Page 12 of Savage Kilted Highlander (Temptation in Tartan #9)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ W hat is this place?” she asked as he knelt on the filthy earthen floor and coaxed a flame into being.

“I dunno. Maybe the home of a hunter or a hermit.” He blew on the flame, adding a pinch of the wood shavings he had stored in his tinder box. They caught, so he slowly added some of the kindling, then progressively larger logs until the flames took hold in earnest and began to grow higher. The crackling flames created a small circle of comforting heat. “There ye go. We’ll nae freeze tae death overnight. Come closer tae the fire and warm yersel’,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

She shuffled closer on her behind, moving as slowly as an old lady. “Thank you,” she replied with a worrying listlessness. She peeled off her wet gloves and stretched out her hands towards the flames. After a few moments she said, “The cave seems luxurious compared to this discomfort.”

“Survival is nae about comfort,” he told her shortly, going to see to the horses. Once he had made them comfortable, he took the pan from his pack and went outside to catch some snow in it. He was anxious to make some hot tea and get it inside Constance, hoping it would revive her. He put it to boil in the fire and then went out again, this time to fetch in an armful of the wet, tough grass from outside the cabin for the beasts to eat.

By the time he had finished, the water had boiled. He knew Constance must be in a bad way because, unlike before, she sat as though frozen to her spot, making no move to remove the pan or make the tea. Anxious to get her warmed up as quickly as possible, Bane hurriedly made the brew, added a dab of honey, and put the hot beaker in her hand.

He watched as she sipped at it and was secretly relieved to see some colour gradually returning to her cheeks as she drank, her slim fingers wrapped around the beaker for warmth. Gradually, her teeth ceased their chattering, and her shivering subsided.

“I do not even think I shall survive the night in this awful place you have brought me too,” she said gloomily.

“Ye said that last night, and yet here ye are. Ye’ll feel better once we have somethin’ hot tae eat,” he assured her.

“Hmm,” she murmured, slumped into herself, staring wordlessly into the flames.

“Ye should take off yer wet things or ye’ll catch a chill,” he said, hearing the worry in his voice. She picked up on it at once.

“Oh, so you are worried about my health now, are you? Well, you need not be concerned about me. Although I could very well die of cold and starvation in the night, you have already made it very clear that my father will pay the same ransom for me whether I am dead or alive.”

Ach, why did I tell her that?

“If ye die of cold, it’ll nae be down tae me,” he retorted, going on the defensive. “I’ve told ye tae get out of those wet things and put somethin’ dry on. Ye have dry clothes in yer saddlebag. ’Tis only yer stubborn nature that prevents ye from daein’ as I say.”

“I am not taking a single item of clothing off, however wet it may be, in front of you!”

“D’ye want me tae come over there and dae it fer ye?” he threatened, hoping that would persuade her.

Her eyes flew wide. “You would not dare!”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” He took a step in her direction.

“All right, all right, I will dae as you say,” she agreed grudgingly. “But you must turn your back and promise not to look.”

Smiling inwardly, Bane nodded. “I promise. Anyway, in case ye havenae noticed, I’m soaked tae the skin as well, so I’ll be too busy changin’ mesel’.” He could not help adding, “That is, if ye promise nae tae peek.”

“You fool,” she said, getting wearily to her feet and fetching her saddle bag from where Bane had left it with the other tack. Meanwhile, Bane sorted out some dry things from his pack to change into. With a last glance at each other, they each turned their back and proceeded to strip off their wet clothing.

Constance told herself that she was only looking over her shoulder at Bane to make sure he was not spying on her in her state of undress. He was not. He showed no concern for her at all, for he was too busy getting out of his wet things as quickly as he could. But Constance did not stop peeking at him despite his playful warning. When she saw him pull his shirt off over his head to reveal his muscular chest and torso once again, she found herself transfixed by the sight of his powerful body.

The sight sent strange thrills chasing through her that made her shiver but had nothing to do with the freezing temperature. The feelings it stirred inside her were deeply confusing yet at the same time terribly exciting. He was the only grown man she had ever seen in such close proximity half undressed like that, and she had certainly never seen a man who looked anything like him. Despite his gruff personality, she had to admit he was beautiful to look at. She was shocked to find herself wondering what he would look like with all his clothes off.

