“I was not allowed to speak to any of the travelers unless approved by the nuns. And the nuns lead a very restrictive life. Chores, prayers, and caring for those who sought refuge at the abbey take up most of their day. I learned fast enough that my inquisitive nature would not be tolerated. So I had no choice but to seek my own thoughts.”
“You can speak to me about anything, any time” Torr said unable to imagine having no one to talk with. There had always been someone to speak with, family or friends. He had never felt lonely. Actually, there had been moments when he wished he had time alone.
“You may regret offering that,” Wintra said with a laugh. “You never know what I might talk about.”
“As I said, anything, any time.”
Would she truly be able to speak with him about anything? The idea was tempting, very tempting. She would have started there and then, curious to learn more about him, but the effort it took to trudge through the snow made it difficult to keep a steady conversation going.
They soon settled into a comfortable silence, and it wasn’t until hours later that they reached the croft. Wintra was never so happy to look down from a slight rise to the cottage below. It appeared a sound structure, the door firmly in place and the shutters as well. It reminded her of the croft where she had been born and had spent the first nine years of her life. Years she would forever cherish in her heart and memory, for it was then she had been the happiest.
Torr released her hand once they reached the cottage door to clear away the several inches of snow in front. Then he opened it and stuck his head in first before turning, stepping back, and allowing her to enter.
The only light came from the open door and the late afternoon shadows were already beginning to claim that.
“There is wood by the fireplace,” she said spotting logs in a basket.
“And a good size bundle out here.” Torr brushed off snow from a wood stack by the door. “I will get a fire started with the dry wood, and then bring some logs in to dry.”
While he set to work, Wintra opened the shutters on the lone window so that they would have more light, and she could have a better look at the place. There was a small table and two chairs against one wall, a couple of buckets sat empty beside the fireplace, and some baskets lay scattered about. A roughhewn bed with a mattress that needed fresh stuffing was pushed against another wall. It appeared as if the occupants had taken most essentials with them.
Once Torr had the fire going, Wintra pulled the shutters closed, securing the latch that kept them locked. Torr then got to work on bringing in a sufficient bundle of wood and stacked it to the side of the fireplace.
Wintra stood by the table out of his way, not sure what to do or if there was anything she could do. She glanced around and realized what close quarters they would be in, and she quickly asked, “How long?”
“The place will be heated in no time.”
“No. How long before we can leave here?”
“Three to four weeks should do it. Owen will probably have gone to your brother by then and, no doubt, will have started digging his own grave.” He watched her pull her cloak more tightly around her, as if attempting to shield herself. Something more had gone on when Owen had been alone with her, and he intended to find out just what it was. “We will know each other well by the time we leave here,” he said.
“How well?” she asked.
He walked over to her and took her hand in his. “That is up to you, Princess. Now go warm yourself by the fire. Your hands are still ice cold.”
How could a simple touch quiver her body and turn her speechless? She mindlessly nodded her head and did as told.
He walked to the door and stopped before opening it. “I am going to see if I can find us some supper.”
Wintra found herself staring at the door after he closed it behind him. Why had she agreed to come here with him? Why had she not taken the chance and gone directly home? She was beginning to think that this situation she was in—alone here with Torr—was far more dangerous than crossing paths with Owen and his men.
And she did not want to think of what he meant when he said it was up to her. What was up to her? If she wanted him to kiss her again, would he? If she wanted him to touch her naked flesh, would he? And why was she having such wicked thoughts?
She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about him.
Pure thoughts. Pure thoughts. She reminded herself just as the nuns so often had reminded her.
She decided that the best thing to do was busy herself. When she kept herself busy, her thoughts did not drift—at least not too much—and for a while she was free of the constant musings that filled her head. She slipped out of her cloak, hanging it on one of the three pegs in the wall next to the door. She set about gathering the scattered baskets and seeing if any were useable and arranged those near the door. And soon she was busy with work and for a while, a quiet mind.
Torr’s mind would not still and he laughed to himself, thinking that Wintra’s deep thoughts were contagious. But any humor quickly faded when his thoughts lingered on his decision to bring her here. He could not say it was truly necessary, but he felt it was a wise choice, and only time would tell if he was right. He was not sure what would happen here between them, but it would give them time to get to know each other, and he felt that was important.
He stomped his feet to rid his boots and leg coverings of snow, then opened the door to the cottage and entered. Once inside, the door closed, he gave two glances around the room while sniffing the air, surprised to see short, portly candles sitting about the room.
“I cleaned some and found several candles, someone thought beyond use, disposed of in a basket,” Wintra said, standing near the hearth. “And what you smell is a pleasant brew.”
He titled his head in question.
“I had stitched some bundles of my favorite dried herbs in my cloak, and when I found a usable crock I cleaned it, filled it with clean snow, and set it in the hearth. When the snow melted and the water was hot, I added a bundle of herbs so that we would at least have a nice brew to keep us warm.”
