“Aye. To the back of it. Runs in through some opening in the rock when it rains and collects in a pool, a hollowed-out spot that was probably made by the constant wear of the water. ’Tis one reason I marked this as a resting place when I travel.” He grabbed a pack from his saddle. “Come. I will start a fire and there should be something in here ye can wear so that ye can e’en clean your clothes. While ye clean up, I will settle the horses. That will give ye a wee bit of privacy,” he continued as he grasped her by the hand and tugged her inside the small cave.
Once inside, Arianna stood very still, fighting her deep fear of such places, as Sir Brian made a fire. The moment the light of the fire spread throughout the small cave, she was better able to calm her fear. It was not as small as she had first thought, but, for a man of Sir Brian’s height, the area in which he could move without risking a head wound was small. The rest of the cave slanted down toward the back until it shrank into little more that a mouse’s tunnel. She heard the slow drip of water and immediately became all too aware of how ragged and dirty she was.
“Here. A pot of soap and a drying cloth.” As soon as she took the items he held out to her, Brian draped a shirt over her arm. “A clean shirt. Ye are a wee lass so it should cover ye modestly enough. I will tend to the horses now, and brush away our tracks leading to this place. That should give ye time enough to clean up. Aye?”
“Aye,” she answered. “Thank ye. I am verra eager to wash away the dirt.”
She hurried toward the sound of dripping water, glancing back to make sure he had left the cave. It took all of her willpower not to just tear off her clothing, and she sternly reminded herself that she had need of them no matter how badly they were torn or stained. She could not ride about dressed only in a man’s shirt and her cloak.
Tossing aside the last of her clothes, she stepped into the water, pleased to find it reached to her knees. She sat down in the water, uncaring of the slight chill it carried, and hurried to clean herself. Several places on her body were sore, causing her to wince as she washed, but she did not hesitate to give even those places a hearty scrubbing as well. Once her hair was washed, she dried off as best she could, squeezing and rubbing as much of the water from her hair as she could. It was not until she donned the shirt that she lost a little of her pleasure in getting clean once again.
The shirt was soft and clean but hung only to her knees, and she had nothing to wear beneath it. Arianna pushed aside her embarrassment and washed out her clothes. There was no other choice for her. She could not wear the clothes she had shed until they were clean. Ragged though her shift and stockings were, she was not sure they would be wearable even after they were cleaned, but if they could be salvaged, at least they would not stink of seawater, blood, and mud.
Arianna was spreading her wet clothes wherever she could on the rocks when Sir Brian returned with the packs from the horses. Before she could speak, he left again and she frowned. She ought to be helping him but suspected she was still too weak to be of much help. That angered her. Arianna detested the need to place her fate and care, as well as that of the boys, in another’s hands.
“Foolish pride,” she muttered as she searched the packs for some food, determined to at least set out a meal for the man who was helping her.
The aches and weakness would trouble her for a little while longer. She would have to accept that. It was a miracle she and the boys had not drowned, that they had stumbled upon ones willing to help them so quickly. Her pride could take the bruising if it meant that they all survived. Arianna knew her pride had suffered a far worse battering at the hands of her late husband and she had gained little for it. So it could certainly withstand allowing a man to help her and the boys to survive. She had, after all, come to Scotland to seek the help of her family. Sir Brian was at least allied to her family through marriage.
“This may help to fill our bellies,” Brian said as he entered and held up a rabbit readied for the spit.
Arianna stared at the catch in wide-eyed surprise. “I didnae think ye were gone long enough to go hunting.”
“Didnae hunt it. Ill-fated creature hopped right into the midst of the horses. Fortunately, I am verra good at throwing a knife.” He set the rabbit down and pulled a clever collection of iron rods from the pack, which he swiftly set up as a spit above the fire. “My brothers willnae be pleased that I took the pack with this in it.” He winked at her and grinned. “It is a highly prized tool for one’s travels.”
A blush heated her cheeks and her heart actually beat faster in her chest, as Arianna reeled a little beneath the heady power of that smile. He is kin, she reminded herself firmly, but herself was all too quick to also remind her of the very tenuous connection of the MacFingals to the Murrays, despite his brother’s marriage to her cousin. She had a lot of cousins. Arianna just nodded in a way she felt certain looked idiotic and then moved back from the fire to give him plenty of room to set up the spit. And to put some distance between her and a far too handsome man, she thought ruefully, silently accepting her own cowardice.
