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By the time his horse sidled up to hers, she’d caught her breath from the exertion of pushing the snow, though it still quivered in her chest, ready to be taken away at any moment.
Domnall always did that to her—quickened her breath, threatened to steal it. Some things never changed, no matter how she pretended that they had.
“Ye bloody well left, Karta.” The thunder in his voice as he halted his horse told her everything she needed to know about his opinion on the matter.
Her gloved hands thudded onto the front of her thighs. She looked up at him as a gust of wind hit her cheek and she cringed against it. “I did.”
Shaking his head, grumbling, he swung his leg over his horse and dismounted, his heavy boots landing on the ground and sending vibrations under her knees.
He moved to tower over her, blocking the light of the moon and sending her into a deep shadow.
“Ye left to roll about in the freezing snow?”
Her look went to the stars in the clear sky. “I still cannot get the door open enough to get the mare in. I was digging the area free.”
“Ye shouldn’t be out here, Karta—you almost froze to death once in the past day, let’s not make it twice.”
“But I need to get the mare in.”
He looked to his left at the horses. His stare dropped back down to her. “Or you can come back to the abbey.”
Her throat collapsed on her and she shook her head. “I cannot.”
From what she could see in the deep shadow shrouding his face, his bottom lip jutted up as a growl bubbled from his chest.
He turned from her, stomping through the snow to the side of the stable, and he disappeared around the corner of the field stone building. She could hear him tromping about, muttering nonsensical words to himself.
He reappeared, a long plank of wood in his hands. Moving to her side, he towered over her again. “Then get yourself up and out of the blasted snow.”
“I can do this, Dom. I don’t need your help.” She bent down, swiping at the snow, her look down and avoiding him. “I didn’t ask you to come after me.”
He grabbed her wrist on mid swipe, his fingers digging into her flesh through the leather of her gloves. “No. But I’m here and I’m not going to watch ye dig out the snow. Nor let your damnable pride set ye into freezing to death.” He shook his head. “Hell, Karta, you’re already shaking with the cold.”
He released her wrist and wedged the wood into the drift next to him. His hand dove into his greatcoat, pulling free a silver flask he thrust to her. “Drink this. It’ll warm you faster than anything else. And move away from there.” He pointed to the spot she was working on clearing.
She drew a deep breath, then looked about the snow still piled all around her, drifted higher than her head in some spots.
For how much she wanted to argue it out with him, she was cold.
And tired.
And her bothersome pride usually did get her into trouble.
She grabbed the flask from him and rocked back onto her heels, then stood, stepping back into the small area she’d managed to clear. Opening the cap of the flask, she took a sip as she watched him start to shovel the snow aside with the plank of wood. The sting of the whisky curled her tongue, burning down her throat.
But the burn was good. Strong against the chill her body was quickly slipping into now that she had stopped moving.
Domnall dug back heavy scoops of snow, moving them from the side of the barn outward. Swearing at her the entire time under his breath.
In five minutes, he’d cleared more than she had been able to do in a half hour with her hands.
“Bloody stubborn lass.” He flipped a mound of snow into the air, the flakes separating and creating a glowing white curtain in the moonlight. “Ye always were too headstrong for your own good.”
She stared at the width of him, the ease with which he plowed through the bank of snow. “And you were always too strong for your own good.” She took another sip of the whisky.
He stopped, standing upright and turning around to her, his brow furrowed. “What?”
Her fingertips went over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