In fact, when he put on a clean, dry shirt, covering up his spectacular muscles, she felt oddly disappointed. But that feeling was mixed with guilt for her impure, unladylike thoughts, hence her confusion. Finally, she tore her eyes away from him and tried to focus on the task at hand, but as she fumbled with numb fingers at the fastenings of her dress, the image of his husky, half-naked form lingered in her mind’s eye. Silently, she berated herself for her response.

How can I be so attracted to him? He is my captor, the man making me go through all this suffering, a common criminal!

And though she badly wanted to deny it, there was a part of her that was a little put out that he had not attempted the tiniest peek at her.

He was soon dressed in fresh, dry clothing and began arranging his wet clothes and boots to dry by the fire. Constance dressed in a clean shift, two pairs of clean woollen stockings, and the warmest of her two gowns. When she had finished, she felt much more comfortable than before. Taking her cue from Bane, she put her wet things beside his to dry and then snuggled into her blanket again by the fire.

She watched as he prepared a stew of some kind, using melted snow, a handful of oats, and some of the dried meat in his pack. He sat stirring it with the small knife, and the strong aroma the concoction produced soon permeated the cabin.

She leaned forward to get a better look at it, wrinkling her nose. “What is that?”

“’Tis a stew with goat’s meat.”

“Goat? You mean I have eaten goat?!” Bile rose in her throat at the realization.

“Aye, and it looks like ye’ll be eatin’ it again taenight, eh?” he said, shooting her a cold glance.

Even though she was famished, the thought of eating the lumpy stew made her feel ill. “I do not think I can eat it. Is there any bread left, and perhaps a bit of cheese I could have instead?”

He shrugged and said, “Please yersel’, but ye’ll regret it. Ye should get somethin’ hot inside ye.” He passed her a hunk of the same rock-hard, brown bread as before and some cheese.

She took it and was about to bite into the bread when she noticed with horror a spot of green mould on the crust. “This bread is mouldy!” she exclaimed, repulsed.

He glanced over at it then shook his head as though in bemusement. “Ach, woman, ’tis only a wee spot. Pick it off, it’ll dae ye nae harm. Ye say ye’re hungry, but ye dinnae wantae eat what ye’re given, so ye cannae be that hungry. I suppose ye want saffron cakes and muffins, is that it? Well, sorry tae disappoint ye.”

The cruel jibe on top of everything else had tears pressing at the back of her eyes. She felt utterly hopeless, unable to understand how she had become entangled in this insufferable nightmare. But a part of her was determined to stay alive just so she could have the pleasure of seeing her father punish this monster once she told him what he had put her through. With shaking fingers, she picked off the green mould with her fingertips and threw it into the fire. Then, overwhelmed by hunger, she devoured the rest of the bread with the cheese, not letting her tears fall.

As she ate, Constance cast him occasional resentful glances across the fire, watching while he consumed his foul-smelling stew. He ate nonchalantly, stabbing chunks of meat with his little blunt knife and eating them with apparent enjoyment. To her chagrin, though she had wolfed down the bread and cheese, hunger was still gnawing at her insides. Involuntarily, her gaze wandered to the stew. She flushed with embarrassment when Bane caught her looking and, without a word, immediately offered her the still half-full pan, with the knife resting on the side.

Driven by her need for food but hating herself for it, she took it, looking doubtfully at the lumpy broth, revolted by its strong, gamey smell. She took a deep breath, speared a piece of the goat meat with the knife, and put it in her mouth. The taste and texture were far from what she was used to, but by telling herself to imagine it was a fine venison pie, with red wine, mushrooms, and cream sauce inside, she managed to empty the pan in short order. She handed it back to him, feeling slightly guilty for having eaten it after all she had said. But he appeared unconcerned.

After the meal, Bane made more tea and cleared up. Feeling stronger now she had eaten and was more comfortable in her dry clothes, Constance fetched her comb and battled with the tangles. While she did so, she observed him as he laid out his bedding on the floor by the fire for the night. This time, he did not insist that she lay next to him, nor did he tie her wrists. Clearly he knew she had nowhere to run, she thought dispiritedly.

