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“Aye,” he said finally and gulped uisge.
Chapter 16
Three days later…
Amy woke up early after a night of tossing and turning. She couldn’t get the kiss they’d shared three days ago out of her head—or her body. The brush of his lips against hers, the sweet, sweet tongue that had caressed her and promised wicked things. The heat of his body as he’d pulled her against him.
That kiss made her forget everything. She had dissolved in him, brewing in the promise of sheer bliss. His hard muscles under her palms as she’d put her hands on his chest. His smell—oh, his smell. She wanted to inhale it forever, to inhale him.
Oh God. She was crushing on a damn Highlander from the fourteenth century.
He never came to their room, and Amy didn’t blame him. In fact, for the last few days he’d been absent from the castle. With a few of his men, he had gone out to collect rent and taxes from the new lands.
So she’d only seen him last night, when he’d come home. It was better this way, anyway. She’d stopped herself when he’d kissed her, but if he came again and they were in one room, with a bed and furs and the fireplace…and he started undressing and…
No. Stop thinking of him shirtless!
Amy jumped off the bed and dressed. The medieval clothes took longer to put on—the shift, the laces, then the dress itself. No bra. She didn’t miss that. But she missed underwear. There were these thin, woolen pantaloon things she didn’t want to wear, because they had been worn by the lady whose room she now occupied. And even if she’d washed them, she felt weird about wearing someone else’s undies.
Amy went to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. During the last three days, she had gotten into a routine. Breakfast, cleaning, cooking the large cauldron of stew, and baking bread—both of which would be eaten for lunch and dinner. Highlanders always had oatmeal for breakfast, or porridge, so that’s what she cooked for them.
It was still dark outside as Amy carried a couple of buckets of water from the well in the courtyard. She started the fire. Poured the water and the oats into the cauldron, which had been washed thoroughly yesterday.
She went to fetch another bucket of water for cleaning later. The sky began to lighten, and the castle started to wake up. Men went about their morning business and began gathering in the great hall. Someone cried out beyond the gates.
“…speak to the lord…need a horse…”
The guards opened the gates, and a woman and a man hurried inside. They looked frantically about them, and the woman raced to Amy. “Please, where’s the lord. The new lord?”
“I’m his wife.” Amy put the bucket of water on the ground. “What is it?”
“We are from Inverlochy village. My name is Alana, my husband is Diarmid. My mother—” The woman sobbed. “We canna find her. She sometimes wanders about, forgets things. We looked last night and this morning, she didna come back. She probably went to gather herbs in the mountains and forgot how to get back home. We need a horse—the army took all horses from the village. Please—”
Amy nodded. Search and rescue. That was what she did. She could find the woman—she could try. Without a car it would be difficult, of course. On a horse, easier. Amy knew how to ride a horse; she’d learned on the farm. But Craig wouldn’t let her out of the castle. Well, she’d need to make him.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll find Craig.”
She turned and rushed towards the Comyn Tower. He had probably slept with his clan in the lord’s hall below the bedchamber. As she hurried to the entrance, he stepped out of it, walking towards her.
She stopped as though she’d hit an invisible wall, her breath stolen. Craig’s tunic was still undone at the base of his throat, showing a smattering of dark chest hair. His face still sleepy, his hair disheveled, he was putting on his coat as he walked towards her. He pinned her with his gaze, his face cool and indifferent but his eyes burning.
Suddenly, Amy was thirsty, and the ground shifted beneath her feet. Craig stopped right in front of her, looming over her like a mountain.
“Good morning,” she said. “I was just looking for you.”
“Aye, ye found me,” he said, his voice caressing her. “What is it?”
“Those people.” She gestured behind her. “They came for your help. The woman’s mother has gone missing. I think she has dementia. I mean, she probably forgot how to get home. They need a horse to go looking for her in the mountains.”
Craig frowned and studied the two visitors.
“Where did they come from?”
“The village. Apparently, there are no horses left. I can go look. The woman is at risk of freezing to death if she spent the night in the mountains. We must hurry, or we might be too late.”
He raised one brow. “We?”
Amy looked at her feet. Right. “Look, like I told you, I’m a good tracker, and I have found and rescued many, many people. I know how to help with injuries—you’ve seen Caoimhe. I promise, I’ll be useful. And I won’t run away.”
