Ella pointed and said, “Cut it there.”
While he did that, she filled her hand with tacks and began hammering them along the length of the leather. Finishing the first side they moved on until they attached the leather around the frame. Last, they attached two pieces down the outside of each window where they met in the middle. Satisfied, Torkel closed and latched it. They looked at each other and smiled.
“No drafts,” he said, and added, “but we’re both wet.”
“We’ll dry, and now, we might actually be able to warm this place up.”
Smiling, they moved to the second window, sealed it, and then did the same to the door.
“What about the bottom?” he asked.
Ella grabbed the remnants of the blanket she’d torn to make a shawl, rolled it up and stuffed it along the bottom of the door. “That should do it, and we still have light.”
Torkel hugged her and nuzzled the side of her neck. “You’re a clever, lass. I think I’ll keep you.” Her belly growled, and he laughed. “If I can keep you fed.”
She patted his chest. “We have bread. I can make us some PB&Js.”
“P, B, and J’s?” he asked, then added, “I had Bennie take the bag of bread to the village. That’s why he was wet.”
“You’re a good man, Torkel, but please don’t tell me all you have to eat right now are cold oatcakes.”
He nodded and grinned. “We can heat them on the fire.”
Ella laid her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry to do this, Torkel, but you’re canned.”
“Canned?”
“You know, sacked, outta here, terminated.”
Wondering what she meant, he watched her. “I don’t understand.”
She grinned, leaned closer to him, and said, cautiously, “Je suis le nouveau cuisinier.”
“Your French is worse than your English,” he chuckled, “but I think you said you are the new cook.”
“I’m starving,” she laughed, and my teeth can’t handle another one of your mother’s oatcakes.” She smiled and asked another question, knowing the answer would tell her a lot about him. “So, just out of curiosity, how many languages do you speak?”
He shrugged. “Six.”
She pointed to an open book on the table. “What language is that?”
“Latin.”
“Really,” Ella laughed, “no kidding?” She ran a finger over the page. “Uh, Torkel, you’re not a priest or anything like that, are you?”
He threw his head back, laughed, and pulled her into his arms. Looking into her eyes, he said, “No, lass, the only thing I intend to worship is your body. Every chance I get.”
“I’m free now,” she said and pressed her breasts against his chest.
“No,” He shook his head. “If you’re willing to cook, I’ll show you where I store food.”
“Okay, I’ll feed your belly first, then bed,” she said, and added, her voice puzzled, “Those words—”
Torkel hugged her again, then released her, lit two candles, and led her to one of the cellars. Picking up a basket, he handed it to her. “There are onions and garlic in here. The potatoes and carrots are in another storage room, and I have apples and pears in barrels near the barn.”
Ella started to tell him she’d snooped around in his storage rooms but let it go as she gathered an onion and a bunch of garlic. “Okay, potatoes and carrots now.”
He led her to the other cellar she’d found earlier. “In here.” Opening the door, he stood aside so she could enter ahead of him.
She placed the items in the basket. “Meat?”
Torkel pointed to the door at the back of the room. “Through there.”
She opened it and found smoked meats hanging from hooks in the ceiling and wheels of cheese sitting on planks of wood.
Torkel opened the lid of a wooden barrel. “Salted meat,” he said and pointed to the hooks. “In the winter it’s cold enough to keep fresh meat in here.”
“Fresh, then. Beef or pork?”
“Beef.”
“I’ll roast it with the potatoes and carrots.”
Torkel lifted down a cloth wrapped bundle and placed it in her basket. “Anything else?”
“No, this should do it.”
“Do it? Yes, I see,” he said and led her from the room, handing the candle to her. “I have some things to do in the barn. Keep the fire fed and don’t open the door for anyone.”
“Who’d be daft enough to be out in this weather?”
“You were,” he reminded her.
“Are you saying I’m daft?” she laughed.
“Perhaps,” he grinned. “Remember, lass, if anyone comes to the door, don’t open it. Come and get me.”
She saluted, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek before she hurried away. “Your floors are freezing, Mr. MacAsgaill,” she yelled over her shoulder.
“Another reason to appreciate my bed, Ella Ross.”
Chapter Five
Ella closed the door, leaned against it, and looked around. She couldn’t find a single spot other than a chair to set the basket. Forming a plan of attack on the mess that was Torkel’s home, she set the basket on the chair by the fire.
“Maggie, you stay out of that.”
Maggie opened her eyes, glanced at her, then the basket and went back to sleep. Laughing, Ella patted her and got busy. Before she could prepare supper, she needed a clean place to work and that meant sorting the dirty, broken dishes from the dirty still usable dishes.
Starting at the hutch, she pulled the empty crate that had held the potatoes she’d cooked for lunch out into the room. She checked each dish, placed the broken ones in the crate and the usable ones in a stack in the corner. It turned out only the pots made of metal were unbroken, but a lot of them were in very poor condition. She added them to the crate and ended up with only a couple to be saved.
Next came the dirty dishes from the table. The crate was too full to carry, so she dragged it across the room and left it on the landing to the corridor. Torkel could deal with it later. That done, she washed one of the new cooking pots, prepared the vegetables and roast, covered it, then set it on the metal plate. Deciding it wasn’t quite close enough she pushed the plate farther into the flames. Hopefully, it would cook and wouldn’t burn while she finished cleaning.
