“Maybe ten minutes,” he says, taking my hand. “Let me help ye over this rockslide.”
It’s then that the heavens open up and all of nature’s fury descends upon us at once. I’m Scottish and no stranger to rain, but this feels like needles pelting into my skin and I grit my teeth tight, keeping them from chattering.
“Almost there, lass. Not far.” Lucas shouts over the thunder. Another violent crackle of lightning seems to shoot sideways and when it touches earth, it blows a stone outcropping apart not far from us and I scream. He sweeps me up in his arms, hopping from rock to rock with the ease of a Highland wildcat and we’re at the castle in minutes.
The iron gates at the entrance are massive and likely rusted shut, but Lucas kicks them open after two or three tries.
“I’m gonna find the kitchen,” he says, lifting me back into his arms and striding across the courtyard. “It’ll have the easiest source for a fire and they tend to have low ceilings, quicker to warm up.”
“W- w- will anyone see the smoke?” I’ve given up, teeth chattering and bone-deep shuddering.
“Not in this storm.” He shoulders open anotherdoor and it’s the promised kitchen, with a big fireplace. There’s a thick layer of dust and sand, but I can still see the vivid tiles on the walls, cobalt blue and yellow. “Ah, grand. There’s a huge pile of charcoal,” he says, setting me down.
In minutes, there’s a cheerful fire in the ancient brazier and I scoot as close as I dare. He’s taken off his shirt, hanging it up to dry and I greedily examine his tattoos. He’d gotten more, when he went to Siberia, a skull on a barren tree inked on his back. On his side, there’s a thistle woven expertly through a complicated Celtic knot.
“Ye need to be out of those wet clothes or I’ll never get ye warmed up.” He’s rooting through his backpack and holds up my shredded skirt and sweater, stiff from the dunking in the stream yesterday and then dried overnight, but they’ll fit me at least.
“Ye need to turn around,” I say stiffly, holding the sweater against my chest.
“I’m going through the rest of the castle for a security check.” He sounds completely indifferent to my potential nudity. Not even in a gentlemanly-like way. Just indifferent.
Bastard.
“Grand. Counting the minutes to your return.”
Lucas gives me a cool, level stare before leaving the room. He wasn’t always this impenetrable.The memory of our last night together blooms in full color and I growl, pushing the memory away and yanking off my wet shirt and bra. The sweater feels wonderfully warm against my skin, which is still raised with goosebumps the size of the boulders outside. Wrestling myself out of the soaked pants takes longer, but I’m finally dry again and wringing the rainwater out of my hair by the time he returns.
“No signs of any recent activity here.” He’s still shirtless, damn him and the firelight plays along his defined biceps, those chiseled abs and the V line of muscle pointing enticingly to what’s under his low-slung cargo pants. I want to scream at him to get dressed. Or take everything off and let me look. I’m leaning more towards the latter.
“...ye awright?”
He’s looking concerned and I flush. “Fine. My brain’s just warming up too. Ye were saying?”
“I was asking about your back. What pain level are we talking, then?”
Shifting with a slight wince, I admit, “A five out of ten.”
“I should have carried ye.” He pulls out the pill bottles he’d stolen for me yesterday, taking some tablets out. “Two of each, aye?”
“Aye, thank you. And carrying me all over theAtlas Mountains issosustainable.” I say dryly. “Ye kept me alive. Ye got me medication. You’re doing more than your part here, Lucas.”
“I should have ye home by now.” He unbuttons his wet pants, looking up as I flush and spin with my back to him. “Trust fecking Hugo Dubois to put ye in the most remote and inhospitable of his lairs.”
“Hah! That’s what I called it, his villain’s lair,” I chuckle, feeling warm and safer now that he’s back.
And possibly naked.
“Aye?” His deep voice is right behind me, and I hear the rustle of clothing.
Damn. He’s getting dressed.
“What did he say?” he asks.
“He seemed taken aback by it, so maybe that poisoning was sparked by the lair comment as well as not knowing who he was, he’s so-”
“Poisoning?” Lucas takes my shoulders and turns me, keeping his hands there. He’s furious, skin drawn tight, his eyes the color of the storm clouds outside. “Did he hurt ye? What happened?”
“Oh, it-” My throat feeling like its dissolving, muscles slack and twitching… the horror of it hits me again. “He put a Death Cap mushroom inmy dinner. When he could tell it was taking effect, he put a tray of antidotes in front of me and made me find the right one. That wasn’t bad. The toxin is fairly common and-”
