Did he think she hadn’t noticed the erection that tented the front of his clothes? Because she had, and it was a constant reminder of what he had, and she wanted. Twisting on the wooden shoes, she came right out of them and left them laying on the shore. If she didn’t get control of herself, she was going to end up under him, over him, and in his bed. Tonight if not sooner.
The lass was driving him daft. Did all women in her time go around half naked with their bodies on display and think nothing of it? The sight of her smooth shoulders and silky flesh was making him daft. The linen she’d wrapped around herself was worn thin with age and nearly transparent in the sunlight. The small breeze had lifted it, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her bare legs.
He’d spent the night with a hard-on, had done chores with a hard-one, had rowed across the loch with a hard-on, and now he was fetching bags he didn’t want—with a hard-on. It was enough to make a grown man go on a rampage, he thought and decided he’d go to the village later and have a nice brawl with Caderyn. He was always ready for a good fight followed by a few tankards of ale.
Thinking that would solve his problem for at least a short while, he remembered what he’d told her about undressing before she went in after the fish. Just the thought of her naked with the sun warming her flesh had his cock throbbing.
Mumbling curses, he leaned against a tree. He could barely walk without groaning in pain, and he didn’t know how he was going to get them back to the cottage in this condition.
A cold swim in the loch might help for a short while as would taking himself in hand, but the moment he saw her again, his body would betray him.
The fact she hadn’t noticed his condition amazed him. Maybe she was just pretending not to notice the same way he was pretending not to notice the soft color of her nipples that showed through the linen or how they hardened in the cold air. Or had they hardened because of him?
She avoided looking at him or meeting his eyes. And he’d seen the vein in her neck pulsing after he’d lifted her into the boat. He’d put it down to fright, but it hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had beat harder, faster. Thinking about that, he began whistling, shoved away from the tree, and went in search of these gifts from Aileen.
Rounding the end of a crumbling wall, he stopped. Ten leather bags sat in a pile at the edge of the clearing. He recognized them. How could he not when he and his men had earned the price of them with their sweat and blood on the battlefield?
The urge to let them rot was strong, but he knew the contents were needed to feed him and his men until their gardens produced and their crops ripened. Ella need them, he thought and wondered again if she was meant for him and if she’d decide to stay? What would he do if she left him? he didn’t think he could bare being alone again even though she’d only been with him less that a day. He pushed the thought away. She’d stay. If she was his one true love she’d stay with him.
Angry because he had to accept his twin’s peace offering and frustrated because he still had the hard-on from hell, he grabbed four of the bags and hauled them to the shore. He could have carried them, but they were heavy, and he was angry and miserably aroused, so he dragged them. Reaching the shore, he left them by the boat and made two more trips, then decided to look for Ella.
He grinned when he passed the crudely carved wood shoes. They were as uncomfortable as they looked, and he’d never worn them. Apparently, she found them cumbersome as well. He rounded the boulder, and froze, again, but this time because a nude temptress stood with her face tipped up to the sun, and her long wet hair hanging down her back. She must have slipped and fallen into the water, but at the moment, he couldn’t think about that. All he could think about was how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her.
Walking up behind her, he whispered against her shoulder, “I’m back, Lass.”
She shrieked, twisted, and lost her balance. He caught her, saving her from a fall, then pulled her close, and kissed her. She kissed him back. Thankful, he slid his hands beneath her bare buttocks and lifted her, then groaned into her mouth when she wrapped her arms and legs around him.
Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, kiss me again and don’t ever stop.”
Feeling his plea for mercy was being answered, Torkel kissed her again, ran his hands over her body, and tried to touch every inch of warm flesh he could reach. She kissed him while she wiggled against him, and adjusted her body over the tip of his erection. Only his plaid separated them. He held her away from him, and jerked it out of the way, then shifted his hips until he slid a tiny way into her. She tried to push down, but he held her still.
“Slow and easy,” he said and let her slide down onto him, inch by inch, slowly. The move drew a shiver of pleasure from both of them.
“Oh, Torkel, you feel so good inside me.” She leaned back in his arms and rolled her hips.
“I’ve waited so long for you, lass. I never want to let you go.” He braced his hand on the boulder and thrust into her. She rolled her hips against him every time he buried himself in her.
Her hands tightened on his shoulders. He thrust in, deep, and held her tight against him. She rubbed her clit against him. He felt her tremble, heard her moan, and pulled out until only the crown of his cock remained inside her.
She wiggled against him. “Don’t tease me. Not now.”
He buried himself deep and pumped into her, over and over until they were both breathless and on the edge of ecstasy.
“I’m not going to last,” he managed to get out as the orgasm building inside him reached its zenith. She moaned his name as he felt her vagina pulse around his shaft, then clamp down. The pleasure after so long threw him into an explosive orgasm. He lowered his head to her shoulder, and came, his legs shaking. Heart pounding and out of breath, he held her until a breeze from the loch swept over him. It cooled the sweat on his skin, raising goosebumps as the sound of distant thunder reached him. Looking up, he saw the dark clouds forming at the tops of the mountains and racing toward the loch.