Torr smiled and held up a sizeable fish. “And I have us a meal.” He went to put it on the table, she had moved in front of the fireplace, to clean when she gave a shout.
“No!” She scrunched her nose. “I just scrubbed that with snow. Please, clean it on the hearth stone.”
“Fussy where a fish is cleaned?” he asked, but did as she requested after hanging his cloak on the peg beside hers.
“Blame it on the nuns. To keep me busy, they had me scrubbing everything over and over and now I find it a habit to keep things cleaner than most others.”
Torr noticed the pleasant aroma wasn’t only coming from the brew. When she walked past him, to give him room by the hearth, a sweet scent drifted off her. He also noticed her face appeared freshly scrubbed, her cheeks rosy, and her hair a bit more tamed than usual. And damn if she didn’t look more beautiful than ever.
When he finished cleaning the fish and setting it to cook in the hearth, he took the remains outside to dispose of and to scrub his hands with snow, wishing they smelled a bit more pleasant.
He got his wish when he returned inside.
“I’ve kept a bucket of sweet-scented water warm for you to wash up if you would like,” she said, pointing to a bucket on the table.
Stubborn, reasonable, and now thoughtful, she had a diverse nature, and he liked that.
He scrubbed his hands good and rinsed his face, surprised by how nice he smelled when he finished. After he emptied the bucket outside, he joined Wintra at the table where she had taken a seat.
There was an awkward silence for a few moments, and then Torr decided to ask the question that had been playing havoc with his thoughts, though not before he reached out and placed his hand over hers. “What exactly happened with you and Owen in the cottage?”
His touch offered comfort, his voice concern, but she was not ready to share the details of he
r encounter with Owen just yet. Besides, she did not want to think about it right now, and she found it easy to tell him that. “I would rather not discuss that now.”
“But you will tell me?”
Would she or would she be too embarrassed? She almost laughed. How more embarrassed could she be after having been naked in front of him? Still, though, she feared she would need an extra ounce of courage to discuss it with him.
“You hesitate to answer. Why?”
“It will not be an easy thing for me to discuss with you.”
He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “There isn’t anything you cannot discuss with me, Wintra. I want you to remember that. Come to me with anything, now and always.”
Always. But there would not be an always between them and oddly that left her with a sad ache in her heart.
He slipped his hand off hers, and a chill ran through her. She liked his touch, simple or intimate, it didn’t matter. It always felt so wonderful, magical, unbelievable.
Don’t fall prey to a man’s touch and false promises. Put your trust only in your husband.
The nuns’ warning struck her like a cold splash of water in the face. Was she to believe that Torr spoke falsely to her just as Owen had? Was she not to trust any man? And how did she only trust the man who would be her husband when she would not know him at all?
“I know that look. You are sinking deep into thought.”
The question came too quickly to her lips for her to stop it. “Can any man be trusted?” She was surprised and curious that he laughed.
“That is a question pondered by many.”
“Then how do you trust?” she asked perplexed.
“You trust yourself first and you take a chance.”
“Your answer confuses more than explains.”
“Do you trust yourself, your instincts, your thoughts?” he asked.
She thought a moment, then shook her head. “I never gave it thought.”
“Did you trust Owen?”
She opened her mouth to answer and stopped, thinking the question over. There had been remarks he had made that had annoyed her and made her wonder about his true nature. And she shared her revelation with Torr. “Now that I think about it, I would say no, I did not trust him. I suppose I failed to pay attention to my own instincts.”
“Most of us do from time to time, though we either learn or continue to remain ignorant to our own trust. And then, of course, there are times we allow passion to overrule all else.”
Wintra could not help but think of the poor woman who had died in childbirth at the abbey. She had trusted a man or had it been love she trusted and believed in and in the end it had failed her. She had died along with her baby, unloved.
She was quick to ask, “What of love? Does it not require trust?”
“Above all else love requires trust.”
“But what if love fails you? Is it truly trust that fails or your instinct gone wrong or misplaced passion?” She shook her head. “None of it makes sense.”
“I think most would agree with you when it comes to love.”
“Then how does anyone know when they are truly in love?”
“It would be a good question to ask your brother. You can see the love in his eyes that he has for Dawn and the same goes for her. And Cree is not an easy man to love and—”
“Cree is easy to love,” Wintra insisted in defense of her brother. Even though she was still angry with him for sticking her in the abbey, she still loved him and always would. “He is the most wonderful brother and many may fear him, and well they should for he is a fierce warrior, but I am the only one who truly knows his nature.”
“I would say that my sister knows him better than you, for she—”
“She cannot know him as well as I do,” Wintra argued. “Besides how can she know him so well if she cannot even talk with him?”
“When you meet her you will understand, and when you see Cree and her together you will see love at its strongest.” He gave a glance at the fish. “It appears our supper may be ready.” He stood to go check on the fish.
