by Wine, Mary
Cora lowered herself onto a bench, the idea of more comfortable accommodations making her eager to finish. The thick walls of the tower cut the wind effectively, and the candles flickering in their holders on the opposite side of the room were very welcoming. The floor was strewn with straw and clods of dirt. The furnishings were limited to rough but sturdy-looking benches.
Still to her chilled flesh, it was a haven.
Her savior was a huge man. His voice was deep and edged with authority. Clearly, she was in his domain. She might have shivered from that idea if she wasn’t already shaking from the cold. She simply didn’t have any strength to devote to anything other than surviving.
Several long poles were leaned up against the stone walls. Their purpose became clear when Faolan plucked her overdress up and laid it over the top of one. The garment hung limply. Water started to drip from the ends of it, promising it would at least be drier when she returned for it.
Faolan turned back toward her. Cora cringed as she imagined what he saw. A little shaking female, so helpless she hadn’t even tried to take off her boots.
Cora forced herself to move. Her determination paid off, at least in the short term. She managed to get hold of her right bootlace and give it a tug. The knot held.
Faolan grunted and lowered himself to a knee. In his hand, the lace gave immediately. He made fast work of stripping her boots from her, going so far as to unknot her garters and pull her stockings down her legs as well.
No man had seen so much of her skin.
Cora bit her lip, ordering herself to be practical.
“Let’s get ye abovestairs,” Faolan said. He pushed off his knee and pulled her right over his shoulder in the same movement.
“Wait…” Cora pressed her hands against his wide back.
“Ye’ll be dead soon if I wait,” Faolan declared while climbing a set of stairs, which had been hidden in the shadows along the far side of the room.
She was hanging over his shoulder. Her cheeks heated as she felt his arm clasped across the back of her thighs to keep her in place.
Logical.
Wise.
Practical.
The words didn’t help a bit. She was mortified but far worse was a growing realization that she was so very helpless. She was still gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering. The chill was deep in her bones, making it impossible to deny just how true his words were.
If she didn’t get warm, she’d die.
He was her savior. Rough edges and all.
The heat in her cheeks intensified. She was in no position to judge him. She was shamed by her own reaction to him. He continued on though, climbing two more flights of stairs before he pushed a door open and ducked down to enter a chamber.
He placed her on her feet in the middle of the room.
“Get out of the rest of yer clothing,” he ordered.
Cora was struggling to see anything in the chamber, but he disappeared into a dark corner, returning with a shirt.
“Are ye too frozen, Mistress?”
Cora heard the note of resignation in his tone. He contemplated the lace holding her stays in place.
He had integrity.
There would be no one, including herself, who might reproach him for stripping her bare under the circumstances. But he held back, answering to his own code of ethics.
“Nae.” She forced her tongue to work. “I will …manage…”
He nodded and laid the shirt on the back of a chair. “I will be back soon.” He turned and left.
Outside, the wind was howling. Cora struggled to release the knot holding her stays closed as the window shutters rattled and rain hit them so hard it sounded like gravel being hurled at them. The stone of the tower was bitterly cold, but it was solid. She took solace in the security the stone afforded her. Her stays opened at last. She laid them on the chair and ordered herself to pull her smock up and over her head.
Left bare, she reached for the shirt and struggled into it. Her skin was still wet, making it a fight to get the dry cloth down her body. She shivered violently, her entire body shaking. Cold hurt. It wasn’t her first encounter with the fact, but it was the most extreme.
Faolan rapped on the door before it opened, and he came back into the room. He grunted approval at her before he came close.
“We need to get the water out of yer hair, Mistress.”
A long length of fabric was in his hands. He reached out and began to rub it on her head. He worked it for several long moments before nodding his head in satisfaction.
“Now, into bed with ye, Mistress, this is a simple place. The only hearth is in the kitchen, and me men are there. So best to keep ye here.”
“Yes, thank ye…” Her jaws ached from clenching them so long. Cora turned, seeking the bed. Soon, she’d be warm. She tried to focus on the idea of the bedding easing the agony of the cold. She took one step, but by the second one, she’d lost some of her balance and ended up stumbling to the side.
Faolan scooped her up. His body was warm, offering her a moment of delight before he was lowering her to the surface of the bed. He pulled the coverlet up to her chin, but she let out a little moan as the cold bedding added to her suffering.
It felt like her flesh was being scraped away.
Remaining still was impossible. She withered, moving her limbs in an attempt to warm up.
“Thank ye,” she muttered when she realized Faolan was standing near the bed, contemplating her. “I’ll be warm soon.”
There was only a single candle lantern near the door. The way the wind was howling, she could understand why the candle wasn’t sitting on the table, but the tin lantern only allowed light out through the slits carved into it. A pattern of light speckles was cast on the floor and up the wall. It was meager light. But her eyes had adjusted well. She tried to be still, but her body shook.
“Who are ye lass?” he asked.
“Cora…Mac…Kenzie….”
He reached in and placed his hand against her neck. The contrast was jarring. He was so warm; it was like being scalded.