“We need to go. A storm is coming,” he said and reluctantly unwrapped her legs from around his waist and lowered her to her feet.
The breeze turned into a gust and lifted Ella’s hair into a cloud around her. She gathered it and quickly braided it again. “Can we make it back before those clouds dump rain on us?”
“If we hurry.” Torkel handed her the linen sheet and dressed while she wrapped it around herself, tied the ends behind her neck, and picked up the basket.
Leading the way, she told him, “There were four fish in the trap. Nice size ones.” She set the basket in the boat and started to climb over the side, but he grasped her waist and lifted her before she could. “Thank you, Torkel.”
He grunted a response, too busy to speak as he arranged the bags in the boat, gave it a hard shove, then jumped in and began rowing. Above them, lightning lit up the dark clouds. Small waves began to splash against the sides of the boat. Ella smiled at him, but he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make it.”
“Yes, I know. I trust you to keep me safe.”
Smiling, he rowed harder and several minutes later, reached the shore where Maggie and Bennie met them. Excited, they ran around him and Ella, receiving a few scratches on their ears.
Torkel unloaded the bags, grabbed four of them and dragged them toward the house. They snagged on the rocks and clunked when he jerked on them. Reaching the house, he shoved the door open, pulled them inside and released them. Turning, he bumped into Ella. She dropped the bag she had hold of but managed to keep a grip on the basket of fish.
“I’ll get the rest,” he said.
“I’ll help because we’re running out of time and you need to get the boat out of the water. You wouldn’t want to lose it to the loch.”
“True.”
They returned to the shore where he grabbed four bags, leaving one for her. After placing them in the house, he called Maggie and Be
nnie and told them to stay in the house. They ran to the fire and lay down. “I’ll put the boat up and check on the animals.”
“I’ll clean the fish and start supper. You said something about potatoes?”
He pointed to the corner next to the large dresser. “In a basket. You’re welcome to use whatever else you can find.” Sending her a nod, he slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Chapter Four
“When the river goes down, can we look for my tote and clothes?” Ella asked and made herself comfortable at the dining table. She and Torkel had just devoured grilled fish and fried potatoes. She’d found salt, peppercorns, and a crock of lard on the large dresser and had made good use of the ingredients. Torkel had given her appreciative glances between bites, eating as if it was the first good meal he’d had in a long time.
“It will be awhile,” he said and took a last bite as another rumble of thunder shook the house.
“That’s okay,” she said. “If we find them, the road can’t be too far away. I left my phone and the map in the car, but if we find it, we can use it to find my cottage.”
Torkel pushed his plate away, leaned back and crossed his hands on his belly. “Tell me about the road, the car, and the phone.” He struggled with the last word, his accent thick.
Ella smiled. She liked the sound of his voice and the way he spoke, but curiosity was killing her. “Aren’t you curious about the contents of the bags?”
“Aye, but there’s time enough for them.”
“I’ll make a deal with you, first we open the bags, and later, I’ll tell you about those things and I’ll answer all your questions. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” he said, grabbed a bag and opened it.
Ella picked up the plates they’d used and stacked them with the rest of the dirty dishes on the large dresser. Returning to her seat she examined the items Torkel had placed on the table.
Ordinary items like bolts of cloth, needles, thread, several pairs of scissors, a box of straight pins, knitting needles, crochet hooks, and several dozen skeins of yarn. There was a box of buttons, several basic sewing patterns, and a book on sewing methods. She paged through it and smiled. It was meant for a beginner with lots of illustrations. In fact, it was mostly extremely detailed illustrations with very little writing in a language she didn’t recognize.
Next came a case of hand-milled bathing soap from France and soap flakes for washing clothes and dishes. Torkel examined each item as if he’d never seen it before. Finally, he lifted a large bundle from the bottom of the bag, set it on the table, and unwrapped it. He stared at the pile of leather-bound books, his hands resting on either side of it.
“Torkel?”
He looked up, smiled, and said. “Books.”
She smiled. He appeared so pleased, and she loved his accent. She ran her finger over the one on top. “They look old.”
“Aye, this one was written in the late fifteenth century.”
She waited for him to say more but his focus was on the words of the book he’d opened. Pleased that her plan to distract him was working, she pulled the cloth out from beneath the stack of books and realized it was actually several layers of sheets. Standing up, she shook them out, folded them, and set them on the bed. “You’re running out of room. If you reorganize the shelves, you might be able to make enough room for your new books,” she mimicked his accent.
He glanced at the shelves and smiled. “Aye.” He set the book down, patted it, and opened the second bag.
It held more cloth, soap, and books, but it also had paper, jars of ink, and a wooden box full of beautiful pens made of expensive and rare woods. Recognizing the name on the box, she picked one up and balanced it on her index finger, then returned it to the box. “Nice pens.”
Torkel’s behavior triggered her curiosity. She watched as he ran his fingers over the smooth wood, caressing it the way he’d caress a woman, she thought and told herself to get her mind out of the gutter. He held it up in the light and studied it, and she studied him. He was a very nice-looking man. Big, she thought, and remembered the feel of him inside her, stretching her.
