Thorburn.The firstword, the first image that filled her mind as soon as Adellis opened her eyes.
She wrinkled her nose as she stared up at the heavy cloth ceiling softly billowing above her. Nay. No matter how hard she tried, that name did not suit the man who had granted her such an unforgettable evening. Thor or her Scottish bear. Those names fit her delightful warrior, her dear, soft-hearted beast. She indulged in a long, luxurious stretch, enjoying the comfort of his bed for a moment longer before pushing herself upright and looking around.
A slow perusal revealed she was alone. Guilt about such slackness on her part pricked at her conscience. How could she have slept so soundly? And without a single dream. The realization made her smile. He had promised to protect her from her demons, and the man had been true to his word.
Even so, whenever Thorburn rose from her side, she should have realized it. But here she sat, staring at what looked like the slant of the midday sun flooding through the open flap of the tent.
Alone. With a pile of clean clothing on the foot of the platform and food and drink within easy reach. She had slept through it all. Both her bear’s rustlings and Hendry’s service. A disgruntled hiss escaped her. Such laziness was not acceptable at all. Her hands curled into nervous fists. She had never let down her guard like that before. Caution tossed aside not only risked her life but always resulted in chaos. The enjoyment of the fine warrior was fine. Making herself vulnerable to him was not.
When she reached for the tankard, the marks on her wrists reminded her of how he had removed the shackles. She turned and stared at the pile of unlocked irons in the corner. Such a strange man she had found to be her savior. He had even told her the most effective way to escape. The man stirred a troubling confusion within her—no, not confusion, but a strange new weakness she preferred not to examine too closely.
A drink would clear her head. The cool refreshment sloshed against her lips, revealing them chafed and tender this morning. Perhaps from so much use last night? They hadn’t kissed all that much, but when they had, it had been with a fierce hunger—not the tender nibbling of hesitant lovers. The memory of it made her ache for him all over again.
The uncomfortable wanting made her resettle herself on the furs. What was wrong with her? She’d enjoyed wonderful lovers before and easily forgotten them when they no longer served her purpose. But none had ever been like her Scottish bear. And it wasn’t just his physical prowess or artful bed play, but something more. Something—intangible. A ferocious yet tender protectiveness.
She shook away the silliness of her musings and reached for the platter of bread, cheese, slices of apple, and raspberries. The sweet tartness of the fruit tamed the sharpness of the pale cheese she recognized as coming from the nearest village. The bread was tough but edible. It could be worse. At least they hadn’t left her a bowl of those boiled oats Scots seemed to love so much.
As she finished the ale, a familiar voice caught her attention. Deep. Rumbling. She smiled. There was her Scottish bear. He spoke with someone just past the entrance of the tent. She rose quietly, edging forward with her head inclined to catch every word.
“It was Marta,” said a voice she didn’t recognize. “Naked. Staked to the cliff.” The speaker paused and made a noise that sounded like a cross between a gag and a cough. “Scavengers had already got to her.”
“But ye recovered what was left of her?” Thorburn asked.
“Aye. They’re taking her to Craignure now. They’ll see her buried proper.”
“Ensure they know it was not done by my order,” Thorburn advised. “I dinna mind them fearing us, but I willna have them thinking we stoop to such cowardly acts as feeding old women to the terns.”
“I shall see to it, Constable.”
Adellis knew very well who had ordered such a thing done to the healer. Alrek thrived on such cruelties and used them to maintain a high level of fear and obedience among his servants. She retreated a step as Thorburn entered the tent.
“Good morning to ye, m’lady.” His swaggering gait revealed no limp or soreness in his injured leg.
“Good morning.” She nodded toward his knee. “It appears that whisky, honey, and vigorous exercise have healed you.”
His smile reflected the same devilment dancing in his eyes. “Aye, m’lady. Ye worked wonders for me.” His gaze traveled across her like a lover’s caress. “And how are ye this morning? Yer wound? Is it better?”
Without hesitating, she lifted her tunic and exposed her hip. She peeled away the bandage and smiled. The gash looked a great deal less angry and well on its way to mending. “It appears the treatment benefited me as well.” She warmed her tone with seductive invitation. She wanted him. Again. Now. “We should administer more tonic. Do you not agree?”
His demeanor immediately changed. With his chin slanting to a determined angle, he resettled his stance. The muscles in his throat and jaw flexed with a hard swallow. “I do agree. Most wholeheartedly,” he said, but instead of coming to her, shifted his focus to the table beside them. With a sweep of his hand, he motioned to a stool. “However—I feel it important we talk first. Yer seat, m’lady.”
Experience had taught her the canniness to control her composure and keep her uneasiness hidden. She gave a regal nod of acceptance, then lowered herself to the seat and folded her hands on the table. “And what shall we speak of, my bear? I sharedeverythingwith you last night.” She could tell by the way the corners of his eyes tightened, then relaxed that he read her meaning.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he seated himself opposite her, on the side toward the exit. Was he still so leery of her? After everything they had shared? She accepted the leeriness as a compliment. The twined joints of his stool creaked beneath his weight. Scowling, he looked down and wiggled. “Hendry should see to this one.”
Her mighty Scot was stalling. Uncomfortable about something. The tensed angle of his shoulders and fisted hand on the table betrayed him. Never one to play about with words, she leaned forward with the same cold ferocity that made her brother’s meeker followers avoid her. “Speak your fears, lest they control you.”
“Marta is dead. Found staked to a cliff.”
“I heard.” She felt no reason to conceal her eavesdropping. At least, not this time. “I can promise you her end was ordered by my brother.”
“I need to understand why ye havena escaped him before now?” He squared himself up to the table and rested both massive forearms in front of him. “Ye proved yerself a powerful warrior. Cunning as a wee fox. I am certain ye’ve resources of yer own, being the sister to the jarl and all. I fail to see how ye couldna distance yerself from that fool before now.” His gaze slid to the stake where she had been chained. “And in a less dangerous way than allowing yerself to be taken prisoner.”
“That is because you are a man,” she said with a sharpness she regretted. She must not allow him to goad her into losing control and revealing anything she didn’t wish shared. Some things, some memories, were better left undisturbed. While she would always be honest with him, that didn’t mean she had to tell him everything.
“I have known women in Norway to own property. Manage their own households. Survive without the benefit of a man. How is it ye say ye couldna be free?”
“Do not judge me when you know nothing of what I have lived.” A surprising disappointment filled her. TheGallóglaighConstable had shown himself to be a typical man, after all. He appeared either unable or unwilling to understand the difficulty of escaping the clutches of a madman who had charmed and intimidated an entire clan into following him. So be it. She hadn’t expected him to understand, and it was just as well. Knowing this would make leaving him easier once they reached Scotland.
