In the doorframe, snow swirled within the morning sunlight, outlining a tall man sporting brown hair and a beard. He dwarfed the rickety opening, an armload of wood clutched inhis beefy arms.
Rónán grabbed a nearby stick, determined to ignore the incessant throbbing in his head, then positioned himself between the stranger andLathir. “Halt!”
A thick brow shot up. “I see you are awake, then.”
Regardless of the man’s calm demeanor, he kept his grip tight on his makeshift weapon.
“I am Tighearnán.” The man nodded to the right. “Your broadsword is across the chamber on the bench. Nay doubt you would prefer using thatover kindling.”
“Father,” a young girl’s voice called from above, “’twould seem the man you found on the rocks yesterday will live.”
Rónán’s gaze climbed to the loft, where a child peered out, before shifting his eyes back to the man. Which answered his question of who’d helped Lathir haulhim to safety.
“Aye.” A smile quirked on the man’s lips. “And that”—he lowered his voice—“is my daughter, who is eight summers. Though one day she will see a man naked, I preferit not be now.”
God’s teeth! His grasp tight on the stick, Rónán snatched a blanket, wrapped the coverlet around his waist, then glanced toward Lathir, caught in deep sleep. The firelight exposed one shapely leg, yet a linen shift concealed the rest of her body.
His gaze darted to the large man. Wherever they were, whoever this stranger was, Lathir accepted them, and had even gone to sleep. He slowly lowered his makeshift weapon. “I amcalled Rónán.”
The other man nodded. “’Tis good to make your acquaintance. Though I would rather have done so under less harrowing circumstance.” He stepped inside, shoved the door closed with his boot. The light from the hearth illuminated the chamber in a soft glow. “Your woman explained how the Sassenach attacked your vessel. They are a nasty lot.”
Sassenach, an unflattering term for the English, one he’d used many times over himself. That he and this man shared a dislike for the enemy brought a token of relief, but his attention riveted on the fact that he’d called Lathir his woman.
“They are.” Rónán paused. He’d go along with the ruse of a marriage for the moment. “You found us on the rocks yesterday?”
“Of sorts. The lass was frantic when I arrived. I helped her pull you to safety, then carried you to my home.” The large stranger piled the wood near the hearth, selected two chunks, and laid them upon the fire. “Your woman tended to you until your chills faded. As well, I heard her several times during the night caring for you. Nay doubt ’tis the reason she isstill asleep.”
An unfamiliar warmth tightened in his chest as Rónán’s gaze swept over Lathir before shifting to the man. “My thanks. We are indebted to you.”
A wry smile touched Tighearnán’s mouth as he wiped his hands on his trews as he stood. “As I explained to the lass, ’tis the way of those who live along the sea to help those in distress and naught to repay.”
Rónán nodded. A lifestyle that excluded brigands. A fact he’d learned all too well during his time sailing with the Templars.
Scuffs from above brought his gaze back to the loft. A pair of tiny feet edged over the side, followed by a fluff of fabric as a little girl stepped on the top rung of the ladder. Tangles of chestnut hair framed an angelic face. Wary brown eyes peered at him over her shoulder as she slowly made her way down. Once her foot touched the floor, she hurried to stand behind her father.
A tender smile curved Tighearnán’s mouth. “Órlaith tends to be shy. That she spoke at all in your presences is a boon.”
Keeping his hold tight on his cover, Rónán knelt so that he was at eye level with the girl. “’Tis nay harm in being a bit cautious. To my way of thinking, ’tis a wise lass who takes stock of a person before deciding they are someone to like, much less trust.”
Unsure eyes shiftedto her father.
Pride shone on Tighearnán’s face. “’Sage words, lass, ones to live by.”
Acceptance filled the child’s eyes as she lifted her gaze toRónánand studied him for a long moment as if gathering her courage. “Do you have a daughter I could play with?”
Her father chuckled, but the innocent question left Rónán floundering. After the hell he’d lived through, never had he contemplated having a child.
Lived?Nay, survived.
Barely.
Against the ugly memories of his youth, Rónán forceda smile. “Nay.”
Her thumb wavered near her mouth in a nervous gesture. “Your woman is pretty.”
He glanced toward Lathir, found her sitting up watching him, her eyes thick with sleep, lengths of golden hair tugged freeof her braid.
Pretty? No, stunningly beautiful. A woman who would steal a man’s breath and make him forget everything but her. Including his body’s lingering aches and pains.