The sound of the lid being snapped closed pulled her out of a budding fantasy. She hid her hands on her lap, gripping them together to keep from reaching for him.
Three larger boxes came next. He opened one and she gave into temptation and opened the other two. All three held large jars with labels written in a language she didn’t recognize, but the finely drawn illustrations on each jar gave away its contents. Spices, everything from peppercorns to cinnamon to allspice. Their inclusion increased her curiosity. So far almost everything, except for the books, was something one could buy at a local shop or order on the Internet.
Torkel placed two of the boxes into a large wooden crate, and she realized he was sorting the supplies into piles. One for use now and the rest for later, maybe. It made her wonder where he stored supplies as the cottage was only one room and small. Possibly in one of those other buildings he’d mentioned.
A clunk drew her attention as he set a large hammer down next to a smaller one. Box after box of tacks and nails in different sizes joined them along with several types of saws and four large rolls of thick, inch-wide leather strapping. He set a thick book on top of the tools and she figured from the picture on the front, it dealt with building methods.
Torkel removed six large sacks and smiled. “Salt,” he said, kept one and placed the others in the crate.
“That’s a lot of salt.”
“Aye and needed.” He opened the third bag. It held three sets of enameled cast iron pots and skillets with matching lids. He removed a lid from one of the largest pots and revealed it held cloth wrapped items. Unwrapping one, he held it up, appearing puzzled.
She took it and turned the handle that in turn moved the paddle inside the jar. “It’s a butter churn. I’ve seen pictures of them in books. You put cream in the jar and turn, and turn, and turn. Eventually, if you don’t die of a heart attack first, you make butter.” She smiled and handed it back to him. He ran his hands over the glass and held it up, examining it, she thought and wondered why he found it so fascinating. It was just regular glass, smooth and clear although a little thicker and heavier than window glass.
He set it down, and they went through the rest of the pots, finding all sorts of items. Tea towels, cooking utensils, metal graters, and several sets of expensive chef’s knives. She picked up a paring knife. “I have this same set at home. They’re one of the best brands because they hold an edge.”
Torkel smiled but didn’t say anything. Instead, he opened another box, revealing several hunting knives with bone handles. He lifted one and balanced it on his index finger before tossing it into the air and catching it.
Ella recognized the grip. A consultant on one of her movies has taught her co-star to handle a knife in the same manner. The way a warrior with experience in hand-to-hand combat would hold one. “Torkel, were you in the Army?” she asked and received a questioning look in return. “A soldier? A warrior?”
“Aye, a warrior.” He dumped the last items out of the box. Several whetstones and honing steels. He examined them and then placed everything back in the box and set it aside.
He obviously didn’t want to talk about his past, so she let it go and dug into the bottom of the leather bag. The first bundle she lifted turned out to be a large comforter, very expensive and high-end. It was wrapped around several handmade pottery platters and serving bowls. Dishes were cushioned in bath towels or a hand towels. Ten plates, ten mugs, and ten soup bowls. The last items were wrapped in small, down pillows. Setting the pillows aside, she lined the items up and laughed. “Ten new tankards. No chips.”
Torkel chuckled and set another book on the table. Ella paged through it, seeing it was another detailed instruction booklet, but it dealt with how to cook over a fire with the enameled pots. It even included illustrations of recipes. Wow, she thought, someone must think Torkel is really a newbie
when it comes to cooking, then remembering the oatcakes, she laughed. He looked up and she pointed to the book. “Whoever did the illustrations is very talented.”
“Aye.” Torkel lifted a jar of a bubbling mixture from the bag then appearing alarmed, he set it on the table away from him.
Before he could stop her, Ella grabbed it. Flipping the metal latch that held the glass lid on she sniffed it and smiled. “Sourdough starter for baking bread.”
“Bread,” Torkel said and sighed as if the word had a flavor he could taste.
Ella mimicked the word, rolling the R.
Torkel chuckled as he removed several large cloth bags.
She looked at the illustration on one of the bags and decided it looked like it might hold flour. “If that’s flour I can bake bread.”
“Aye, its several sacks of flour and more grain to grind.” He divided them, setting one aside and placing the rest in the crate.
“Do you have a grinder?”
“Aye.”
“You sure are a man of few words, Torkel.”
“By the time I translate what you say you’ve already moved on to another subject, and it’s too late for me to speak.”
Ella returned his teasing grin. “Would it help if I spoke slower?”
“Aye,” he said, lifting another bundle. Closing his eyes, he sniffed the cloth wrapped bundle before setting it down in the middle of the table. He untied the knot that held the four corners of the cloth together, peeled the sides back, and revealed four large, round loaves of bread.
“Your friend must really like you. Those look freshly baked and homemade,” she said, and added, “They smell wonderful.”
“Aye, wonderful,” he said. “A peace offering from Aileen.” He slid them into a smaller bag and set it on top of the crate. “The rest is from Himself, the bastard.”
Ella started to laugh but stopped herself. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing. “Isn’t that the word used for the leader of a clan? Himself?”
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