A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,1

too. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry and away from the madness.”

She was referring to the common room. James had two heavy saddlebags slung over his shoulder and he put them on the table.

“W-What happened out there?” he asked. “What started the battle?”

The redhead looked at him, her gaze lingering on him as if to get a good look at him. Tall, blond, and well-built, he was a vastly handsome specimen. “Ye’re not from here,” she finally said.

“N-Nay.”

“Where are ye from, English?”

“Herefordshire.”

“Ye’re a long way from home.”

“I-I am.”

Without being invited to, he removed his heavy cloak, revealing another woolen coat beneath that. His gloves came off, as did his tricorne hat. He pulled off the woolen coat, too, hanging it on a peg along with the cloak to dry out. Left in a linen shirt and undershirt, breeches and boots, he sat down near the fire because he was chilled to the bone.

All the while, the redhead was watching him with the expression of a hunter sighting prey. They didn’t often see such fine looking men this far north, so the young lord’s appearance was a treat for the eyes. She was inherently curious.

Perhaps even a little interested.

“What’s yer name, m’laird?” she asked.

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “D-De Lohr,” he said. “J-James de Lohr.”

“I’m Carrie,” she said. “My da owns this place. He’s the Balthazar on the sign. Are ye traveling through?”

He shook his head. “N-Nay,” he said. “I-I’ve reached my destination. What was that fight about in the common room?”

He was shifting the subject, unwilling to speak further about himself. Carrie returned to the fire, but she would look for another opportunity to probe him.

“Who knows?” she said. “Someone says a wrong word and the fists fly. Only yesterday, the common room was torn up by a terrible tempest. It even tore up some of the other chambers, too.”

James caught movement out of the corners of his eyes, turning to see the second woman in the room as she moved towards the hearth to help Carrie. She had been sitting in the shadows, perhaps stunned from their flight from the common room, and had only now regained her breath. Whatever the case, she was now on her feet.

He took a second look at this lass.

With brown hair, brown eyes, and lush lips, she was worth the second look. She wore a faded skirt that might have been a shade of green at one time, a leather girdle, and a linen blouse. She was also wearing a tattered woolen shawl, something with armholes in it so she could keep it on as she worked and not have it fall away. She was clearly poor in dress, but clean and most decidedly pretty.

Something about her had his attention.

“H-How long have you lived here, Carrie?” he asked, his gaze still on the other woman.

Carrie waved the other woman away as she tried to help, sending her for food and drink. As she left the chamber, Carrie replied.

“All my life,” she said. “This tavern has been in my family since the days of my grandfather.”

“T-Then you were here when the battle happened.”

Her movements slowed. “What battle?”

“Culloden.”

“I was here.”

“Y-You must have seen the armies coming through town,” he said. “B-British as well as the rebels. This road leads directly to the battlefield.”

She turned to look at him. “Y-Ye’re a long way from home, m’laird,” she said. “In this village, we dunna refer tae our men as rebels. Ye’d do well tae remember that.”

He nodded. “P-Point taken,” he said. “I-I ask for a reason, however. I will gladly pay you for information.”

“What kind of information?”

“I-I’m looking for my brother.”

Carrie stood up from the fire, brushing off her hands. “Who was yer brother?”

“H-He fought at Culloden,” he said, running his hand through his hair again as he sat forward, arms resting on his knees. “H-He was killed in battle and I’ve come to bring him home. As I said, I’ll gladly pay for any information you can provide.”

Carrie’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. “I see,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for ye, then. ’Twas a terrible day, it was. So many were lost.”

“W-What can you tell me?” he asked, ignoring the sympathy in her tone because he didn’t want a reminder about the grief he carried around like an anchor. “A-About the English dead, I mean. Do you know what happened to them?”

Her features took on a distant look but she was saved from replying when the woman with