After that, he sat down on his blanket and set to sharpening his weapons with a small whetstone. Constance sighed unhappily as the wind blew in through the gaps in the planking, billowed through the blanket Bane had hung over the non-existent door, and snowflakes drifted in through the hole in the corner of the roof, making the puddle larger.

Feeling as if the cold had settled into her bones and would never leave, she snuggled further into her blanket and drew closer to the fire to warm herself. However, in between the rhythmic sound of Bane sharpening his blades, she soon began to hear other noises coming from outside the cabin, and they set her nerves on edge. She tried to tell herself it was the wind making the trees creak and the leaves rustle so loudly. Yet every slight sound made her jump, and much as she tried to tell herself she was being silly, she soon convinced herself there was something out there moving around, something both threatening and terrifying.

“Bane,” she whispered, her nerves jangling, “did you hear that noise just then?”

He did not pause in his work but glanced over at her, pushing his hair from his eyes with his forearm. “Hmm?”

“That noise just then… did you hear it? I think there’s someone or something outside the cabin watching us.”

“I didnae hear anythin’, except the wind and the snow. Ye’re lettin’ yer imagination run away with ye,” he told her dismissively, going back to what he was doing.

“I am not imagining it,” she hissed, annoyed by his attitude as well as scared. “I heard something, and it was not the wind or the snow, I tell you. What if there are brigands or a mountain lion out there, creeping up on us, just waiting to attack us?”

“On a night like this? I very much doubt it,” he replied, not even bothering to look up this time, which annoyed her all the more.

“Would you go outside and check, please?” she asked, not prepared to take his word for it.

This time, he did look up, his expression one of irritated bemusement. “Are ye mad? I’ve only just warmed up. I’m nae goin’ out there again if I can help it. I’ve told ye, there’s nay brigands nor wild animals out on a night as bitter as this. Ye’re quite safe in here.”

“But I’m sure I heard something. Go outside and look, will you? I’ll not be able to rest until you do,” she insisted.

With obvious reluctance, he put down what he was doing, heaved a sigh, and stood up. “If I prove it tae ye will ye stop yer mitherin’?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, if there’s a chance it’ll shut ye up, I’ll dae it.” He picked up a large piece of firewood and strode over to the door. Pulling aside the blanket, he stepped over the threshold into the snowy darkness. Through the cracks in the window boards, Constance could see his silhouette as he hurled the lump of wood far into the trees. It crashed into the branches loudly, sending snow thudding to the ground.

Nothing happened.

Bane came back inside and tucked the blanket back around the door frame. “There, are ye satisfied now? Any creature smart enough to come close would’ve fled by now after that.” He sat down and resumed sharpening his sword.

“All right. Thank you,” Constance replied, embarrassed and irritated by his unsympathetic response yet grateful all the same. His calmness reassured her enough to quieten her fears. Feeling bone weary, she lay down in her appointed spot and pulled the blanket over her, taking care to tuck her nose and feet and hands beneath it, for they were still freezing cold.

Bane continued to work, utterly focused on his task, yet she sensed he was alert to any threat just the same. From the depths of her blanket, she watched him, her eyes lingering on the outline of his imposing figure illuminated by the flickering flames of the fire. She wondered what he was thinking. Likely he was thinking the ransom he was going to get from her, she thought with some bitterness and a trace of disappointment. Confused, cold, and exhausted, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep.

But sleep refused to come. The cold, the horrible surroundings, the hardness of the ground, the unfamiliar sounds of the wilderness, and Bane’s looming presence kept her wide awake. The blanket was not sufficiently warm, so she reached out and pulled her still damp cloak over the top as best she could. Fine and thick though it was, it hardly seemed to help, and she soon began to shiver.

To her astonishment, without saying a word, Bane stood up, picked up his own worn but still serviceable cloak from where it was drying by the fire and placed it carefully over her. Constance stared up at him, not knowing what to think. But he did not seem to notice and returned silently to his task. It was a small gesture, to be sure, but it reinforced her growing belief that, despite his frequent threats to the contrary, he had no intention of harming her.

Nevertheless, as she closed her eyes once more, she caught hold of her mother’s necklace and secretly promised herself that she would try to escape from him as soon as the weather allowed it and she had the chance; and she would head straight back to Castle Ferniehurst.