It troubled her that he could make her feel like some innocent maid who was caught up in her first time of flirting with a man. While it was true that she had had little experience with such games before marrying, she was now a woman who had been married for five years, betrayed, and widowed. She should be long past such blushes and flutters.
“Do ye ken how to cook it?” he asked.
“Aye. All the women in my clan learn how to cook. ’Tis believed it helps in kenning what is going on in the kitchens of the house the woman may rule one day, or if she weds a mon who cannae really afford such help,” she replied, and then quickly shut her mouth, afraid that she was beginning to babble.
“A verra wise thing to do. I will leave ye to it for I need to clean up.”
Arianna was astonished at how difficult it was for her to keep her full attention on cooking the rabbit as he walked away. She had never had any compelling urge to watch men so closely before. At times she had paused to appreciate a handsome face or a tall, strong body, but only for a glance or two. A part of her, however, was eager to closely watch Sir Brian MacFingal, to gaze for a long time at the way his tall strong body moved, the way his long, thick black hair gleamed in the light, or how his eyes lightened and darkened with his changing moods.
He did have a very handsome face, she mused. It was a strong face, its hard lines almost predatory when he was angry yet quickly softened by a smile. Those thickly lashed, dark blue eyes and the slight fullness to his lips softened the harshness of his features as well, but she had seen how fierce he could look when she had told him that Amiel and the DeVeaux wanted to kill the boys. It was that look that had prompted her to trust him with the lives of her boys. Her doubts about trusting the man were only faint ghostly twinges now, perhaps because her heart knew she had made the best decision for the survival of her boys.
She did not like being away from her boys, detested not knowing how they fared, yet was certain they would be protected. Just as she was certain she would be protected, that this man would do his best to get her somewhere safe and reunited with Michel and Adelar. That the occasional doubt she had did not linger puzzled her. It also worried her. She did not appear to be holding fast to her vow to be more wary, more cautious, about whom she put her trust in.
The sound of splashing water yanked her out of her thoughts. Had he shed his clothes to wash? Arianna was shocked that such a question would leap to mind. Worse, she badly wanted to look to get an answer to that question. Utter madness, she decided, and turned her attention to the pack that held the supplies. She put every scrap of willpower she could gather into settling all her thoughts on the simple matter of putting together a decent meal. The whispered suggestion that slithered through her mind that she was doing so to impress Sir Brian was ruthlessly suppressed.
Brian rinsed his clothes and spread them out. The rough shelter slowly filled with the tantalizing scent of roasting meat and something else. Lady Arianna had obviously decided to add something to the simple meal. By the scent of what she had made, he knew he would appreciate it but hoped she had not used too free a hand with his supplies. Gathering more while they fled her enemies would not be easy.
Turning to join her by the fire, he hesitated after only one step in her direction. She was busily using her fingers to comb out her hair, pausing now and then to gently untangle a stubborn knot or tend to the meal. Hints of red were revealed by the light of the fire, enlivening the thick mass of honey-gold hair that was so long it pooled a little on the ground by her slim hips. His fingers itched to take over the chore of untangling it.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It eased the worst of a sudden fierce attack of lust but the sharp bite of hunger lingered. Something about the delicate Lady Arianna severed his control over his lusts, a control he had long prided himself on. From the time he had first looked into her soft golden eyes he had guessed that she could be trouble, but he had not truly considered just how great a temptation she could be to him. It could prove to be a very long journey ahead.
For a moment he considered seducing her. She was no maid, but a widow. Many men considered widows fair game. Then Brian grimaced. That was the reckless MacFingal part of him whispering in his ear. From what Lady Arianna had told him, she had little cause to trust men. Seducing her would certainly not aid her in trusting him.
“That smells verra fine, lass,” he said as he moved to sit down next to her.
She tensed and he fought the urge to shift farther away from her. It might have been better if he had sat across the fire from her but he had not wished to stare into those captivating eyes of hers as he tried to eat his meal. Brian told himself it was best if he did not coddle her unease, either, for she had to depend upon him until she was safe with her family. He was not surprised when a little voice in his head scoffed at that excuse. It was a paltry one.
“I mixed some leeks ye had with the stale bread and a piece of rather old cheese. ’Tis naught,” she said, trying not to be too pleased by his compliment. “Thought we ought to have more than just the meat.” She cast a glance at his pack of supplies. “Ye carry a goodly store of food.”
“Aye. I dinnae like to go hungry.”
