by Terry Spear
“Lass, mayhap you should sit in front of me, so you can tell me the way to go.” Though he didn’t wish her to suffer the full blast of the cold wind’s force while riding in front of him, but he didn’t want to be riding around in circles either.
“In this weather? I canna see anything. Just move away from the sounds of the men shouting.”
Gunnolf shook his head and hoped he guided his horse in a northerly direction toward the MacNeill lands and not farther away from where they needed to go. If he could get the lass to Wynne’s shieling, Wynne could tell him if he had aided the right woman.
Though he assumed she had to be the one. She didn’t seem grateful in the least, rather that he was supposed to be grateful to her. “If I am to rescue you from those brigands, may I learn why you are running from them?”
She didn’t respond, her body holding his close, her head still resting snug against his back. He had to admit he loved feeling her close. Had even dreamt about her and was glad for it when the nightmares had returned. Only now she was not a young lass, but a woman full grown.
“I believe I was dazed by your beauty the last time we met,” he said, softly, remembering that part of his journey with fondness.
“More like you were nearly dead.”
He smiled. She had been beautiful back then. He had not been too dazed to witness that.
She sounded sleepy, her voice muffled against his back. He wondered how long she had been running. Was it the same castle that she thought to get help from when he was but a lad? Was she running from the same people who would have killed him?
“Brina. ‘Tis a lovely name for a bonny lass.” He didn’t say anything more as he listened for the sounds of horses or men. He heard nothing but the whoosh of the wind blowing across the glen and the rush of a river in the distance. He hadn’t crossed any rivers to get there. Several streams, but no rivers.
God’s wounds, where were they now?
3
Brina cherished the heat of the Norseman’s warm body in front of her, and the way he blocked the frigid wind and kept the snow off her face. But she did not like that he was a Finn-Gall! Not with all the trouble they’d had with them. What if he was kin to those who had settled near them? The same ones who had killed her da?
Her own grandfather had died at the hand of Viking raiders before the Vikings settled on the lands near them and became farmers.
She wasn’t certain how long she’d been running before Seamus had discovered she’d slipped out of the keep and beyond the castle walls, then gathered his men to hunt her down. But she welcomed this—the Norseman’s rugged body as he protected her, and his horse that gave her hope that she might indeed manage to slip away from her lands without any trouble. Her feet and fingers were frozen though, and she didn’t think she’d ever been this cold in her life.
She snuggled closer to the Viking, wanting to be wrapped up tight with him, to feel the warmth taking the chill from her blood. But she felt badly that she didn’t know where they actually were. Because she never ventured very far from Anfa Castle or the shieling where she’d lived before that, she wouldn’t have a clue where to go even if it was a warm, summer’s day. Exhausted from running, she was relieved to have collided with the man, and learned he not only had a horse, but that he seemed intent on rescuing her.
Still, she didn’t wholly trust him. He was a Finn-Gall after all, and she wasn’t sure she could have complete faith in him that he would take her somewhere safe and not ask something of her in return. She had to admit that the Vikings living near her people only raided them as much as they raided the Norsemen back.
What if this Gunnolf of the North, the Fighting Wolf, lived among the Viking settlers and wished to ransom her to Seamus? Or what if Gunnolf was as wicked as Seamus? Just because Gunnolf treated her well now, didn’t mean she would be safe with him if they found a place to bed down for the night later. He could want his wicked way with her just as much as Seamus had wanted. Except for now, Gunnolf had to bide his time or he was a dead man. Which had her feeling a pang of remorse that she had involved him in this deadly business. Though she was not feeling enough guilt to force him to release her. She highly doubted Gunnolf would anyway. For now, she was more afraid of Seamus getting hold of her as angry as he had to be. Not only had she shown him she wouldn’t submit to him of her own freewill, she had forced him to come after her in a snowstorm to bring her home.
He’d beat her for certain if he got hold of her.
She thought back to when she’d planted her body against Gunnolf’s next to the shieling, not really meaning to. But when she dove for the pile of snow to avoid being struck by an arrow, all of a sudden a mountain of a fur-covered man had loomed in her path. Just like that. What else could she do but tackle him with all her weight and shove him down so she didn’t get shot? Not that she wanted him to either, but he had been in her way. Which was why the arrow had nicked her! It was his fault that he was now in this predicament with her.
She thought about how she’d tried to climb off him, and she’d made him groan in pain. He’d been hard all over, and she couldn’t understand how she’d hurt him. But when he’d forced her to straddle him, she wasn’t sure what his intentions had been, until she realized he was trying to protect himself from her wicked knee. She let a smile slip, but then frowned again, worried they wouldn’t find shelter tonight, and if they did, what if Seamus found it also?
Gunnolf was a handsome devil of a man, for being a Viking. Large, bearded, his hair more chestnut now and streaked with gold, his blue eyes disarming, he was a compelling figure of a warrior. She still couldn’t believe he was the lad she’d bandaged so long ago and that he’d actually survived. She’d had reoccurring dreams about finding him and taking care of him, but then losing him in the mist. But she’d never envisioned him so tall or muscular. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Ja, but I must rest my horse and get us out of this…”
His abrupt pause in speech concerned her. “What?” She wanted to sit up and peer around him, but decided she didn’t wish to see what was ahead of them as much as she wished to remain tight against his back and continue to gather what warmth she could absorb from his body.
