“Oh, my God, I’ve been so scared!” She was sobbing.
Joshua pushed her away from him.
“Help me with my friend,” he said. “To the upstairs room.”
“My room?” she asked.
“Of course the spare room.” He was as gruff as ever, and without the twinkle in his eye.
“But . . .” she tried to reason with him. She’d still maintained her own room out of a sense of propriety, against someone, on just such an occasion like this one, who might speculate on her living arrangement with the blacksmith.
“C’mon, girl, upstairs,” Joshua urged impatiently, in no mood to argue. He’d apparently had a few good belts of some strong whiskey too.
With Joshua’s help, Fiona led the man to her sweet smelling lace adorned room. Falling on the bed, the unplanned guest was instantly at odds with the feminine aspec
