Free Highland Temptation by Jennifer Haymore

old home that no one would recognize her. There was no use in pressing on tonight. Rain was falling in buckets, and the roads were so bad he couldn’t negotiate them in the dark with only the help of lanterns, which might not remain lit in the downpour. Not to mention that the horses were done. He’d brought them as far north as they could manage in one day.
    He helped Emilia from the carriage as the lads came to take the horses. “Keep your head down,” he murmured to her, “and dinna speak unless you must.”
    She nodded, and he smiled at her, the urge to kiss her almost overpowering. “Let’s go, then.”
    Again, there was only one room available, but it wasn’t ready for them—Colin hadn’t realized that March was such a busy time of year for travel, though it made sense, he supposed, as the London Season was just getting under way.
    The innkeeper invited them inside and offered them hot tea beside the fire while their room was being prepared. There was nothing to do but agree, and he followed the man to a small walnut table beside a roaring fire in an enormous stone hearth. Fortunately, the space was otherwise empty, the hour being too early for dinner. Emilia removed her bonnet, and he couldn’t fault her for that. It would look even more odd if she kept it on. He took it from her and hung it on a nearby hook as she patted her damp hair, which had sprung out at endearing angles from the knot coiled above her nape.
    They removed their gloves and reached toward the fire. The flames spread much-needed heat over Colin’s numb fingertips, and he curled and flexed them in relief.
    “Here, now, I’ve brought ye some nice hot tea,” a feminine voice said from behind him.
    He turned to the round woman bumbling toward them. She set a teapot and two cups, along with a small plate of cakes, on the table. “Just baked these this afternoon,” she told them, red-faced and grinning as she poured tea first into one cup then the other. “Thought ye might like a few with your tea.”
    “Thank you.” Colin took his cup and cradled it in his hands, loving the feel of the warmth spreading through his palms.
    “And here’s a pot o’ cream for ye.” She placed the small cup of cream on the table then took her empty tray and tucked it under her arm. “Might I fetch ye anything else?”
    “Thank you. This’ll do,” he told her.
    She glanced at Emilia as if waiting for an answer, then she frowned when one wasn’t forthcoming. “Why…is that…are you Lady Emilia Featherstone?”
    Emilia’s eyes widened, and she glanced frantically to Colin, who had gone stiff from the tips of his fingers to his toes.
    He spoke in his deepest Scottish brogue. “Lady Emilia Featherstone?” Before she could answer, he continued, “We dinna ken any Lady Emilia Featherstone, ma’am. This’ll be Mrs. Montgomery, my wife these past two years.” Emilia didn’t even look as old as twenty-one, her true age, so he hoped the woman would believe that she’d been married two years.
    The woman looked surprised. Emilia remained mute.
    “My wife doesna speak much,” he explained. “She suffered from an…er…infection of the tongue when she was a lass.”
    “Oh. Dearie me…I’m sorry,” the woman said. “It’s just…” She smiled kindly at Emilia. “You look just like a chit I knew who lived in a grand house near here—Pinfield Manor. Have ye heard of it?”
    Emilia shook her head.
    “Nay, we havna—” Colin began, but the woman interrupted him.
    “I was a chambermaid—years ago, when I could manage all them stairs—that house had hundreds.” She laughed lightly and patted her expansive girth. “But then the lady of the manor passed on and the lord and his girl went off to London. I lost my position, so I came home here to Markham Moor, where I met Mr. Thomas—he’s the stable master here—and became Mrs. Thomas.”
    “Aye, well—” Colin began.
    “You do look exactly like Lord Pinfield’s daughter, ma’am.