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He placed her on the bed. “Those chairs don’t look sturdy; besides, I need to get a fire started. Then I’ll go hunt us something for supper.”
“I should help,” she said, feeling a burden on him.
He laughed, shook his head, and bounced down on his haunches to reach out and take hold of her leg.
He held her leg with a tender gentleness while his other hand attempted to work off her boot. It had gone quickly from her not wanting him to touch her to his touching in an intimate fashion. No man had ever caressed the calf of her leg.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This may hurt.”
That he offered an apology astounded her. He was proving to be different than she had first imagined him. When he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, she had grown even more frightened than she had been. She thought he might join the robbers and then, when she had realized he intended to defend her, she had been stunned. And in the few short hours since they had met, she realized he was no common Highlander warrior. Nor was he easy to define.
She had watched him dispose of four men as if they were nothing more than annoying gnats, and he had not a bead of sweat on him when he had finished, nor had his breathing been labored.
He smiled more often than most Highlander warriors that she had known, and he was fearsome when it came to strength and kind when it came to gentleness.
She winced as he eased the boot down over her injured ankle.
“Take your stocking off,” he ordered.
“Why?” she demanded.
His grin turned his face wickedly handsome. “If we pack snow around the ankle, it may take the swelling down.”
She should have realized that herself. Instead, she appeared the fool, he obviously thinking that she thought he was thinking something entirely different and inappropriate.
“You’re right,” she said.
“I’m always right.” He bounced to his feet. “I’ll get the snow while you remove your stocking.”
He was even mannerly enough to give her privacy. And she saw to removing her stocking before he returned. He dumped the handful of snow into the broken barrel piece and placed it on the floor by the bed. He lifted her beneath her arms and braced her back against the wall, then stretched out her legs on the bed. He positioned the snow-filled barrel piece beneath her injured ankle and piled the snow over it.
“Now you’re all set. I’ll get the fire going and then be off to get us supper.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“No need. You’re paying me well to see to your safety.”
“Safety yes, kindness is another thing.”
“A man protects a woman,” he said with a shrug. “It is the way of things.”
It might be for him, but it hadn’t been for her. Watching him set a fire and seeing that he took the time to gather pine branches and pack them in the window to keep the cold away was a sight she favored. She had seen to taking care of things for herself for so long that it was difficult to believe that someone was now looking after her.
If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.
“Lord,” she whispered, “please let this work. Let me slip away. Let them think me dead. Let me finally be free.”
When she had told the Highlander she would give him all of her bride price, the plan had barely formed in her head. Her first thought had been to buy his protection and see her safely to her intended destination. After all, what else was there for her? When suddenly the thought of freedom gripped her, and her mind was made up before she even attempted to make sense of such an insane idea.
Once it had taken root, it had flourished, and she knew she would pursue it. She felt no guilt in using her bride price; after all, her father was paying to be rid of her, so he would get what he wanted.
The cold had seeped into her ankle and was now traveling up her leg. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her upper body and rested her head back, closing her eyes. She was tired and would take a few moments to sneak a brief nap. Then when she woke, perhaps she could help Reeve. She snuggled her chilled chin into the fur lining of her cloak and was asleep in no time.
Reeve had the rabbit cleaned and ready for the spit before he reached the cottage. All he had to do was set it to cook in the fireplace. He had even managed to find some onions and turnips in what once had been the cottage garden. Though frozen, he could set them to cook in the cauldron. He bowed his head into the wind, which had picked up, the air having grown colder with the approach of dusk.
He hurried into the cottage, shutting the door against the rush of cold that followed him. He turned to proudly show off his successful hunt and saw that Tara was sound asleep. He rid himself of his plaid and skewered the rabbit on the spit in the fireplace to cook. He made quick work cleaning the dusty cauldron with snow and then adding fresh snow and setting it on the hook in the hearth. He chopped the onions and turnips and added them to the melting snow. When he was finally done, he walked over to Tara.
He reached out and took hold of one of her curls, the ringlet wrapping around his finger. It was soft, silky, and shiny, the color as dark as raven feathers. He took hold of others, and they curled around his finger as eagerly as the first.
