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As she continued the turn and could see the faint glow of his light ahead, her knees nearly buckled. She hadn’t realized how much she needed his presence. His strength.
Suddenly, there he was, standing in the middle of a circular, high-ceilinged cavern, no bigger than the modest bedroom of her apartment, back home. The single beam of Taran’s flashlight revealed a high ceiling with a narrow crevice that must be letting in fresh air from somewhere, since the cave was significantly cooler than the shaft she’d followed to get here. But other than the tiny specks of some embedded mineral—quartz or mica perhaps?—reflecting off the beam of his flashlight, the cavern was a dark pit.
“What is this place?” she whispered, too in awe to speak louder, as she quietly set her pack on the ground.
Taran shook his head. “ ’Tis a wonder, is it no’? And look,” he shifted the flashlight beam to the bottom edge of the wall where some debris marred the otherwise perfectly pristine dirt floor.
Pristine, Paige corrected, but for some footprints that were clearly not Taran’s. His soft boots couldn’t have made the prints obviously left by a man’s athletic shoe. She moved to the debris along the wall, stooping to get a clearer look with her own flashlight and gasped. “This is remnants of a fire! Someone camped in here.”
“Aye. But that doesnea mean ’twas Austin. Anyone could have left that. And from long before or after, Austin went missin’. I cannae tell.”
“Still,” Paige argued, trying to temper her hopes and still her pounding heart, “someone had to purposely haul wood in here from outside. It had to be someone who intended to stay more than a few hours.” She studied the rest of the cave floor. “Kids on a lark, or having a party, would probably leave trash behind. There’s nothing here but a few sticks, a bit of driftwood, and a pile of ashes. But enough to know, it wasn’t just a temporary fire.”
Bending low, Paige slowly moved her light from the ash pile along the outer edge of the cave floor. She could see where something, or someone, had been sitting, or lying. “Here! See?” She waited for Taran to join her. “This imprint is about the size of my sleeping bag,” she muttered as he looked over her shoulder. “There are disturbances all around here. And look! The stub of a candle. Someone camped here.”
“I cannae argue that,” Taran agreed. “But ye still cannae just assume ’twas Austin.”
“Or that it wasn’t,” she snapped, unable to contain the exhaustion, frustration and mixed hopes swelling inside her. She whirled and stood in one motion, jostling him aside. “Why can’t you for once, agree it’s conceivable? Why must you always trample my hope of finding him? In fact, why are you here if you’re so against the possibility that I might?”
He stood there with that familiar patient look on his face and let her vent, obviously waiting for her to see reason, which angered her even further. But when hot tears pushed their way past her lashes it wasn’t anger, but shame and weariness that had her moving into his arms for comfort. “I’m sorry, Taran. I know you’re right. I just want so badly for it to be him. I didn’t mean to take my frustration out on you.”
“Dinnae fash, lass,” he said softly, cocooning her in his arms. “Ye’re worn out. ’Tis been a long day full of hopes and disappointments, and far too much hikin’ about.”
“Don’t you ever lose your patience?” she asked, sniffling against his chest. “Especially with moody American women who take advantage of you?”
His lips pressed the hair at her crown, lingering for several seconds. “Ye can take advantage of me anytime, Paige.”
She stilled in his arms. Surely, he’d meant that innocently. And clearly, if she hadn’t been so weary, her mind wouldn’t drift to places it had no business going. Maybe it was the feel of his arms around her. His warmth. His strength.
Her sudden need for physical comfort from another person surprised her. She thought she’d learned to hide her weakness, especially from herself, during her years in foster care. And now, here she was seeking solace from a near stranger. But Taran wasn’t a stranger, not anymore, despite the short time they’d been together. It felt so good to be soothed in his arms, could it really hurt to let herself be vulnerable for just a little while?
Gently rubbing her back, Taran held her for a couple more minutes before touching her chin to raise her face to his. In the shadowy light his face was all planes and hollows, his eyes deep and mysterious. Almost in slow motion, he pressed his lips to her forehead, smiling tenderly as he pulled back. “Sit while I get our packs and pull out what we need for tonight.”
His voice, low and deep, seemed to vibrate in the small enclosure. “Ye dinnae have tae do anything but rest. We’ve enough of Lauren’s food left for a light supper and there’s enough wood tae take the chill off this wee cavern. Things will look better tae ye after a night’s rest.”
His face was a mere inch from hers. All she needed to do was rise onto her toes and capture his mouth with hers. With her palms still pressed to his chest, her eyes on his, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and began to rise.
“Let me help ye,” he said, moving away to loosely take her arm.
Paige gasped, disoriented by his sudden movement. Had he mistaken her action as intent to sit, as he’d asked? Or had he known what she intended and found a way to avoid her kiss?
Confused by his action, and more than a little stunned by her own, she sat as directed and waited while he retrieved the packs and the stub of candle they’d found.
Settling next to her, he handed her the candle and began digging through his pack. “We can use the candle and save our flashlights,” he explained, pulling out item after item. “Och,” he growled, “the box of matches spilled everywhere. I’m lucky one of them dinnae catch fire from the friction of being jostled around all day. Here,” he handed her a match, “light the candle while I get everything out and make sure I dinnae miss any.”
Still reeling from embarrassment, Paige lit the candle, and watched the small flame flicker to life before turning off her flashlight and stowing it away. When she turned back to him, he had the small bag he’d brought to the McColl’s property, in his lap. But it was the expression on his face that startled her. “Taran? Is something wrong?”
“Huh?” he muttered, staring at something in his hand that she couldn’t make out.
She held the candle closer to get a better look, surprised when the light flickered off the intricately carved silver hilt. “A knife? It’s beautiful.”
“A dirk,” he mumbled. “Will’s dirk. The scoundrel must have slipped it intae my bag just before I left.”
“Who’s Will?” She leaned closer, peering into his shadowed face. “Before you left where? You’re worrying me, Taran. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Just remembering one,” he said, finally turning to her. “Will is a good friend. One of the few I’d trust my life tae. Or gladly give mine, for.” He turned the—dirk, he’d called it?—over, in the candlelight, gently tracing the carving. “But I ne’er thought he’d do this, the bloody blackguard.”
“I thought you said he was your friend,” she stated, more confused than ever.
