The patter of rain melded with the howl of the wind as he scraped together the weathered needles below the limbs, shaping them into a soft, level mound.
“Whatare you doing?”
He wiped off his hands, spread the woven material atop the heap, and then sat back. “Making our stay more comfortable. Until the storm breaks, ’tis best to remainout of sight.”
“We have seen no sign of the English.”
Despite the hope in her voice, he refused to give her false assurances. “They are out there. After discovering us gone and the crofters’ huts and fields burned, they will suspect we have learned their true intention.” He spread another blanket atop the one covering the makeshift bed. “Climb under andtry to sleep.”
Worried eyes held his.“What of you?”
Aiden scanned the murky, storm-fed surroundings. “I will keep guard.”
Needles crunched and the scent of pine lifted as she settled into place. She handed him the coverlet he’d placed over her shoulders. “Here, t-’twill offer you protection.”
“I thank you.” Her teeth chattered, and he frowned. With the storm intensifying and night quickly approaching, it had grown cold. She was drenched and clearly exhausted, a dangerous combination. With a beleaguered sigh, Aiden lifted the makeshift cover, removed his cape, and crawledin next to her.
She gasped. “W-whatare you doing?”
Working to ignore her soft body pressed against his, he pulled the cover over them. “The heat of our bodies willkeep us warm.”
Long seconds passed. She lay stiff against him. “I wish we couldstart a fire.”
“As I do. Even if we had dry tinder, given the circumstances, ’tis unwise.”
Lightning flashed overhead.Thunder boomed.
She jumped, and Aiden lay his hand on her shoulder. “’Tis naught but a storm.”
“Thunder always makes me nervous,” she whispered. Another blast shook the earth, and she caught his hand. On a sharp exhale, she released him. “You must think me foolish.”
“Nay.”
Another slash of lightning severed the blackened sky; thunder raged around them.
“When I was a child, my father would tell me stories to try to calm me.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “He would explain how knights battled in the heavens, the great sounds naught but the warriors’ broadswords’ clashing.”
He arched a brow. “An intriguing tale.”
“One of many,” she said, the hint of a smile in her words. “My favorite memories are of the walks my father and I would take along the shore. At the last moments of day, when the intricate maze of oranges, reds, and golds faded on the horizon, he would tell me stories of the fey. He explained that sunset was the most magical time of day.”
Moved by the love in her words, the tenderness, he swallowed hard. “They are wonderful memories.”
“They are. Now,” she replied, sadness edging her voice, “when the last rays of light flicker in the sky, I catch myself looking at the horizon and making a wish.” She paused, the steady sound of rain against the boughs a somber backdrop. “’Tis foolish, I know.”
“Nay. You are fortunate to have had such aloving father.”
“I-I miss him so much.”
Memories of his four sisters swam into his mind, their laughter, teasing, and that they were fortunate that, like Gwendolyn, he and his siblings had been raised with affection. “’Tis hard to lose those you love.”
She settled her head against his shoulder. “What of your father?”
A smile curved his mouth, the steady beat of her heart matching his. He stroked her damp hair. “He was a proud man, one with highexpectations.”
“Those he sharedwith his son?”
“Aye,” he admitted. “He had plans laid out for me. Yet I chose a different path. You had nay brothers or sisters,” he said, shifting the discussion away from painful thoughts of his past. “It must have been lonely.”
