Page 3 of Treasures of Skye

Chapter Three

Dazzling orange light met Helena’s gaze when she woke. She jammed her eyes shut against the blinding light and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets. Fuzzy memories rose of unbearable cold permeating every fiber of her being. The smell of old musk and burning wood penetrated the fog in her brain. Helena poked her head from under the covers and blinked the light into focus. She lay on a large bed in the corner of a one room cottage. Two swords were mounted on the wall to her right. A short battleax hung over the hearth alongside another battleax—

Helena tensed. A large man slumped in a chair in the corner to the left of the hearth. She stared another instant before realizing he was sound asleep. Long brown hair hung to his shoulders. His broad shoulders and wide chest fit tight in his white tunic, and she spotted a dark patch of chest hair between the laces of his V-neck shirt.

Draped over his shoulders, he wore a long brown tabard like a cleric’s sash, but by the presence of weaponry that hung on the walls and leaned against the wall to the right of the hearth, she would wager he was no priest.

According to the warrior’s oath, she owed him a life debt, but it was a debt she couldn’t pay. Another already owned her life. Helena eased into a sitting position as she caught sight of her cloak—and dress, on the bench near the hearth. She yanked her gaze onto her bare arm where should have been her dress sleeve and drew a sharp breath.

The man leapt to his feet and spun to face her.

Helena stared.

He stared back.

“Why the bloody hell did ye get remove my clothes?” she demanded.

He frowned, then his expression cleared. “You fell through the ice, lass. If I had of left them on, ye would have frozen to death.” His voice, smooth as honey, sent a strange ripple through her. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I was decent with you,” he added.

She hesitated. He was right, of course. Still, her cheeks warmed. “Please give me my clothes. I will dress and be on my way.”

“On your way?” he said in surprise. “It’s snowing like the devil out there. And you need rest. Ye have gone through a great ordeal.”

“How would ye know what I have been through?” she said.

“You almost died, lassie. I may no’ know a lot, but that is something.”

Helena considered. If he had discovered the lock pick set in the hidden pocket of her cloak he would be asking questions, not inviting her to stay. A terrifying thought struck. What if she’d lost the lock pick set when she’d fallen through the ice?

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Kaden.”

“I thank you, Kaden, for saving my life. My name is Helena.”

He angled his head. “Helena, I beg you, rest a day, at least. I am no’ the best cook by any means, but my vegetable stew is filling and will warm your belly.”

Helena considered. She was tired. And if it was still snowing as it had been yesterday… She shivered. A day’s rest would be wise. Could she spare the day? Did she have a choice?

“Thank you. I will stay.”

He smiled and her breath caught. The man was uncommonly handsome.

“Good.” He crossed to the chair and fetched her dress, then laid it across the foot of her bed. “I will give ye a few moments to dress.” He went to the door, pulled a fur from a hook, put it on, and went outside.

She waited until the door clicked shut behind him, then threw back the covers and pushed to her feet. The room spun. Helena clutched at thin air. Her knees buckled and she collapsed back onto the bed. Her stomach pitched. She groped for the dress. Through blurry eyes, she discerned the green fabric and pulled it to her. Blood pounding in her ears, she shoved her arms inside the long sleeves. Her stomach pitched again, but she managed to get the dress over her head, and down her body.

Helena collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. It seemed she had no choice. She would be staying at least a day, maybe longer. She hadn’t realized the effects of nearly drowning would take such a toll on her body. Nae, it had to be the cold water. This wasn’t the first time she’d nearly drowned. During her eighth summer, her father had taken her fishing for the first time. When they leaned over the side to gaze down at the fish, the boat tipped, and they tumbled into the rapid currents. But even then, she felt nothing like she did now. She grasped the front laces, but they fell apart in her fingers. She looked down and found them cut.

The door handle jiggled. Helena scooted back and yanked the covers up over her breasts as Kaden entered.

“How are ye feeling?” he asked.

“Tired and a little dizzy,” she said, though loathe to admit it. “Have ye any laces?”

He frowned as he slipped off the fur. “Laces—ah, nae, lass. I am sorry. I couldnae undo the laces so—” he gave her a sheepish smile and her heart stuttered “—I cut them. I have needle and thread. Can you sew your bodice?”

She would have to. This was her only dress, and without laces, her breasts wouldn’t remain bound. Helena smiled. “I dinnae know what would have happened had ye no’ come along.”