Page 20 of Savage Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER TWELVE

“What is this place?” she asked as he knelt on the filthy earthen floor and coaxed a flame into being.

“I dunno. Maybe the home of a hunter or a hermit.” He blew on the flame, adding a pinch of the wood shavings he had stored in his tinder box. They caught, so he slowly added some of the kindling, then progressively larger logs until the flames took hold in earnest and began to grow higher. The crackling flames created a small circle of comforting heat. “There ye go. We’ll nae freeze tae death overnight. Come closer tae the fire and warm yersel’,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

She shuffled closer on her behind, moving as slowly as an old lady. “Thank you,” she replied with a worrying listlessness. She peeled off her wet gloves and stretched out her hands towards the flames. After a few moments she said, “The cave seems luxurious compared to this discomfort.”

“Survival is nae about comfort,” he told her shortly, going to see to the horses. Once he had made them comfortable, he took the pan from his pack and went outside to catch some snow in it. He was anxious to make some hot tea and get it inside Constance, hoping it would revive her. He put it to boil in the fire and then went out again, this time to fetch in an armful of the wet, tough grass from outside the cabin for the beasts to eat.

By the time he had finished, the water had boiled. He knew Constance must be in a bad way because, unlike before, she sat as though frozen to her spot, making no move to remove the pan or make the tea. Anxious to get her warmed up as quickly as possible, Bane hurriedly made the brew, added a dab of honey, and put the hot beaker in her hand.

He watched as she sipped at it and was secretly relieved to see some colour gradually returning to her cheeks as she drank, her slim fingers wrapped around the beaker for warmth. Gradually, her teeth ceased their chattering, and her shivering subsided.

“I do not even think I shall survive the night in this awful place you have brought me too,” she said gloomily.

“Ye said that last night, and yet here ye are. Ye’ll feel better once we have somethin’ hot tae eat,” he assured her.

“Hmm,” she murmured, slumped into herself, staring wordlessly into the flames.

“Ye should take off yer wet things or ye’ll catch a chill,” he said, hearing the worry in his voice. She picked up on it at once.

“Oh, so you are worried about my health now, are you? Well, you need not be concerned about me. Although I could very well die of cold and starvation in the night, you have already made it very clear that my father will pay the same ransom for me whether I am dead or alive.”

Ach, why did I tell her that?

“If ye die of cold, it’ll nae be down tae me,” he retorted, going on the defensive. “I’ve told ye tae get out of those wet things and put somethin’ dry on. Ye have dry clothes in yer saddlebag. ’Tis only yer stubborn nature that prevents ye from daein’ as I say.”

“I am not taking a single item of clothing off, however wet it may be, in front of you!”

“D’ye want me tae come over there and dae it fer ye?” he threatened, hoping that would persuade her.

Her eyes flew wide. “You would not dare!”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” He took a step in her direction.

“All right, all right, I will dae as you say,” she agreed grudgingly. “But you must turn your back and promise not to look.”

Smiling inwardly, Bane nodded. “I promise. Anyway, in case ye havenae noticed, I’m soaked tae the skin as well, so I’ll be too busy changin’ mesel’.” He could not help adding, “That is, if ye promise nae tae peek.”

“You fool,” she said, getting wearily to her feet and fetching her saddle bag from where Bane had left it with the other tack. Meanwhile, Bane sorted out some dry things from his pack to change into. With a last glance at each other, they each turned their back and proceeded to strip off their wet clothing.

Constance told herself that she was only looking over her shoulder at Bane to make sure he was not spying on her in her state of undress. He was not. He showed no concern for her at all, for he was too busy getting out of his wet things as quickly as he could. But Constance did not stop peeking at him despite his playful warning. When she saw him pull his shirt off over his head to reveal his muscular chest and torso once again, she found herself transfixed by the sight of his powerful body.

The sight sent strange thrills chasing through her that made her shiver but had nothing to do with the freezing temperature. The feelings it stirred inside her were deeply confusing yet at the same time terribly exciting. He was the only grown man she had ever seen in such close proximity half undressed like that, and she had certainly never seen a man who looked anything like him. Despite his gruff personality, she had to admit he was beautiful to look at. She was shocked to find herself wondering what he would look like with all his clothes off.

In fact, when he put on a clean, dry shirt, covering up his spectacular muscles, she felt oddly disappointed. But that feeling was mixed with guilt for her impure, unladylike thoughts, hence her confusion. Finally, she tore her eyes away from him and tried to focus on the task at hand, but as she fumbled with numb fingers at the fastenings of her dress, the image of his husky, half-naked form lingered in her mind’s eye. Silently, she berated herself for her response.

How can I be so attracted to him? He is my captor, the man making me go through all this suffering, a common criminal!

And though she badly wanted to deny it, there was a part of her that was a little put out that he had not attempted the tiniest peek at her.

He was soon dressed in fresh, dry clothing and began arranging his wet clothes and boots to dry by the fire. Constance dressed in a clean shift, two pairs of clean woollen stockings, and the warmest of her two gowns. When she had finished, she felt much more comfortable than before. Taking her cue from Bane, she put her wet things beside his to dry and then snuggled into her blanket again by the fire.

She watched as he prepared a stew of some kind, using melted snow, a handful of oats, and some of the dried meat in his pack. He sat stirring it with the small knife, and the strong aroma the concoction produced soon permeated the cabin.

She leaned forward to get a better look at it, wrinkling her nose. “What is that?”

“’Tis a stew with goat’s meat.”