“All upper-floor rooms are booked,” the lass behind the desk told the couple first in line.
MacKenzie made a disgruntled sound. “A room upstairs would be better,” she muttered.
It would have certainly been safer. They should have stayed at a hotel in town.
The entrance door opened again, and Mr. Khoury appeared. Just then, the noise from the taproom swelled, and three men stumbled out into the corridor, thick-necked fellows, rolled-up sleeves, gaslight glancing off their bald heads. They approached the reception desk. Catriona looked straight back at the counter. Intent gazes still roamed up and down the length of her body, making her skin contract uncomfortably. The men squeezed past behind her back in meaningful silence. Until one of them smacked his lips. Rude. Her right hand made a fist in the fabric of her skirt. It was so loathsome, being selected for casual entertainment, but the harassment was too subtle to address outright, they’d say she had imagined it. A movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention back to Mr. Khoury. He was stalking along with the predatory deliberation of a big cat, his narrowed gaze singularly focused on the men as they disappeared down the other end of the corridor. A chill spread up her neck. He seemed like a very different man to her now, all charm gone. He must have sensed her staring, for his gaze met hers and his black expression vanished.
“Demoiselle,” he said, his mouth smiling. “The luggage will be brought straight to our rooms.”
He positioned himself next to her, his shoulders effectively blocking any lewd backward glances. A tension in her neck loosened, as if her body knew that it was safe in the shelter of his.
She was breathing again, inevitably inhaling his pleasant scent.
Judging by the escalating noise, the taproom was in for a brawl. The woman in front of them finally received her keys.
Mr. Khoury lowered his head, closer to her ear, and said: “Ask for two adjacent rooms.”
At once, MacKenzie’s round shoulder budged between them. “And why should milady do any such thing, young sir,” she demanded to know.
He straightened and looked back and forth between them. “In case there is any trouble,” he said. “You knock on the shared wall to alert me.”
“Trouble,” MacKenzie drawled. “What trouble? This is a proper, civilized, Scottish establishment.”
A roar and the sound of breaking glass burst into the corridor, followed by a cheer. Shouting ensued. Something or someone had been tossed through a window. MacKenzie looked on stoically, pretending to not have heard a thing.
An ironic gleam lit Mr. Khoury’s eyes. “Well, then,” he said. “Should any civilized gentlemen show at your door, I’m at your service.”
Catriona gave a vague nod, her knees a little soft. The way he peered down at her was ambiguous, as if he was contemplating a flirtation. The inky double rows of his long lashes framed his eyes like a lining of kohl. It could have looked feminine, but in his face, it didn’t. A moment ago, when he had fixated on the three men, his right hand had moved to his left hip with instinctual ease. He was almost certainly armed under his coat. She requested two adjacent rooms.
The chamber was cold, and the bed linen might or might not have been fresh. Now and then the floorboards shivered when people stomped past in the corridor, jerking Catriona back to being wide awake. She had locked and bolted the door, but the bolt fittings were a little loose. Perhaps she should start carrying a pistol like Lucie.
MacKenzie rolled over, making the mattress shake. “Verra cheeky of Mr. Khoury to request his room to be next to ours, just like that,” she said.
“His intentions were honorable,” Catriona said to the wall.
“Fat good would it do us, though,” MacKenzie grumbled behind her.
“What can you mean?”
“Would he know how to brawl with a Glaswegian? He’s a scholar. The heaviest thing he lifts are big auld books.”
A scholar who moved like a soldier at the sign of trouble. It rankled.
“My money would be on Mr. Khoury,” she said softly. “He’s certainly the most unscholarly scholar I have ever encountered. Something odd about him there.”
“Don’t study him too closely,” said MacKenzie after a pause.
“Good night, MacKenzie.”
Her cheek was warm against the pillow. She had pictured him on the other side of the thin wall. Would he undress for bed and lie on his back in just a clinging cotton shirt? Did he keep his shoes on like an actual soldier? Her body was tense while she tried to blot out the forbidden images. She rarely had the impulse to touch people and she preferred to not be touched, but with those sparkling few it was different. Between waking and dreaming, her fingertips were curious about him, about the feel of his soft-looking lips, his lashes, the texture of his hair. She ought to be politer to him, more mindful of her behavior. She was a lady, after all, and he had never set out to embarrass her. Tomorrow, she would try again.