Exhausted, her entire body aching, she kept pace, refusing to allow Rónán out of her sight.
“I am called Lathir. The man you carry is Rónán.”
Though he’d saved Rónán’s life, until she knew more about the stranger, was sure she could trust him, ’twas best to conceal Rónán’s being a knight and her nobility, or correct Tighearnán’s belief thatthey were wed.
He continued to climb.
A loud crash had her turning, squinting through the rain. In the distance, caught in an oncoming swell, the tattered pieces of theAodhslammed against the rocks. Planks exploded from the remnants of the deck, and shattering wood was swept into therush of waves.
Memories stormed her, of the times she’d sailed aboard the cog with her father, of his laughter, his sage advice and, regardless the issue, how she could always turn to him.
Emotions raw, she searched for fragments of the beloved ship upon the swell, as bits popped up, were tossed about in the rough seas.
She swallowed hard. Nay, all was not lost. ’Twas but hewn timber, which they could rebuild, and her father still lived. She refused to believe otherwise. They would find and rescue him. But how?
With a heavy heart, she continued up the steep slope, fighting against the aches in her limbs. As they topped the ridge, sheglanced around.
The rolling hills beyond sprinkled with errant trees, the sweep of land pummeled within the storm’s embrace.
Lathir swallowed hard, hurried toward where Tighearnán was approaching a small hut, blessed smoke belching from the chimney. Warmth Rónán desperately needed.
“What is it you do?” she asked, refusing to give in to thewash of panic.
“I am a fisherman.”
“I didnasee your boat.”
“’Tis secured behind rocks on shore around the bend.”
At the thick-hewn entry, he jerked open the door andstepped inside.
Lathir followed, pulled the door shut, thankful when the blessed heatembraced her.
He strode to where a bed haphazardly covered with blankets sat paces from the hearth, laidRónán upon the covers, then began tugging off his sopping garb. “Remove his trews and boots.”
With a nod, Lathir quickly complied, aware the wet clothes would hamper his body receiving much-needed heat. The drenched clothing slapped as it hit the aged wood floor, but her gaze was riveted on Rónán’s naked body.
Though she knew his body was forged by muscle, it hadn’t prepared her for Rónán’s sheer magnificence, a sight forever imprinted on her mind.
“Órlaith,” the fisherman snapped as he laid a blanket over Rónán, “bring over a bucket of warm water and a cloth.”
“Aye, Papa.”
Lathir started as a girl she gauged around eight summers hurried with a pail toward a kettle simmering near the edge of the hearth. In the rush to get Rónán inside and warm, she’d missed seeing the child.
“Lass, take this sideof the cover.”
Startled, she glanced up. The fisherman was holding the edge of the thick blanket toward her. Thankful for the diversion, Lathir focused on tucking in the cloth around his shoulders, then pulling anotherblanket atop.
The fisherman stepped back, frowned. “Once he begins shaking, ’twill be difficult to hold him still.”
“Why?”
A spark popped in the hearth as he arched a brow. “Have you never been around a man near to freezing?”
Sheshook her head.
“Once his body begins to warm, any places that have been frostbitten can itch, swell, burn, and ’twill be very painful. Dinna fash if your man cries out, or if his body shudders God awful.”