“Are ye Buchanan’s sister then?” Faolan asked as he sat down next to the bed.
Cora wanted to answer, but her strength was bleeding away, leaving her far weaker than she’d ever felt in her life. It frightened her to face the reality of her circumstances. Even in the bed, she might still die.
But the bedding moved as Faolan slipped in beside her. He’d pulled his boots off and left his kilt on the stool he had perched on while she’d drifted into her thoughts.
“Ye…Ye….” Cora stammered, but at least she bit back the ridiculous question of ‘what are ye doing’. It was clear, even to her muddled brain, what he was about. The only way to warm her was with his own body. So, she pressed her teeth together.
“At least ye are practical enough, Mistress Cora,” Faolan remarked as he came up behind her.
He turned her onto her side and flattened himself against her back. She sucked in her breath. The difference between the temperatures of their bodies was dramatic.
“Ye’ve made it this far…” he rasped against her ear, “it would be a shame to have to bury ye come morning.”
“I will do me best to no’ trouble ye to dig a grave.”
But she pushed back harder against him. For certain, there would be scandalous expressions on half the staff in her brother’s stronghold, but it wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t allowed the way others thought about her to linger in her mind.
Now? Well, now it was a matter of survival. In the part of her brain that still functioned, she wondered if perhaps the reason she didn’t care so much for the way things were meant to be was that Fate had always known she was heading for this moment.
Perhaps she was simply grasping at straws in order to survive.
None of it mattered, really. Weakness was winning the battle now. Faolan was hard and warm against her back. Every breath drew his scent into her head, unleashing an awareness of him that she
had no idea how to deal with. Never had she thought to be so very close to another person. Understanding she might marry someday and have a husband hadn’t ever given a spark to the idea of being so very aware of a man.
The realization illuminated how alone she’d truly been.
It was a sobering thought. She wanted to contemplate it, explore why she felt like they weren’t close enough. Why she liked the feeling of him against her so very much. The need to fight for survival was waning, leaving her at the mercy of exhaustion. She wanted to stay awake. Certainly, there was some reason why she should remain awake. But her mind was overpowered. She’d survived by demanding every bit of strength she possessed, and now that her goal was accomplished, her flesh would have its due.
*
Faolan stroked Cora’s arm.
He enjoyed the way she felt against his body. He didn’t bother to think about who might disapprove of his choices. He’d been a disappointment to the world since he was born out of wedlock and had the nerve to grow up strong.
People and their expectations could go straight to hell as far as he was concerned.
Cora was strong. He found her tenacity her greatest appeal. Even if the daylight showed him a female of beauty, he doubted he’d ever find her more attractive than he had when she was shaking her fist at the storm clouds while soaked to the skin and covered with dead leaves.
He was coarse, at best.
Uncivilized at worst.
And at his core? Well, he liked his life uncomplicated by social niceties.
Such a temperament served him well. Cora shifted, turning toward him. He rolled onto his back and eased her head onto his chest. Her nose was like ice, and he knew exactly where each of her fingertips was because they burned him with their chill.
He grinned. Enjoying the opportunity to allow his lips to curl and expose his teeth. The good wives might scold him for crawling into bed with an unmarried girl, but he’d never regret doing it.
Life was a precious thing. It was fleeting as well. What he detested was the feeling of failure when he faced death.
Death was the thing Faolan worried about displeasing. With every fiber of his being, he’d fight against the specter of lifelessness. Anyone who condemned him for such actions wasn’t worth his attention.
Chapter Three
Her nose was cold.
Cora came awake slowly, her body resisting the rise to consciousness because the air was so bitter. Each breath drew it inside her chest, making her throat ache just a bit. She knew the bite of snow. It was early. Very early, and would likely not last. But for the moment, she knew before she opened her eyes that there would be no leaving the tower today.
But she needed to move. Her belly was so empty, she felt like it was stuck to her backbone. Truly, she’d never been so hungry.
The shirt had worked its way into a tangle around her body. It was barely covering the curve of her hip. But the bedding was pulled all the way up to her chin. Cora blinked and peeked over the edge of the covers.
The room was simple. Two chairs stood near a table. As she sat up, she noticed the traveling secretary’s desk sitting on the table. A modest one made of simple wood. There was a stool near the bed. Faolan’s boots and kilt were missing from it now.
She hadn’t imagined him. Cora didn’t waste time on such a foolish idea. His presence was already embedded in her memory, like a ghost she didn’t have any hope of banishing.
Only he was very much alive.
Her underskirt and stays were laid over the back of the chairs. Pain shot through her body as she moved her feet to the floor. Her struggle against the river had left its mark, but the discomfort did not dissuade her from getting up. Cora smiled, accepting the pain as the payment for taunting death.
Her smock was darkened from dirt. But the fabric felt clean enough, and it was dry. She pulled it over her head and reached for her underskirt. She let out a little sigh as she discovered her stockings and garters beneath it.
There was also a tingle of heat on her cheeks as she realized Faolan had seen to her more personal needs.
Perhaps there is a Head-of-House…
It was a logical idea, but if there were a female servant in the towers, Cora would have expected to see her last night.