Most of the containers on the hutch were empty, so she added them to the pile to be washed, then arranged the new pots, skillets, utensils, dishes, and spices on the shelves. Standing back, she brushed off her hands and noticed how dirty she’d become.
She’d seen a broom and a stack of wooden buckets in the corner by the peat. Grabbing the buckets, she set them outside to catch rainwater while she began to clear the bed and quickly realized she didn’t have anywhere to place the supplies except the floor.
Sighing, she got the broom and swept an area clean, then leaned the broom against the wall while she piled everything, including the things from the chairs, on the floor. That done she removed the dirty sheets and blankets from the bed and piled them, along with his clothes by the peat. She didn’t know what the bed was made of, but she beat on it until she raised a cloud of dust. Standing back with part of her gown covering her nose, she let it settle before she remade the bed with the sheets, comforter, and pillows from Himself, the bastard. The name made her giggle even though Torkel always looked so serious when he said it. Angry and sad, she wondered if she’d ever meet the man.
Dismissing the thought of him, she decided the buckets should be full and checked on them. They were, so she carried them into the cottage, getting soaked in the process. Shrugging out of the wet linen, she chose a dirty sheet from the pile and wrapped it around herself. The wet linen went over the back of a chair to dry while she scrubbed the large pot that hung over the fire, emptied the buckets into it, and gave it a shove. It swiveled into the fireplace, hanging just above the flames. Happy, she finished sweeping the floor.
Finally, satisfied with her progress, she washed her hands an
d mixed up a batch of sourdough bread. After kneading it, she formed it into a loaf, covered it with a bowl and placed it on the end of the hutch nearest to the fire. It would proof overnight, and she’d bake it in the morning.
Feeling happy and fulfilled for the first time in months, she relaxed in Torkel’s chair and watched the fire flicker. She’d loved some of her acting jobs and the movies she’d made. She’d even liked some of the people she’d worked with but none of them had been her friends. She hadn’t been able to make Brian understand why she wanted to get away from everyone on their vacations. He really had been the wrong man for her. Not like Torkel, she thought, even though she knew very little about him. Just something about being with him made her feel right. Something and this cottage felt like home.
With a happy sigh, she slid down in the chair and managed to place the tips of her toes on Torkel’s footstool. His legs were so long that it sat too far away for her. With a laugh, she got up just as steam began to rise from the large pot. Excited at the thought of a hot bath and being clean she folded a cloth into several layers and tried to lift the pot from the hook. It was too heavy.
Standing back, hands on hips, she studied the problem. She needed a smaller container and most likely she’d find it in one of the storage rooms. Hurrying to the first room, she looked around and laughed when she spotted a large round tub in the corner behind the door. It was heavy but not too heavy, and it had a smaller bucket with it. Grasping the edge, she dragged it to the steps, up them, and to the fireplace, surprised when Torkel didn’t come to see what all the racket was about.
Maggie moved several feet away before she yawned and lay down again.
Ella placed a layer of cloth over the splintery bottom, then bailed water into the tub and added a little cool water to it until it was just right. Placing several towels and a bar of soap on Torkel’s chair, she refilled the pot for him, dropped her gown, and settled into the hot, steamy water. Resting her head on the side, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Perfect.”
“Aye, perfect,” Torkel said.
The sound of his voice barely made her jump. She was getting used to him popping up when she least expected. Smiling, she opened her eyes. He stood by the door watching her.
“Come join me. The water is perfect, and there’s room for you.”
He walked toward her, his clothes falling to the floor, his eyes darkening with desire. One step away, he said, “Scoot forward, turtle.”
“Turtle?” Ella said and laughed as she slid forward but twisted to face him as he lowered himself into the water. “Like the reptile?”
“No, like the turtle dove.”
“Ah,” she said and smiled. “We used to say chickadee, but now we mostly say honey or sugar.”
“Sweet things,” he said. “Come here, powsoddy.”
Ella giggled as she turned and leaned back against him. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a sweet pudding.” He ran his hands over her shoulders and cupped her breasts.
She laughed again. “I like turtle better. Tell me another one.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You’re my hurle bawsy.”
Ella covered his hands, laughing while she held them against her. “Meaning?”
“My little un-weaned calf.” Gathering her hair in one hand, he arranged it over her shoulder. It covered a breast but gave him access to shoulder and neck. He sucked on her shoulder where it curved into her neck.
She shivered, and goosebumps rose on her skin. Tipping her head to the side, she gave him access to more of her. He obliged by placing a line of kisses up her neck to her ear where he nipped the lobe.
“Mo chridhe.”
“Torkel.”
“Mo gaol.” He ran his hands over her body, touching and exploring every inch as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She tried to repeat the last words he’d said but stopped when his hands slid between her legs.
He nibbled on her lobe, felt her shiver, and did it again. She was so responsive. So sweet like a wine that made him dizzy and thirsty for more. He’d never get enough of her. He tasted her and used his fingers to pleasure her, ignoring the needs of his own body. He wanted, no needed, to hear the sounds she made when he pleasured her. He played with a nipple while he fingered her and rubbed her clitoris.