“An old Roman ruin, some of the outer curtain walls partially standing. A tower keep is sitting inside. Mayhap we can take refuge in it. It appears to have lost its roof, but inside the tower, we can at least take shelter from the winds.”
“Aye,” she said. “It would be better than being out here in all this weather.” Then she sat up a bit taller, but losing his heat, she squeezed up against him again. “What if they are there?”
“We will have to take that chance. My horse needs rest, and we canna afford to lose him.” He moved slower now toward the tower.
She listened for sounds of men talking, but unless Seamus and his men were huddled inside and trying to keep warm, maybe sleeping, she heard no one.
Then she felt the sudden shift in temperature, the ancient stone walls blocking the wind so effectively, she felt much warmer, not enough to release her hold on the Viking, but still, she sighed with relief. “No sign of them?” she whispered.
“Nay, lass. We are alone.”
That sent a sudden chill up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the frigid weather.
“I will help you down,” he said, his voice hushed, and she suspected he said so because she still hadn’t released her grip on his body as if she was afraid, when it wasn’t that at all! She was attracted only to the heat of his body. She would have felt the same if it had been anyone’s body. Well, mayhap not if it had been Seamus or any of his men.
Reluctantly, she let go of Gunnolf and he swung down to the dirt floor, then reached up to help her dismount. “It will be dark soon.” He set her on her feet. “I have enough bedding so that we can bundle up together, and my horse should be fine here.”
When he mentioned bundling up together, she eyed him warily. He did not entertain any notion that she would
want to satisfy some male need, did he? Though as cold as it was, she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do such a thing. And yet, a wicked thought flickered through her mind so quickly, she couldn’t believe she would think such a thing—of being naked with the Viking beneath the furs, of kissing him, and more.
A light amount of snow covered the floor, but it wasn’t nearly as deep as outside the walls where it had blown into drifts, the tall stone walls of the keep blocking most of the snow and the wind. Gunnolf caught her attention as he brushed the snow away from an area of the floor with his boot.
She eyed the bedding as he spread it out over the cleared area. She shouldn’t want to lie with a man she didn’t know, or any man who was not her husband, for that matter, but she wouldn’t have it any other way as warm as he had already kept her. She had seen what the cold could do to a body when someone had been out in it for far too long without proper clothing. Blackened toes and fingers. Not a pretty sight. So though she felt uncomfortable sleeping with the Viking to an extent, she knew that she had no other choice.
As soon as he finished spreading out the bedding, he turned to feed his horse some oats. And then he offered Brina ale and a piece of bannock. In silence, she sipped the ale, then chewed on the bannock while she sat on the makeshift bedding. After covering his horse with a spare blanket, which she thought was admirable that he took care of his mount just as much as he took care of their needs, he pulled out a length of cloth. “Let me see your arm, lass.”
“’Tis naught.”
“Ja, but I would have a look at it anyway.”
She let out her breath and pulled back her brat to reveal her sleeve. He tore the brown sleeve, making her wince. He paused for a moment as he saw a red sleeve after that. He smiled. “How many layers do you have on, lass?”
“Dinna tear my red kyrtle overmuch. ‘Tis my favorite and the warmest of my gowns.”
He pulled out his sgian dubh and then made a small slice in the red sleeve. “You will be able to mend it easily.”
She gave a lady-like snort. Easy for him to say since he didn’t have to do the mending. But she watched in fascination the way he blotted up the blood and took great care not to hurt her. Then he tied the piece of cloth around her arm and looked up at her, frowning. “It will heal, no stitches necessary. Let me see your fingers.”
She showed him her fingers, still cold, a little numb, and they were burning.
“They look good, the color is good. Now your toes.”
She couldn’t help but look affronted. His mouth curved up a bit, which had the effect of making her body instantly heat. “They are fine.”
“I have warmed myself by a couple of fires today. Have you?” Gunnolf folded his arms across his broad chest, looking down at her like she was a stubborn child.
She shook her head.
“Then I will remove your boots and check your feet to make sure your toes are not too cold. That is if you dinna wish to lose them, lass.”
Exasperated, she finally nodded and pulled her cloak tightly about her as he removed one boot, and then a damp sock, and took her cold, numb foot into his hands and began to rub it.
“It burns.” She tried to pull away from him.
“’Tis good. If you had no feeling in them, then that would be worse.” He removed her other boot and sock. “I know how to warm them, but you might not like what I have to say. However, your feet will thank you for it later if you allow me to offer my aid.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering just what he might suggest that she would not like. Both of them naked came to mind, and she scolded herself for thinking such thoughts yet again.
“As much as it will chill me, if you put your feet between my legs, my body will warm them and make them feel just as they did before you undertook this journey in the snow.”