Wintra found herself annoyed. No one could know her brother better than she did. She and Cree had always been close—or was that no more? Had these years that separated them changed everything? Or was it that he found someone to love and his sister did not matter to him anymore? The thought made her heart hurt. Cree was all the family she had; she could not lose him.
The thought came swift like an arrow to her heart. He could wed her off to someone and send her away, and she would never see him again. Would he do that? He had deposited her in the abbey, and she had not believed he would. No amount of him insisting that it was for the best, for her protection, had made a difference. She had cried for days and she had cried each time he had come to visit her and would leave her there yet again.
Would she return to him only to have him send her away again?
Another thought hit just as hard. Trust. She had always trusted Cree. Never had she feared him or doubted his word. He had never given her any reason to, so why would she question that he would now? He loved her and that would never change. Trust. She trusted Cree and she would not let anything damage that trust, not even her anger.
Conversation was limited as they ate since both were hungry and the fish delicious. When they finished and everything cleared away, Wintra rinsed her hands in the warm bucket of water she had kept for herself and offered Torr use of it, which he accepted. He liked the subtle sweet scent that lingered around her, and not quite so much the fish scent that stuck to his hands.
Exhaustion was quickly claiming Wintra, her yawns coming ever more frequently, and the bed looking ever more inviting.
It was Torr who suggested, “Time we get some sleep.”
“I could not agree more. My bones are even tired.”
“Then it is a good night’s sleep you need.”
Wintra wasn’t thinking of anything but sleep. She ached all over and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and snuggle against Torr to stay warm. The thought sent a quick spark shooting through her, though it faded just as quickly. She was simply too tired to think of anything but sleep.
Torr watched her walk over to the bed, prepared with their blankets. He expected her to drop into bed, her weary eyes closing as soon as her head touched the lumpy mattress. So he was surprised when she stopped beside the bed and started wiggling oddly. It took a moment for him to realize that she was attempting to get out of her torn dress beneath her shift.
He recalled then how he had had to rip it to get it off her. Then he recalled the feel of her naked body and how her skin was as soft as the finest wool. He thought to go help her, but he feared if he started touching her, he wouldn’t stop. It was when she struggled to free her one arm that got stuck in the sleeve that he could not just sit there any longer. He went to help her.
“It is stuck too deep, too tight,” she said on a sigh.
Where he would love to be—stuck too deep, too tight—inside her. He had to shake the thought away and concentrate on helping her and getting her to bed, though he did not intend on joining her. It would be much too dangerous for him to slip in bed with her now. He was already hard just from the images dancing in his head. He did not need to add to his torment.
He gently got her arm free and stepped away from her leaving her to finish the task, though when the torn garment pooled at her feet he grew that much harder and had to turn away from her.
“Would you put this on the chair for me?” she asked.
He only half turned and took it from her and took extra time in draping the garment over the chair.
“Hurry to bed, or I will get cold,” she said as she slipped between the blankets.
He could not turn around. He could not let himself. If he did, he might not be able to restrain himself. “In a minute,” he called out.
“Hurry, I need you,” she said in a drowsy voice.
Torr did not answer, her remark much too tempting
. He knew that she would soon be asleep and only when she was deep in sleep would he join her. And even then he feared it would be too difficult to keep his hands off her.
He shook his head. He could not touch her. He could not.
Not unless she wanted him to.
Chapter Nine
Wintra woke the next morning with a bit of a chill. She did not have to open her eyes to know she was alone in bed. She had woken once in the middle of the night to find herself wrapped snugly in Torr’s powerful arms. She had nestled her cheek against his warm, solid chest and had gone back to sleep, feeling safer than she had in a while.
She opened her eyes as she stretched her arms above her head, expecting to see Torr somewhere in the one-room cottage, but she was not just alone in bed, but the cottage as well. She sat up and looked around again, the fire had been stoked, the room remaining toasty warm, and his cloak was gone.
Food. No doubt he went to find them food.
She swung her feet off the bed and pulled on her boots and wrapping one of the blankets firmly around her, she walked over near the hearth. She shook her head at the sudden thought that she missed the abbey. She had wanted to leave that place since the day Cree had left her there and here she was wishing she was back there, at least for breakfast. Hot porridge sounded good right now.
She scooped her torn dress off the chair and sat. Today she would repair the garment as best she could. The nuns had told her to travel light that her brother would have all she needed when she arrived home. But she had wanted to take certain things with her and having known the nuns would chide her if she appeared weighted down with bundles, she had sewn a few things into the hem of her cloak. Her favorite herbs being one and her stitching needles being another.
Her wool dress was soft to the touch and, though the drab gray color reminded her of the nuns’ simple dress, she had always favored it, perhaps because Cree had given it to her on one of his visits. She had been shocked when Torr had ripped it down the middle to get it off her, but not nearly as shocked as to how she felt when his hands had begun to warm her body.
Highlander's Captive (Highlander Trilogy) Page 8