He breathed a soft puff of air over her skin. She sighed, and he watched a rosy blush blossom on her cheeks, her neck, her breasts. He kissed, licked, and touched her.
“You please me so much.”
“I want to please you, Torkel. I want to make the sadness I see in your eyes go away.”
He placed little love bites on her neck. She breathed his name and he added a second finger, and she pressed back against him. He felt her tighten around him and knew she was close. He didn’t spare her but gently pushed her toward a soft release.
She came, moaning his name.
He crossed his arms over her chest and breathed in her scent. She was all woman. Warm, silky, and sweet. His woman.
He planted a last kiss on her shoulder. “The water is getting cold.”
“There’s more in the big pot,” she said.
Standing, he dipped water from it and dumped it into the tub and spotted the towels and soap she’d laid out.
“Dunk under and I’ll wash your hair for you,” he said.
Ella smiled, slid under the water, and wiped her face when she came up.
He lathered and rinsed her hair, then wet a cloth and washed her before lifting her out of the tub. “Dry yourself and get warm by the fire while I bathe.”
He enjoyed the hot water but washed quickly with his eyes on her the entire time. Her skin glowed in the light from the fire and the candles around the room. Everything about her was beautiful. Her face, her curves, her firm breast, even her smile and the way her eyes twinkled when she teased him. Or, the way they darkened with passion when she was aroused. He even loved her hair. She’d toweled it dry, and now she combed the tangles out with her fingers, and it curled as it dried from the heat of the fire.
She glanced at him and smiled as she wrapped another linen cloth around herself.
The lines of stress he’d seen on her face this morning while she’d slept were gone. When he’d returned from the barn and startled her this morning she’d been so tense, every move jerky and fearful. Now, she moved gracefully.
She lifted the lid on the cooking pot, sniffed it and glanced at him and smiled. The scent of food, real food, filled the cottage. His belly rumbled so loud, she heard it and laughed. Rinsing off, he toweled himself dry, rubbed the cloth over his hair, and wrapped one of the new plaids Aileen had sent around himself. He put on new socks but left off his shoes.
Ella smiled, set the roast on the table, and sent him a sideways glance.
“Perfect.”
“Aye.” Chuckling, he noticed for the first time the clean condition of his home. “You didn’t have to wear yourself out cleaning the house, Lass.”
“It wasn’t any trouble, and besides, I didn’t have anything else to do. I’m used to being busy all the time.”
“You’ll have to tell me after supper what you do to stay busy,” he said and gathered plates, cups, and a pitcher of cold water.
Ella settled into a chair at the table, and he joined her, then ladled food onto a plate and handed it to her before filling his own. Lifting it, he sniffed it, savoring the scent of herbs and spices with roasted meat and vegetable.
“Perfect.”
“We seem to be having a perfect day,” she laughed.
“Aye,” he said and took a large bite.
Ella smiled and began to eat. They didn’t talk. Too busy filling their bellies. As soon as they finished, she set the dirty plates in a bucket of water. He washed, she dried.
“We make a good team,” she said.
He nodded, then poured two tankards of ale. “Take a seat by the fire, and we’ll talk about all those things you’ve mentioned.”
She settled into the second chair by th
e fireplace, placed her feet on the footstool and accepted the tankard he handed her. Taking a sip, she relaxed and began to talk, explaining about the airplane, the train, the car, the road, and her phone.
Torkel listened, amazed. Machines that flew long distances. Carts that moved on their own without horses pulling them. An object you spoke into and your voice reached people far away. It was too much for him to take in, and he was an educated man or at least, as educated as he could be coming from the fifteenth century.
“Torkel?”
He heard her say his name and realized he’d been lost in thought. “Aye, Ella.”
“I have a question about the stones hanging above the windows and doors,” she said. “What are they?”
“They’re hag stones.”
“Are they for decoration?”
“No, they ward off witches and curses. No evil can enter my home as long as the entries are protected.”
He saw her eyes widen before she looked away and knew she thought he was daft. He’d explain to her and then she’d understand but before he could speak, she gave him a patronizing smile. The same one women in his time gave men when they wanted to humor them. He would’ve laughed if the subject wasn’t so serious and his entire future didn’t depend on the outcome.
“I don’t believe in witches or magic or anything like that, but I respect your right to believe in them.”
“Thank you, Ella, but history is full of unknown things like witches and fairies,” he said, worried not only about her words but how she’d said them. Would he be able to convince her?
“That’s all just make-believe, Torkel.”
“But the ideas come from somewhere. From someone. How do you explain that?”
“People’s imagination and things that go bump in the night.”
He picked up a book. “Have you ever read The Tale of the Young Tamelene?”
She laughed, jumped up, and stood in front of the fire. In a low, cautioning voice, she recited, “O I forbid you, maidens all, that wear gowd on your hair, to come or gae by Carterhaugh, for young Tam Lin is there.” Smiling, she slid onto his lap. “There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh but they leave him a wad, Either their rings, or green mantles, or else their maidenhead.”
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