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CHAPTER TWO

Jorak

Well, fook me with a rusty hammer. What was I supposed to do with an unconscious female in the middle of a blizzard?

Leave her. Serves her right for running out into the middle of said blizzard .

Sighing, I scrubbed my hand over my face and tipped my head back to glare up at the sky. I couldn’t leave the human here to die, no matter how much easier it might be.

Shite .

I stomped back through the snow to fetch my horse. I’d left him at the edge of the copse of trees because I thought it would be difficult to wedge the gelding’s mass through the branches…and I was right. So, I was breathing hard and well past cursing by the time I stood over the female again.

Squatting down, I nudged her on what I thought might be a safe part of her anatomy.

“Lass.”

It didn’t work, so I nudged her harder, pushing against her shoulder—I thought that was her shoulder—with two fingers.

“Lass , wake up.”

Her face—too pale—didn’t twitch, and I scowled. Why in all the hells did she think it was a good idea to hie out after Torvolk’s horse? By the time I found her tracks, I’d almost considered leaving her to him to deal with since I had work to do around the stones.

But on my third pass around the circle, looking for abnormalities, I realized that if she was following the Ranger on foot, and he didn’t realize it—as the tracks indicated—she’d never catch up. And the clouds were full of snow.

Which is why I’d saddled the gelding and followed.

Just in time too. The lass looked half-dead already, afore she fainted from fright.

I didn’t think I was that ugly.

With a sigh, I lowered my shoulder to reach my arm under her and pick her—and that outrageously bright cloak—out of the snow.

“ Lass ,” I said again, but to no avail.

She was going to be useless during her own rescue, wasn’t she? Have to do everything myself.

With a grunt, I straightened, pulling her with me. She didn’t weigh much, but then, I wasn’t a whole male either. Luckily the horse was well-trained and didn’t move as I hoisted her across the saddle, using the stump of my right arm to lift while my left did the maneuvering.

And the lass still didn’t move.

She didn’t move as I managed to back the gelding out of the fir copse, nor when I swung up onto his back behind her. I wrapped the reins around my wrist and pressed my palm to her back to hold her in place.

Too cold. Too still.

Scowling, I kicked the horse into as close to a gallop as he could manage in this snow.

By the time we reached the stones and my cottage, I was afraid the lass had died. Well, what had she expected? She’d arrived at the circle on foot, which meant she’d been traveling a long time even afore the foolish move to follow a rider across country.

Telling myself it was her fault didn’t dissipate the knot of anger and sorrow in my chest.

Why did it matter? Why did she matter? She wasn’t my responsibility—her husband should be here caring for her. She was naught more than a distraction from my carefully balanced life. I didn’t need a female in my home, with her distracting red curls and sweet scent?—

Ye’re noticing her scent?

Nay! I wasn’t!

The gelding obediently stood by his stall while I swung down then reached for the lass. As I pulled her over my shoulder she groaned, and I told myself that wasn’t the reason for the spike of relief which eased my chest. I was likely just pleased to be home.

Aye.

So mayhap I stomped into the byre-cottage too loudly, and dropped her on my bed none too gently. Served her right for interrupting my life.

That bright red cloak of hers was dripping snow all over my blankets. Muttering a few choice curses, I bent and managed to get it unclasped, although ‘twas difficult getting it off her, with the strap to the satchel she carried bunched around her hip.

I hung the offensive red garment on the peg by the door.

Scowling, I turned my back on the heap of female in my bed and went to tend to the horse. The animal had been the hero of the day and deserved my attention more than she.

But when I returned to the cottage, the lass had curled up on her side. Her eyes were still closed, and her breathing steady, but she was clearly cold. I glanced at the hearth and frowned to see the fire had burnt down. Well, that was an easy fix.

By the time it was roaring again, the lass still hadn’t moved. I planted one hand on my hip and nudged the mattress with my knee.

“Lass.”

Naught.

Only a few hours ago, Torvolk’s Mate-whom-he-refused-to-acknowledge-was-his-Mate had sat on this bed, frightened and hurt. I’d watched the other male care for her and vowed I’d never become so weak. I couldn’t afford to.

But seeing this lass in such misery… Blowing out a curse with my breath, I knelt and reached for her feet.

Her boots were wet, which didn’t bode well for the toes beneath. And ‘twas damnably difficult getting the half-frozen leather off her with only one hand, but I managed.

Her feet were icy.

I rolled her onto her back, reached my hand up her skirt, and made quick work of her stockings, telling myself there was no need to be blushing like a lad on his first midsummer’s eve. Once her stockings were off, I shifted to sit on the edge of the mattress and placed her feet against the planes of my stomach.

“ Palton’s Spear , lass, these things are frigid,” I muttered, but her face remained still in sleep.

Sleep? Aye, it looked that way. At some point, her faint—fear of me—had turned to sleep, and she looked as if she could use it.

My own yawn caught me by surprise.

Well, what did ye expect ?

The night of the full moon was always my busiest. I had not slept, instead focusing on readying the stones for the arrival of the veil. Midnight was when the travelers arrived or departed, so I usually had my home ready for them, as much as it irked me to have others in my space.

