Court led Annalía to a fireside bench, peeled her little wrapper from her, and pulled her down to sit beside him. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. She was pale, her pupils dilated.
When Groot asked, “What will you have to drink?” Court answered for her, “Whisky.”
She glared at him, but said to Groot, “No, thank you. I’m fine. I don’t drink spirits.”
The innkeeper shrugged and poured a generous draught, which Court retrieved and took to Annalía. Under his breath, he said, “You bloody well did before, now drink it or I’ll pour it down your throat.”
Her back went even more rigid. She gave a polite smile to Groot and took the glass between two fingers, as if it were distasteful, but she did drink.
Court returned to the innkeeper for a glass for himself. The liquid burned going down. As soon as he emptied it and put it back on the bar, Groot filled it again.
The bartop was freshly polished, and the place was cleaner and more organized than before. “New wife?” Court asked under his breath, as he motioned for another refill, then set to drinking it. He’d been here six months ago, and Groot had been alone.
“That she’d be,” he answered in a proud voice. He should be proud. Groot, a gangly Englishman with ruddy skin and no visible chin, had somehow married that bonny French matron. Why did that seem encouraging to Court?
He had Groot pour another for Annalía, then traded her the full glass for her empty one.
The mother descended then, regarding Annalía and talking in French. Court’s French was not as strong as it could be. When he’d kicked in the door to the boardinghouse with Annalía limp in his arms demanding help, he could just as likely have been asking where they could do a spot of ice fishing.
“Is she your lady wife?” the mother finally asked him in English.
“What?” He took his eyes from Annalía once he made sure she’d gotten enough into her belly. He didn’t like how pale she was. “Uh, aye, she’s my wife.” The liquor was beginning to hit him. He’d forgotten he’d lost a stone of weight.
She squinted at him. “You had to think about it?”
“Newly married,” he bit out, looking over the woman’s head at Annalía. Her wet hair hung heavy, her wee ears peeking out from the thick mass.
“In any case, you have treated her poorly,” the woman informed him. “She’s too delicate for treatment like this.”
He raised his finger and corrected her. “She appears delicate.”
“Certainly too slight to cover the miles you have tonight.” She said over her shoulder to her daughter, who was just descending, “They are newly married.”
“For shame, monsieur, riding with a new bride in such weather! That’s not the way to have a babe settle within her.”
He made his face impassive. There’d be no chance of that even if he’d taken her once for every time he’d imagined bedding her. He would never have a chance.
“My word!” the mother exclaimed as she drew Annalía to her feet to go upstairs. “She’s bandaged under her blouse. And bleeding!”
“It’s a scratch,” Annalía mumbled. Both women cast him stern looks.
“No, really,” she insisted in a bleary voice, the liquor working on her as well. “It’s not as if he shot me,” she muttered.
“Shot?” they screeched in unison just before they descended on her, clucking and cooing. He wanted to reiterate that her wound wasn’t his fault. But it was his fault. He’d driven her out into the night. Driven her to chisel her way out of a room and run into gunfire.
To free her brother. Who’d been alive.
He drained his glass and slammed it down, feeling restless and uneasy.
“We’re taking her up for a bath, monsieur,” the mother said. Court didn’t like the way the two women were proprietary about Annalía. He should be the one taking care of her since he’d done it for the last three days. Well, maybe not helping her when she’d bathed, though he’d wanted to…
He saw Annalía stumble. She was hurt and drunk and, damn it, she was delicate. He reluctantly nodded to the women.
Once they’d left, Groot said, “Fine lady you got there, MacCarrick. Rich-looking.”
“No’ mine. Just looking out for her for a bit.”
“Were you looking out for her before or after she got shot?”
Court’s jaw clenched, and he saw Groot warily note it. “And your crew?” he asked, in a higher voice.
“Meeting me here in the next few days. The lass is staying longer.”