A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 144 - Hundred And Forty Four

It was not a gentle evening shower. It was a sudden, torrential downpour. The rain lashed against the glass windows of the inn with brutal force. The dirt road outside instantly turned into a river of thick, freezing mud.

Delaney’s shoulders slumped.

She let go of the door handle. She stood there, staring out the small glass window as the rain poured down in heavy, gray sheets. The weather had completely trapped them. The horses were too tired to pull a heavy carriage through thick mud in the dark, and they could not sleep outside in a storm.

Rowan watched her from the counter. He saw the defeat in her posture. He knew how much she cared about propriety, but he also knew he was not going to freeze in a carriage all night.

He smiled. It was a wicked, entirely charming smile. He walked right past her and went back to the innkeeper.

He leaned his large hands flat on the wooden counter.

"Give us the room," Rowan commanded smoothly.

He did not wait for the innkeeper to question why a gentleman and a lady were traveling without a chaperone. Rowan leaned forward, dropping his voice into a hushed, conspiratorial whisper that was just loud enough for Delaney to hear.

"My wife is mad at me," Rowan explained, casting a tragic, helpless look toward Delaney’s back. "That’s why she’s hellbent on getting a separate room. But I assure you, I am not sleeping in the stables tonight just because I forgot our anniversary."

Delaney’s eyes widened in sheer shock. She spun around, her face flushing a brilliant shade of red, completely ready to scold him for the outrageous lie.

But the innkeeper smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling with deep understanding.

"I understand," the innkeeper chuckled, offering Rowan a sympathetic nod. "My own wife locked me out of the bedchamber for two days when I forgot her birthday. Women can be very dangerous, sir. I will have the maid warm the bed for you both."

Rowan pulled a heavy gold coin from his pocket. He paid and collected the brass key for the room.

He walked over to Delaney, offering her his arm with a perfectly polite, innocent expression. Delaney glared at him, her hazel eyes shooting absolute daggers, but she took his arm and allowed him to lead her up the narrow wooden stairs.

They got to the room at the end of the hall.

Rowan unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was small but clean. A cheerful fire was crackling in the stone hearth, casting a warm orange glow over the wooden floorboards. There was a small washstand, a single, narrow bed with a thick quilt, and one stiff, wooden armchair sitting in the corner.

Delaney walked in and placed her small travel bag on the floor. She looked at the single bed, and then she looked at the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"I will take the chair," Delaney volunteered quickly. "You are a large man, Your Grace. You need the bed to stretch your legs."

Rowan stopped unbuttoning his heavy greatcoat. He looked at her as if she had just lost her mind. He frowned deeply, his thick eyebrows drawing together in absolute disapproval.

"Why would you?" Rowan asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. "Why would you possibly think I would allow you to sleep on a piece of hard wood while I take the bed?"

"Because you need your rest for tomorrow," Delaney argued reasonably. "You have to confront the maid."

"I am a former soldier, Delaney," Rowan replied, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "I have slept on frozen mud and rocks. I am not allowing a lady to sleep in a chair while I am in the room."

Rowan took off his heavy coat and draped it over the edge of the washstand. He walked over to the corner and sat down in the stiff wooden armchair. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

Rowan volunteered to sleep on the chair, and his decision was final.

"Take the bed, Del," Rowan ordered softly, softening his tone. "Get some sleep."

Delaney knew she could not win this argument. She sighed, removed her dark bonnet and her woolen shawl, and left her day dress on. She climbed into the narrow bed, pulling the thick quilt up to her chin.

Rowan closed his eyes in the chair. The room fell quiet, save for the crackling of the fire.

So, they slept.

Outside, the storm grew worse. The wind howled around the corners of the old inn. The rain lashed violently against the single glass window pane.

The loud, rhythmic sound of the heavy rain hitting the glass seeped into Delaney’s exhausted mind.

As the rain kept pouring, Delaney fell into a deep, troubled sleep. The sound of the storm dragged her backward in time. She was no longer a grown woman in a warm inn. She was a young, terrified girl again.

She kept seeing her young self in the wrecked carriage while the rain poured on her.

She was having a nightmare.

In her dream, the world was pitch black and freezing cold. She was trapped inside the overturned cabin of her father’s carriage. The wood was splintered and broken. The rain was pouring through the cracks, soaking her dress, chilling her to the bone. She could hear the terrible, agonizing screams of the horses. She could hear her mother’s voice. And then, the terrible, deafening silence that followed.

"Papa..." Delaney whimpered in her sleep.

She tossed her head from side to side on the pillow. Her hands came up, gripping the edge of the quilt tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her breathing became rapid and shallow. The trauma of that night had lived inside her for twenty years, buried deep, but the sound of the rain had brought it all back to the surface again.

"No... please... Papa, wake up..." Delaney cried out softly, a tear escaping her closed eyes and rolling down her pale cheek.

From the stiff wooden chair in the corner of the room, Rowan heard her whimpering.

His eyes snapped open instantly. The protective instincts of a soldier flooded his veins. He looked toward the bed and saw Delaney thrashing slightly beneath the quilt.

He saw the distress twisting her beautiful face. He heard the ragged, broken fear in her voice.

He knew exactly what she was dreaming about. He knew her parents had died in a carriage crash during a terrible rainstorm.

Rowan stood up quickly. He abandoned the chair and crossed the small room in three long strides.

He went to comfort her.

He did not hesitate, and he did not care about the closeness. He sat on the edge of the narrow mattress. He reached out and placed his large, warm hand gently on her trembling shoulder.

"Delaney," Rowan whispered softly. "Wake up. It is a dream. You are safe."

But the nightmare had a tight grip on her mind. She whimpered again, curling her body into a small, tight ball, trying to protect herself from the imaginary rain.

Rowan could not stand to see her in such pain. He took his boots off and laid on the bed with her.

He shifted his large body onto the narrow mattress, taking up the empty space behind her. He wrapped his strong arms securely around her waist, pulling her back flush against his broad, solid chest. He completely enveloped her in his warmth, providing a physical anchor to the present moment.

"Shh," Rowan murmured, his deep voice vibrating against her back.

He held her tightly, soothing her trembling body with the sheer, undeniable strength of his own.

"I am here, Del," Rowan said gently. He moved his hand up to stroke her dark hair, pushing the tangled strands away from her damp, tear-stained face.

He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"Don’t worry," Rowan whispered into her hair, his voice filled with an absolute, unbreakable vow. "We will get justice for your family."

He kissed her hair again, lingering there, holding her close until the violent trembling finally stopped. Surrounded by his warmth and the steady, calming beat of his heart, Delaney’s breathing slowly deepened.