Page 30 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Nine

Camden steadfastly spurred their horse forward. "I see something ahead," Rhiannon called out between the chattering of her teeth .

A short time later, she realized it was a small cottage, set deep into the woods. Rhiannon strained her eyes through the falling snow for signs of habitation. She smelled before she saw the smoke curling from the chimney. Warmth. She nestled deeper into her cloak. She could almost feel the heat now.

They came up to the cottage and Lord Lockhart slid from the horse before he reached up and plucked her off as though she weighed nothing at all.

"I thought you said the cottage was abandoned?" Rhiannon said, pulling the edges of her cloak more tightly around her as the chill air seeped inside her, chilling her to the bone.

"It was." He gathered the horse's reins, moving toward the lean-to that would provide shelter for the animal. "Let's find out who might be here, shall we?"

Rhiannon hurried after him. She didn't care who might be inside as long as there was a space near the fire. She darted ahead of Camden to knock on the door. When no one answered, she tried the latch. The door opened easily and she stepped inside.

One open room made up the entirety of the cottage. She peered inside, finding no one there. When her gaze lit on the cheery little fire that crackled in the hearth, she smiled. Warmth wrapped itself around Rhiannon, drawing her into the room.

Camden entered the small cottage a moment later. "I never would have taken you away from the castle had I known a storm was coming."

She turned away, toward the flames, rubbing her cold hands together. Pinpricks of sensation danced along her chilled flesh. "Not much deters you. Why would a storm be any different?"

He set the wood near the fire, then stood beside her. "It must seem that way to you," he said almost as an aside. He sighed as he bent his dark head to peer into the flames. "I am only trying to keep my people safe."

"Which is why you risked following those tracks despite the threat of a storm," she responded more to herself than to him.

"Aye."

"Do you still believe I made those footsteps?"

"I am finding it harder to believe. By the look of the fire, whoever inhabited the cottage left only a short time ago."

He lifted his gaze to hers. "It appears as though we will be here for a while." He put out his hand. "Give me your cloak."

"Nay." She took yet another step away from him as all the dark warnings she'd heard from her father about being alone with a man filled her head. She was alone. And stranded in the snow. Oh, why had she been such a fool to get on that horse with him?

"Rhiannon." He spoke her name softly, gently, with reassuring calm. "You are quite safe here with me."

She narrowed her gaze on him. "I will trust you, if you will trust me for once."

He smiled, and she saw the tension in his shoulders relax. "Agreed." He signaled with his hand. "Your cloak. It's wet. There are pegs by the fire to dry it."

She unfastened the heavy cloak and handed it to him. He placed it on one of the pegs, then removed his own cloak, hanging it beside hers. The soft linen of his shirt molded to him, revealing wide shoulders, a lean torso that led to a narrow waist and muscular thighs. "Do you think this is where your spies have been meeting?"

"Since no one else is around, I'd say it's a safe assumption." He turned back toward her and she hurriedly dropped her gaze, although she could not hide the heat that rose to her cheeks. "Want to help me find some clue as to who might have been here?"

She nodded, grateful to do anything that would distract her from the sheer maleness of his body. The cottage was small, with a rickety wooden table and two chairs tucked in the corner near the hearth, a wooden bench placed near the fire. A straw-filled mattress with a dark woolen coverlet took up the far side of the cottage. A small iron stove made up the kitchen.

"There isn't much here to identify anyone," she said, exploring the area near the hearth. Aside from a few candle stubs on the floor near the hearth, she found nothing.

He explored the table, and the three shelves above the iron stove. "The stove is cool, and the shelves look as though they haven't been stocked in ages." He moved a pottery jar aside, as if to prove his point, and a tiny mouse scurried from behind the crock, down the shelf, onto the stove. It leaped for the floor, before scurrying into a small hole at the base of the wallboards.

"Whoever our spy is, he's careful." Camden tossed another log onto the embers of the fire, then reaching for the saddle bag he'd brought in with him from the horse, he sat on the settee.

Rhiannon moved to the shutters at the front of the cottage. Ice clung to the bottom of the casement. She moved to the door and peered outside. Heavy snow continued to fall. Restless, she watched as the delicate flakes hit the accumulating mass on the ground. The storm showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

She closed the door and glanced toward Camden. Something in his expression made her look away. Yet she could still feel the warmth of his gaze as though it were something physical, almost possessive. She began to quake inside at the intimacy of the moment, once again realizing how truly alone they were.

"Come," he said, his tone as inviting as his gaze had been. "It's much warmer over here by the fire."

She hesitated.