She turned to see Tanin signaling her from Janelle’s hut.
“Peter must be conscious enough to speak coherently,” Storm said and stood.
“I’ll have an answer from you sooner or later,” Burke said as he walked off ahead of her.
A chill ran through her, seeping into her bones and causing her to shiver. Was she imagining things, or did Mr. Longton seem interested in her? She shook her head. She felt foolish for even giving the idea credence. He was nothing more than a brash American who spoke out of turn every chance he got.
She was a woman who missed her husband and the intimacy she had shared with him. There wasn’t a night she hadn’t ached for Daniel’s touch, for his hard, warm body next to hers, for the way he held her close when they slept or the way he teased her body alive with his fingers and his lips.
Somehow, Burke had managed to spark those memories and ignite them. However, it would do her little good to feed the flame. Mr. Longton would eventually return to America. She would never see him again.
But then her life was far from conducive to finding love. Perhaps she should allow herself to enjoy a brief interlude with Burke and fill the emptiness inside her, if only temporarily.
She could make no commitment to a man or promise a future with children. More than likely she would eventually be caught, imprisoned, and perhaps put to death, or she would live out her days in the woods as an outlaw.
She had no future, a fact she accepted, so therefore she had to live life for the moment, and Burke was here for the moment.
“Storm!” Tanin called out again.
She hurried off, trying not to think about Burke.
“I did not see the man,” Storm heard Peter say upon entering the hut.
“Is there anything you can tell me about him?” Burke asked.
Storm noticed that Peter breathed slowly as if it hurt him to take the slightest breath. “Take your time,” she said, kneeling beside him.
The injured man attempted to smile and winced. “I do know he was given extra attention.”
“Treated special?” Burke asked.
“If treated worse is special,” Peter answered sadly. “His size probably helped him. He was a big man, wide with muscle and tall. He had to bend his head to enter the torture room.”
“What color was his hair?” Burke asked.
“Like yours,” Peter said with a nod to Burke.
Storm watched Burke tense.
“He was a brave one, or perhaps foolish,” Peter said. “He refused to speak, answer any questions, deny any accusations.”
“What did they accuse him of?” Storm asked.
“Stealing from the Earl of Balford. A horrendous fate awaited him is what they promised when they finally dragged him away.”
“What did he steal?’ Burke asked.
“I don’t know,” Peter said.
“You never heard him called by name?” Burke asked anxiously.
“If I did, I don’t remember. I wish I could be of more help.” A tear spilled from the corner of his swollen eye. “I am forever grateful for the rescue and am sorry to have misled you.”
“Don’t worry,” Storm said, patting his arm gently. “We would have rescued you whether you were the man we were after or not.”
The man reached out a feeble hand to Storm. “You’re the woman whispered about in the prisons. The one everyone prays will free them.”
“I do what I can for those in need.”
