“Keep yer distance, Tinkler!” Ulfr ordered.
The woman stopped but lifted a hand in greeting, remaining that way until they passed through the opened gates and Christiana could see her no more.
With a sigh, she pushed the woman from her thoughts. Exhaustion from the long ride and from her restless night dulled her senses. What she needed more than anything was a good sleep before she confronted Torquil. A good sleep, and a hot mug of lavender-and-betony tincture to warm her up.
The cause of her restless night nudged his leg against hers, sending a wave of the now-familiar fire coursing through her belly, driving away any need for a hot drink.
As he hopped down to the ground and turned to assist her, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d gotten any more sleep than she had after they’d returned to the camp last night. Or had he, too, tossed and turned, his mind and body filled with the same longing that had plagued her?
She gave herself over to Chase’s hands, holding on to his arms as her feet touched the ground. Even such a small, innocent contact set her wanting more.
“I’ll make sure we get the wagon unloaded for you,” he offered as he slid an arm around her to support her weight. “You should probably take it easy. You need to rest that foot of yours so it can heal.”
She had no desire to tell him it was already all but healed. Healed, she’d have no need of his assistance. No excuse for the strong arm around her waist, supporting her as she made her way towardher door. And for that particular pleasure, a little faking seemed a small enough price to pay.
“Chase!”
Christiana swiveled her head to see Halldor headed toward them at a run.
“He’s just going to have to wait,” Chase muttered, shoving open the door to her tower with his foot even as he tightened his hold around her waist. “What the holy hell?”
When Christiana turned her attention to the sight in front of her, she very nearly echoed Chase’s exclamation.
“Who are you?” she managed, pushing away from Chase’s arms to hurry to the young woman curled up on the floor in front of her fireplace. She was clearly held prisoner, a rope stretching from the iron loop in the fire pit to tie snugly around the woman’s ankle.
“Who’s done this to you?”
“That would be me, my lady.” Halldor stood in the doorway behind Chase. “I’d hoped to warn you before you entered.”
“Warn us?” Fury crawled up from the depths of Christiana’s emotions. “I’d say you’ve a much greater need for explanation than warning.”
“Bridget belongs to me,” Halldor answered simply.
“Belongsto you?” Christiana dropped to her knees to fumble with the knot snug against the obviously frightened woman’s skin. “People do not belong to other people.”
“That one does.” Artur had joined the men at the doorway. “Our lord himself gave that one to O’Donar as punishment for her attempt at sticking a knife into our good laird.”
“What?” Christiana’s hands stilled as she looked from the woman to Halldor. “Is this true?”
“I’ve not the time for explanations now. Our laird himself awaits me. And you, little brother”—he slapped Chase on the back—“are exactly the one I’d have accompany me.”
“But what about this—”
“Leave her as she is. She knows what will happen if she tries to escape. Best she tells you about that while we’re gone. Come along, little brother.”
Chase followed as Halldor stepped out the open door, but quickly returned carrying the clay jar Christiana had protected all the way from Orabilis’s cottage.
“Artur’s men are unloading your bags into the storage room. Do as I said and get off that foot. And don’t worry. I’ll find out what’s going on and I’ll get back to you.”
Christiana nodded, accepting the jar containing her precious elixir before the men filed out of her tower, leaving her alone with her unusual guest.
“Well,” she said at last. “Bridget, is it? Let me put this away and I’ll find a blade to free you up from that binding.”
Surprisingly, the woman laughed. “Dinna be daft, Mistress Christiana. I could remove this at anytime I chose. Were you no listening to O’Donar? It’s no the binding about my ankle keeping me here, but fear over the alternative.”
“The alternative?” Christiana echoed, not at all understanding what was happening.
“Aye,” the other woman replied. “The wrath of the beast that O’Donar goes even now to see. The beast you call a brother.”
