A Scotsman's Promise

Chapter 25

Micara was finally resting. Her terrified sobs had quieted slowly until she was dozing in Calen's arms, completely exhausted. She had let go of him only once since the attack, and it had been to throw up into the chamber pot beside the bed when Calen had asked her what exactly had happened.

When he had gotten the whole story, it took every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep himself from killing the man who was still passed out on the floor. If it weren't for Cara in his arms, he did not know what he would have done with his hands, probably wrap them around the scoundrel's throat.

As Calen pondered this, the coward groaned, one of his hands twitched. Moving only his lower body so as not to wake Micara, Calen kicked, his foot making a solid connection with the side of the man's head.

Calen knew it was wrong to feel good about such and action, but he revelled in the man's pain. The only reason the bastard was still alive, was that Micara had not been harmed. Had she been so much as touched... Well, he didn't like to think about that, but he would have rid the world of this man's filth.

Micara stirred and Calen's arms tightened around her instinctively. When she woke up they would leave. Calen was grateful the night was almost over; as bad as it had been, it could have been so much worse.

Cara awoke from her doze slowly.

"Good morning," Calen greeted her softly.

It took her a moment before she realized where she was, but when she did, she moved off Calen's lap, a blush staining her cheeks.

Her foot struck the unconscious man's sprawled out arm as she stepped away from Calen. She jumped back, startled, then shuddered when she realized who it was.

Calen rose from the bed and put himself between the two of them. Cara stared past him at the man's body.

"You didn't..." she began nervously, "He's not... dead?"

Calen shook his head. He nudged the man's arm back towards its body with his toe. "Nay," he told her, "I did not, but I should 'ave."

"No," Cara siad, placing her hand on his arm, "I am glad you didn't"

Calen met her eyes. He saw something in them that he had not seen there before: pride, not for herself, but for him. He stood a little bit taller, his chest puffing out just the tiniest bit.

Cara smirked at his reaction. She wore the same sort of expression he had teased her with several times before. The knowing, impish grin was not one she had worn before. Calen felt equal parts embarrassed and proud of its appearance. Here she was teasing him while the aftermath of last night's traumatizing event still lay at their feet. She was a wonder.

Calen cleared his throat after a moment and gestured to the door.

"Are ye ready to go?" he asked.

Micara looked at the unconscious man again, the smile drooping from her lips. Calen hated the expression that took its place, hated that there was a reason for it.

"Come now," he said, picking up her trunk and heading for the door, "Let's be gone."

She followed him soberly out the door and down the stairs. He thumped her trunk onto the bar at the back of the common room. He told her to wait there for him and then went back upstairs.

The innkeeper from last night entered the lonely place from a secluded back room. He greeted Micara cordially. She ignored him.

The big room was quiet until there was a loud thump on the stairs, followed by another and another until Calen appeared, dragging the unconscious man from their room, feet first. The man's head hit the last stair and Calen left him in a heap on the floor.