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She drew in a shaky breath. “We are at Kirkmere Abbey?”
“Aye.”
“I made it?”
“Ye had a spot of help from Theodora.”
Her look dropped to him, her brow wrinkling. “Theodora?” She cleared her throat, trying to not let her voice squeak. “Your wife?”
“My hound.” He inclined his head to the deerhound curled next to the hearth, its big black eyes open and watchful on them, even as it had nestled close into the lazy comfort of the fire.
She closed her eyes, trying to remember the last thing she could before the blackness had taken over. The cold. The cold all around her, her hand left the tree and she lost her anchor—adrift in the endless snow—with the wind whipping at her eyes until she could no longer see. No longer think. The last shreds of her hope that she was travelling in the right direction disappearing. Spinning in a circle, she dropped. Dropped into the comfort of the snow. The soft embrace of it. Then darkness. What had she been doing?
Hell.
Her look whipped to Domnall. “Maggie—Maggie—my maid, she’s—”
“She’s sick. Ye told me. I sent one of my men to fetch the physician and two to fetch Maggie.”
“They’re bringing her here?”
“Aye. Ye said there was no one there—or at least there better not be, for why else would ye get it into yer fool head to walk into a snowstorm that had whited out the sky.”
The warmth of his low brogue wrapped around her. Calm. Even as he was scolding her.
She shook her head, her chin rubbing along the blankets tucked around her neck. “There isn’t. It was just us—the rest of the staff is gone for Christmastide.”
His fingers rubbing her feet stopped and he looked away. His jaw shifted, tensed, just like it always had years ago when he was beyond irate with her.
So much for calm.
She studied his profile. He had the dark scruff of a week’s worth of a beard covering his face, blending up along his cheek into his light brown hair. His dark blue eyes—the color of her deepest indigo dress—were set solidly on the crackling fire four feet to her left. Crinkles of lines around his eyes made him look older. Older than when she’d last seen him six years past.
He wore only a lawn shirt, and at that, he still looked hot. The blazing fire wasn’t helping with that. Had he always been this big, this strong? Or was it that she’d been surrounded by small, thin men for too long?
His head turned to her, his dark blue eyes pinning her. “What the blasted hell were ye doing going out into that storm, Karta?”
“I wasn’t about to let Maggie die. I was of no help to her—the only thing I could do was come for help.”
“So you’d have both of ye dead instead of just one of ye? A fool’s mission that was.”
“Dom—”
“Why didn’t ye take a horse?” His hand clamped onto her right foot and squeezed it. Hard, but for how the touch seared heat into her, she’d take it.
“I may be a fool but I’m not an idiot.” She met his glare, the indignant fire in her chest warming her more than the blankets. “I went to the stable first to get a mare, but the snow had drifted in front of the doors and I couldn’t get them open more than a crack. Not enough for me to even get into the barn. I thought there was enough time to get here before nightfall. The snow was easing, but then the wind came up when I was only a quarter of the way here. It blinded me. But I thought I could still make it.”
“You were always too stubborn.” The words grumbled, he tore his gaze away from her, his look landing on the fire. His fingers started massaging her feet on his lap again.
Heaven. Absolute heaven, even if her bones felt like ice.
For this, she could set her hatred of him aside for the moment.
She shifted under the heavy blankets, her hand rubbing across her belly.
Bare skin.
She moved her fingers around. Bare skin on her belly. On her arms. On her chest. On her legs.
