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Sitting in the opening of the tent with both backpacks beside her, she wondered if she should unpack them for easier access to their few belongings. Or, if she left them packed, they’d be ready if they needed, or wanted, to leave in a hurry.
Her gut told her to leave hers packed, at least. She fully intended to search for Austin, even if that meant going into the forest—with or without Taran. She certainly hadn’t come this far to just sit and hope. She’d had close to a lifetime of that.
Since it didn’t feel right to go through Taran’s pack, she placed them both at the bottom of their respective sleeping bags and crawled from the tent. Standing and stretching the kinks from her back, she surveyed the strange little village that would be at least a temporary stop while she learned more about Austin.
As odd as it was, they could have been thrown into far worse. At least if she were to believe half of the sci-fi flicks she’d seen. There didn’t seem to be any apparent danger, unless she let Old Man’s cryptic statement about staying inside the fields, fuel her imagination. Still, she reasoned, glancing at the surrounding fields, they’d gone to a lot of work creating a buffer.
They’d pitched their tent as far away from the village as they could and still be within the confines of the fields. Until they understood the rationale behind Old Man being so adamant they do, they’d decided to play along. Rules here seemed to be paramount to their survival so there must be some reasoning behind them.
Their closest neighbor, just twenty feet away, was the man in the lean-to where they’d first seen him sharpening shovels. Behind them, a huge garden of several acres thrived under the summer sun. It appeared these immaculately tended fields fed the entire town and the way everyone seemed to pitch in, suggested they depended heavily on what they produced. Did that mean there was nothing beyond this place? No other villages or dwellings?
But there had to be! Austin was out there somewhere. How was he living?
She watched Taran exit the lean-to, hands extended as he gingerly carried a steaming pot of something. A big grin split his face as he came closer. “I thought ye’d enjoy a hot bath. Well, mayhap no’ a bath, exactly, but a warm wash-up, at least.”
Surprise and gratitude welled inside her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had anticipated her needs and gifted her with something so thoughtful. Wait. She did remember. It was when Taran had offered to escort her through Scotland. And if she were honest, just about every minute since.
“What a wonderful treat!” Rising on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “That sounds heavenly. How did you manage it?”
“Finn—the man who lives in that lean-tae,” Taran jerked his chin to indicate the one next to them, “has a wee forge in there. He fixes the shovels, hoes and tools the others use tending the gardens and fields. ’Tis his contribution tae the whole that Old Man explained tae us. ’Tis also how he barters for his other needs. Like his buckskin shirt. He had a fire goin’ anyway, so I borrowed his pot and heated ye some water.” Taran raised his brows and held the pot out a little further. “ ’Tis coolin’ off.”
Grinning, Page crawled back inside the tent, and reached for the pot. “Thank you, Taran. This is such a delightful surprise.” At first, she just held the pot under her chin, letting the steam warm her face. It felt indescribably decadent. She couldn’t believe she’d taken hot baths and showers for granted all her life. She looked up just as Taran zipped the tent closed. There wasn’t a spa anywhere that could match the pleasure this old, dented pot of water gave her. Or any gift as thoughtful.
“Finn said they’d set out the food tables soon,” she heard Taran say from outside the tent. “I’ve made arrangements for our meals, so bring yer appetite when ye come.”
“I’m pretty sure my appetite will bring me,” she laughed, digging in her backpack for soap and a clean cloth.
* * *
Clean felt amazing.After a glorious sponge-bath, Paige had washed her hair, pulled it over one shoulder and plaited it into a loose, thin braid.
She’d put on her white tank-top and was still tucking the tails of her unbuttoned chambray shirt into clean jeans, when she exited the tent.
Taran turned as he heard her approach.
“You didn’t need to wait for me,” she said, pleased that he had. “I’d have found you.”
A slow smile brightened his eyes as his gaze drifted down her body before returning to her face. “Ye look amazing.” Stepping closer he ran his fingers lightly down her braid and feathered the loose strands at the tip with his thumb. “Pretty,” he muttered, looking into her eyes.
Surprised by the warmth creeping into her neck and cheeks, Paige glanced away. She’d been called pretty lots of times by many attractive men, but none had caused even the slightest ripple in her thoughts—or her body temperature. “Thank you, Taran. And,” she looked up at him, “thanks again for the hot water. I feel almost human again.”
“I dinnae ken how ye feel,” he murmured as he leaned close, “but ye smell delicious.”
“That’s not me,” she laughed. “Unless you have a thing for soap. I’d guess it’s the food you’re smelling.” She took his arm as they turned toward the center of the village. “I’m starving. I think I could eat half a cow.”
“Och. Good tae hear. I believe ’tis what they’re having,” he teased.
There were mostly new faces in the fifty-plus people gathering in the center of the village as she and Taran approached. The majority must have been working in the fields, or elsewhere, when the two of them arrived this morning.
Most of them glanced their way, smiled, or nodded, and went back to preparing food, or talking in small groups. Several women helped a group of small children wash at the well. But none repeated the silent ushering toward Old Man they’d done this morning. Paige glanced at Taran and back at the gathering. “Does this mean we’ve been accepted?”
Three rough-hewn tables had been set out, two of them already laden with vegetables. Piles of steaming corn on the cob, squash, and carrots, sat beside platters of sliced tomatoes and onions. And behind the well, smoke rose from a row of rocked-up fire-pits where men and women were slicing slabs of meat from three spits.
Perhaps it wasn’t the half-cow she’d boasted of eating, but it smelled amazing. Her stomach rumbled, drawing a soft laugh from Taran. “Venison, I’d wager. It smells almost as good as ye,” he said with a wink.
“So much food,” she said in amazement as they brought the platters of meat to the table.
“So many mouths tae feed,” Taran replied. “And I ken their labors work up a mighty appetite.”