Cora secured her stockings in place above her knees with the garters. Her boots were nowhere in sight. So she reached for her stays and began to thread the lace through the eyelets to close them. It seemed another little twist of fate, which had seen her wearing simple garments in spite of her position as the laird’s sister. Today she was grateful she could dress herself.
Well, ye’re no’ exactly dressed…
Cora dismissed her thoughts. She needed to be grateful for being alive, not quibbling over having only her underclothing.
Ye spent the night in bed with a man.
The heat teasing her cheeks became a full blush. But she felt something very unexpected as she admitted that she was, in fact, blushing.
She wasn’t ashamed.
Not a bit. If truth be told, she was excited by the memory.
The admission made her curious. But her belly rumbled long and loudly. So, she abandoned her thoughts in favor of finding something to eat. A comb was laid on the tabletop. She spent close to an hour picking the tangles from her hair before she could braid it, then made her way from the chamber.
The door opened to a small landing. Steps rose on one side and descended on the other. Someone had brought her boots up after they had finished drying, and she slipped them on.
Cora headed down the steps, her confidence in her choices strong.
Faolan McKay?
She knew of the McKay. They lived far north. The river had carried her toward the coast.
Cora searched her mind but couldn’t recall hearing of a Faolan McKay. No matter. The man was due her gratitude, and she wasn’t going to be so shallow as to consider his position in life as anything less than her savior. If he was the humblest of crofters, so be it. Fate had brought them together.
She made it to the bottom of the tower. Her overdress was missing. Faolan had mentioned a hearth. Opening the door, she blinked as the bright sunlight greeted her.
Oh yea, she was grateful.
Cora stepped out and lifted her face. Clucking touched her ears from several chickens, who were busy searching for bugs in the yard. The tower itself was constructed of the stone strewn all over the ground. It rose up three stories with the help of mortar. The top of it was open, to serve as a watch post. The second tower was a hundred feet down a slope. Cora ventured toward it and found herself looking over a cliff that had waves crashing at its base. The ocean stretched out forever, and her senses were filled with the salt air.
It was majestic. Awe-inspiring, but there was also a beach below her. One large enough for ships to pull up onto.
The tower was an outpost. One with an important task, for it would keep the McKay from being invaded from the sea.
“Yer wits appear to be unaffected by yer rough journey, Mistress Cora.”
Cora turned, startled by Faolan’s arrival behind her. Heat surfaced in her cheeks as she realized the crash of the waves had masked his approach. She meant to greet him with confidence, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she gained her first real look at the man.
He was larger than she had remembered.
It hadn’t been a trick of the shadows. Her head barely came to his shoulder, and the man was as rough as his tower. There wasn’t a spare bit of flesh on him, and in spite of the wind coming in from the sea, he had his oversleeves tied behind his back and his shirt sleeves rolled up. It granted her a glimpse of his forearms. They were cut with muscle and darkened by exposure to the sun. His hair was black as midnight. He kept a beard that was trimmed close, but the grooming did nothing to lessen how ominous he appeared. His eyes were blue. The same color as the sky, almost as though Fate was hinting at his heart being far lighter, if a person could get past his formidable exterior.
“Yes…I must convey my gratitude to you, sir. Yer assistance was and is most appreciated. Thank ye,” Cora muttered as she realized he was watching her.
He nodded before his gaze swept her from head to toe. His expression didn’t offer her any hint of apology for how frankly he was looking her over. No, Faolan didn’t care one bit for how outrageous it might be considered.
“Gainor,” Faolan spoke in a hard tone. “Ye lost.”
Another man appeared alongside Faolan. His beard was longer, and he was busy twisting the ends of it, his lips were pressed together in frustration. “Aye,” he groused after contemplating her for a moment. “I concede defeat. She’s steady sure enough. No’ even close to fainting.” He cocked his head to one side, and his lips twitched. “Perhaps the lass suffers from bad eyesight and can nae see what an ugly brute ye are.”
Faolan grunted in response. But it was one of those sounds men made among themselves. Cora had spent enough time over the last two years with the Mackenzie Retainers to know the two men were jesting with each other.
At her expense, no less. She narrowed her eyes and fixed them both with a steady gaze.
“Wagering on the strength of my constitution?” Cora asked directly.
They both offered her an unashamed shrug.
“This is no’ place for niceties,” Faolan replied.
“The lasses,” Gainor said, “they prefer the McKay castle to our tower. Still, ye were right glad to see it last night, were ye no’?”
“Indeed, I was,” Cora responded. “I am sincerely grateful.”
“Can ye turn bread?” Gainor wasted no time asking.
Two more burly Retainers were making quick progress toward them. They heard their comrade’s question and hurried to be close enough to hear her response.
“Forget it.” Faolan made a slicing motion with his hand. “She’s Laird Buchanan Mackenzie’s sister. So, she will no’ be wedding any of ye.”
There was disappointed grumbling.
Faolan offered her a shrug. “This is a wee bit remote. The lads got to thinking ye might be inclined to stay. On account of ye being delivered here by the hand of Fate.”