began to scoff down the breakfast, which he was certain was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten.
“This is perfect,” he said through a mouthful of bannock and bacon, accidentally spitting some out.
“Thank ye.” Evanna twitched a smile. “But can ye wait ’til ye are finished eatin’ before ye talk tae me again? I really don’t like bein’ spattered wi’ breadcrumbs an’ black puddin’.”
He nodded, concentrating on stuffing every delicious morsel into his mouth. At last, he drank his final mouthful of ale, then sat back and pronounced himself finished.
“That was the best meal I have ever tasted,” he sighed. “Did ye cook it?”
Evanna shook her head, looking horrified. “No,” she replied. “Lexie did it. I hate cooking.”
“I thought all women loved cooking,” Fraser remarked, laughing softly.
Evanna looked at him pityingly. “Men are no’ always right,” she said drily. “Especially about women. They just like tae think they are!”
While she was speaking, she was spreading out his clothes on the bed. “I am sorry it took me so long tae get them, but there are no’ very many men yer size hereabouts.”
Fraser looked down at himself. “I suppose not,” he agreed.
“Ye can be quite frightening, ye know,” she said as she held up a plain linen shirt in front of him. “I had one o’ the local ladies make this for ye, but don’t worry. I did not tell her yer name, although she was a wee bit astonished at the size!”
She held up a tattered pair of breeches. “They are Tam Gordon’s. He is the biggest man around here, but even so, the legs are short.” She looked at the tattered remains of his leggings and shrugged. “It is the best I could do, but I think they are better than those ones ye have on. Once ye put yer boots on, ye will no’ notice the difference.”
“Thank ye.” He smiled at her gratefully. “Ye have been very good tae me.”
“I would have done this for anybody,” she answered.
Looking into her eyes, he knew that it was true. “Then I was lucky I was that ‘anybody,’” he murmured. His gaze strayed to her lips as he thought about how much he wanted to kiss her. He was mesmerized by them, their plumpness, their softness, their sheen. He had not realized that he had begun to move toward her, had begun to lower his head to hers, until she turned away abruptly and began to tidy away the empty dishes.
“I will fetch ye some more ale,” Evanna said hastily, making for the door.
“Where am I?” Fraser asked. “Ye have no’ told me. Am I in a tavern?”