And then in the hours after midnight and the closing of the veil, I had my usual rounds, ensuring naught else had passed through without my knowing. It was on one of these studies—after dawn, when Torvolk and his female departed—that I found the small set of tracks cleverly hidden atop my own. I followed them to the byre, then out when she chased after Torvolk.

Who was she?

Who did she belong to?

I stared down at her pale face, half-hidden by that riot of curls. Her hair was a red unknown among my people, and made me want to gather it in my hand and tip her head back to…

Easy .

Deep in my chest, my Kteer stirred, and I swallowed, struggling to control it. That part of me—the primal, instinctive part of me—had almost gotten me killed long ago. I didn’t need its input now.

I was in control now. Perfectly balanced, perfectly in control. My life had to be that way. Now.

Deeming her feet warm enough, I forced myself to put them aside without admiring the turn of her ankle or curve of her naked calf. Instead, I tucked them under one of the furs on the bed, and hoped by hiding them away, my Kteer would forget there was a female in my space.

The pottage I’d made last night was mostly gone, and the remains were sticking to the bowl in a way that made my nose curl. I should have added more water and vegetables to it to simmer this morning, had I not gone on an errand to save a foolish female.

My stomach growled, so I pulled out my modified cooking implements and began to chop carrots and onions and venison for a soup. A hearty soup would be just what the lass needed to warm herself inside and out— Not that I was thinking of the lass. I was just hungry.

Aye.

She’s no’ yers to care for.

When it was simmering, I checked on her again. Still sleeping.

This time, I risked pressing the back of my hand to her cheek. Her skin was cold, but not frigid. Mayhap she’d live after all.

I pulled another fur over her and straightened, surprising myself with another yawn.

Luckily, ‘twas almost midwinter, which meant darkness would come early tonight. I could sleep all I wanted in a few hours.

I trudged into the byre through the door set near the hearth. The animals’ body heat kept the place warm enough, so I shoveled in some more feed for all of them, using the stump of my arm to steady the pitchfork as I worked.

It had been seven years since the battle that cost me my arm, and I’d developed ways to live…well, mayhap not happily , but contented. I knew my own limits and I had everything arranged the way I liked. The way I could manage.

I didn’t need anyone else in my living space, bringing chaos. Unfortunately…

The blizzard still raged outside.

I sent a quick prayer to Malla the Beginner that Torvolk and his human had made it to the safety of Bloodfire Village before the snow hit. But that same storm meant that I couldn’t leave to follow him.

Assuming the female in my bed lived, I was stuck with her until the snow cleared and I could deposit her in the village with her kind.

There’s naught ye can do about it now. Just keep her alive until then, aye?

I forced myself to breathe deep, to stretch the tension from my neck.

Likely ‘twas just the lack of sleep and hunger that was making me so irritable, aye? I’d better go check on the soup.

‘Twas ready, and I checked on the sleeping lass before spooning some into a bowl for myself. I ate it sitting on the stool at my table, watching her. Willing her to open her eyes.

She didn’t.

Palton’s Spear, if she didn’t wake soon, I was going to have to try something drastic, like taking her into my arms again and spoon-feeding her the broth. I scowled at the thought of that sweet-smelling hair brushing against my scars, and beneath my kilt, my cock stirred.

Fook .

I needed a distraction.

Something to get the scent of her off my tongue.

Ye might bathe. Yer sweat stench is overpowering enough to frighten the hardiest soul .

Aught to distract my Kteer , which was stirring again at the thought of a female in my bed.

Melted snow made a shite bath, but ‘twas not like I could visit the hot springs in the middle of a blizzard. I set the pail beside the fire to warm while I cleaned up from the meal, then I stomped out to the byre to check on the animals once more.

‘Twas already mid-afternoon, although with the storm raging outside the shutters, ‘twas difficult to tell. I shoved more rags in the cracks of the windows while I waited for my water to boil.

Deciding ‘twas ready at long last, I shrugged out of my cloak. The heavy fur not only kept me warm but hid my…hid me from the world. Here in my home, there was no need to hide.

Usually.

I hung the cloak on the peg by the door, smothering her red one. The lass’s cloak was gaudy, aye, but…I glanced over at her. It seemed to fit her. Bright to the point of offense, not caring what anyone thought, with that wanton hair and tempting mouth.

Tempting? ‘Tis yer Kteer thinking .

Aye, I didn’t need any temptation in my carefully ordered life.

Pulling my kilt from my shoulder, I crossed back to the wooden chest and dug out my soap and rag. The water was hot enough to be a comfort rather than a shock, and I couldn’t help my groan of satisfaction as I squeezed it from the rag onto my tight shoulder.

Facing the fire, my back to the bed, I washed myself, dragging the soap and rag across my torso, my shoulders, my armpits. I scrubbed the dirt and the sweat from my skin, and as the water dried, I felt the prickles across the back of my neck.

Nay, wait. I froze.

That was not the water.

‘Twas someone’s gaze.

I twisted my head to glare back at the bed, and sure enough…

The lass was awake.

Awake and staring at me with wide eyes the color of spring grass. As I watched, those eyes dropped from mine to the stump of my right arm, and the fear I saw slowly ebbed away…to be replaced by pity.

Fook .

I slammed the rag back into the basin with a snarl. I didn’t need her pity.

I didn’t need her .