“Nay,” she said, shocked to the core.
“’Tis your choice, lass. But if we dinna warm them, you could lose all feeling in them on our continued journey. The truth is it will be me who will suffer much more than you. Though for a while, your feet will burn. But this is a good thing. You wouldna want to know what happens when a man or woman loses the feeling in their toes or fingers completely.”
“I have seen what happens,” she said softly. “What must I do?”
“I will sit sideways in front of you and place your feet between my thighs.” Gunnolf resituated himself on the blankets and waited for her to agree.
She shuddered from the cold and from the idea he would be so intimate with her. Yet the notion he would take her frozen feet and place them against his skin to help warm her when it would chill his own skin made her realize just how much he was willing to sacrifice for her—not just with warming her feet, but with attempting to keep her from Seamus’s grasp.
“Why?” she asked.
“So that your feet have a chance to warm up again before we continue on our journey.”
“Nay, why are you risking your life for me?” She pulled the blanket from her feet and offered them to him.
He lifted his blue and green plaid enough that she saw his bare, muscular legs, and then he maneuvered her so that they were positioned between his legs, the soles against the inner thigh on his left leg, and the tops of her feet pressed against the inner thigh of his right leg. Then he pulled down his plaid and covered himself and her with the furs.
He didn’t even shiver as her cold flesh pressed up against his hot skin. “Better?” he asked.
“They are burning.”
“Good. They will warm up and you will feel better.”
“What about you?”
He smiled, and she thought his look was a bit— mischievous. “I will suffer silently.”
So would she. She couldn’t help thinking of the way her feet were situated between his legs. He was pressing with his thigh muscles, not just offering a warm place for her feet to rest, but ensuring that the contact between them provided even more heat to warm her feet. She closed her eyes and all she could envision were his naked legs when he’d pulled up his plaid, and how she’d wanted to see more. It was his fault that he had intrigued her so!
“I thank you,” she finally said, looking up at him, his blue gaze on her, then held up her hands. “My fingers are cold, too.”
Gunnolf smiled at the lass, wondering just where she wanted to place her ice cold fingers. But he would do anything to warm her up and prove to her that he only wished to aid her. It would be awkward from the way they were now situated for him to slip her hands against his bare skin. He offered his hands and she placed her chilled fingers in them. Then he closed his hands around her small ones and warmed them both up.
She was a beauty, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair falling about her shoulders in a cascade of shiny curls, her lips as red as her cheeks. Her eyes were blue and bright and worried. He couldn’t believe she was the same lass who had come to his aid before. Or that she would be out in this weather, running for her life.
“What about your feet?” she asked.
“They will be fine.” Though the thought of his feet locked between her thighs made him imagine other possibilities. And that notion heated his blood right away.
“They must be freezing,” she said.
“I will tend to them when your feet are feeling nice and warm.”
She said, “I will help you.”
He smiled at the notion, but he would not let her do such a thing. He was afraid if he put his ice cold feet against her bare skin, she’d be chilled too much.
“You have not eaten yet,” she said.
“I will eat when your fingers are sufficiently warmed. So tell me, lass,” he said quietly, “who are you running from and why?” Now that he’d had a chance to consider her garments, he was certain she was a woman of some importance. Not just a sheepherder’s daughter as she appeared to be when he’d first seen her so many years ago.
“What clan are you with?” she asked him first.
He wished he knew wher
e she was from and who had harmed her. If she was from an enemy’s clan, he was certain she wouldn’t wish to tell him who she was. She needed his help, no matter which clan she hailed from.
He sighed. “I am with the Clan MacNeill.”
Her eyes widened and her whole posture stiffened.
“I mean only to protect you and take you somewhere safe,” he said.
“To where? To the MacNeill stronghold?”
“The MacNeills will protect you. No one will harm you. It appears to me that whoever hurt you and wants you to return at once is the enemy here, not me or the clan I have grown to love.”
Tears clung to her eyelashes and she stifled a sob.
“Lass,” he said, just about to pull her into a hug, but she shook her head quickly.
“Nay, my feet are still cold.”
“All right, lass. Why are you so distressed at the mention of my clan?”
“My mother was of the Clan MacNeill. She was a MacAffin.”
Gunnolf closed his gaping mouth.
“She was sent away from the MacNeill castle before I was born. But she was carrying my brother and he didna live. This was probably before your time and you might no’ have heard anything about it.”
“Which clan are you with now?” He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. He couldn’t imagine any woman carrying a bairn being treated in such a manner.
“Auchinleck.”
“I don’t recall anything about them. We must not have any trouble between us.”
Brina looked down at their joined hands. “She… my mother, that is… was said to be… wild. But when the laird learned she was with bairn, he sent her away.”
“Where was her husband?”
She shook her head.
“She had none?” Gunnolf considered that notion for a moment, but he would think that if anyone had mistreated the woman like that, the laird would have sent men after her and returned her home. Then he frowned, another notion coming to mind, knowing how lecherous the former laird was. “The laird himself was the father of the bairn?”