He shook the key ring before her eyes. A mismatched collection of iron bones—some new, some rusted, some large, some small. All capable of unlocking secrets.
“Did you steal them?”
“There was no need,” he said, with a faint smile. “Dougal is quite convinced I am who I say I am.”
“However did you manage that?” She pointed to a door and waited for him to unlock it.
“Certitude,” he said. He swung the oak portal open to reveal a small room stacked to the rafters with bolts of cloth. “And a few basic facts. Are the contents here of any use?”
“Aye,” she said, squeezing into the room. “I need several bolts of white linen. The softest we can find. To line the creidle and to serve as swaddling.”
Together, they dug through the bolts, stacking and restacking, until they found three that met Caitrina’s finger test for fineness. Only the softest of cloth could be allowed to touch the skin of a king. When Bran had wrapped the bolts in a tarp and set them aside, she pointed to a second door. “This larger room should hold fittings. Tables and chests and the like.”
He tried several keys before finally locating the one that worked.
“What need does a babe have for a table?”
The door creaked loudly. Using the torch, Caitrina burned away a cobweb that spanned the entrance and then stepped inside. “I’m seeking a bath basin. The child must be washed in rosewater and anointed with oil of myrrh immediately upon its birth. For the sanctity of his soul.”
“And those of us who were bathed in the village pond? Are we doomed to hell?”
She tossed him a frown. “The pond? Surely not. Where were you born?”
“Perthshire.”
“Oh?” Clackmannan was in Perthshire. “Not far from here?”
“Perth is a large county,” he said, his expression neutral.
“It is indeed,” she said. The boundaries stretched north and west to great length. “Are you a Murray?”
“Nay.”
“A Menzies?” She stepped over a tipped barrel of old brooms and shone the light into the farthest corners of the storeroom.
“Nay.”
“Aha!” she cried, spying a rounded shape in a pile atop an armoire. “Hold this.”
He took the torch and followed her around a battered trestle table. “Take care. Some of these items are poorly placed.”
Flipping a wooden bucket and using it as a stool, she gained just enough height to grab the lip of the basin. She tugged, but could not get it free. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Is it stuck on something?”
“Aye. There’s a basket and some sort of wooden frame in the way. Step aside, lass. I’ll get it down.”
Happy to relinquish the task to a man a full head taller than she, Caitrina turned and leapt off the bucket. But as she spun, her brat snagged on a stick protruding from the pile of items atop the armoire and yanked the entire mess down upon her head.
She ducked, expecting to be pelted by falling debris. But, in a display of very impressive reflexes, Bran threw his body forward and shielded her from harm. The basket, the basin, and a number of other wooden objects crashed to the dirt floor. An empty spool from a spinning wheel bounced off her boot and rolled into the darkness.
“Are you injured?” Bran asked.
“Nay,” she said breathlessly, peering out from the umbrella of his body. Miraculously, the only casualty was a faded banner that had fluttered into the torch and burst into flame. But for some reason, her heart continued to pound long after it became clear that the danger had passed. It took her a moment to identify the cause: the warm strength of his body, pressing against her in a dozen different places.
It was a body she knew quite well, after their lengthy ride in the forest. But there was something new and tantalizing about touching him here, in the dark, with the musky male scent of him filling her nose. She lifted her gaze to his.
His eyes glittered with intent, and she knew long before he closed the gap between them that he was going to kiss her. He leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to run, but she held perfectly still. Waiting. Shewantedhim to kiss her—wanted it like she’d never wanted anything before. It was like the entire day had been a prelude to this moment. Every teasing comment, every grazing touch, every hot stare had been leading here, to this room, to this kiss.
As their breaths mingled, Caitrina closed her eyes, determined to savor the experience from beginning to end. This would be her first real kiss, and she wanted it to be perfect. Well, as perfect as a kiss from a dangerous thief could be...
