Page 4 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

LEXI

T he first bag was a soft leather sack with a cinched top.

I loosened the cord and dug inside. Silver coins spilled through my fingers, cold and heavy, and beneath them a bundle wrapped in dingy cloth.

I opened it to find a hunk of flatbread and a wedge of hard cheese oozing oil.

Both looked aged past their welcome. My stomach growled, but the sight turned it queasy.

Another smaller bundle held a strip of stiff, gray, dried meat.

I gagged. It looked really gross and I was pretty certain we would have to eat it.

I looked around at the landscape. Unless Torin could hunt — could he hunt? Or fish for me? Is that how it worked?

At least there was a flask. I shook it and heard the faint slosh — half full. I laid everything out in a neat row and pulled the second bag closer. This one was newer, sturdier, with a folded flap.

I flipped it open and froze.

A tag stuck out of the seam: Made in Texas.

Whoa.

For a heartbeat my mind scrambled. When were we?

I looked all around. Both Torin and I had assumed we were in a long-ago past, but what if I’d been wrong? What if we were just somewhere in the United States? What if while I had been unconscious I had been human-trafficked into the middle of nowhere?

But nothing around me looked familiar. The mountains, the trees, the air — it wasn’t anywhere I knew. And I hadn’t been many places, but still…

I dug deeper into the satchel. Shears with wiry hair caught in them — I dropped those fast, gagging. A ball of soap. A small knife. A horn spoon. And at the bottom, a hand-carved wooden cross. I set that beside the other items, feeling uneasy.

The third bag was the largest, stuffed round. I pulled open the flap and found a wool tartan blanket on top, musty with damp. I hauled it free, and as it unrolled something heavy clattered out from its folds.

A vessel.

My pulse leapt. We had a vessel!

I grabbed Torin’s leg and shook hard.

He scrambled up in an instant, blade in hand, eyes flashing right and left for danger. “What is it?”

“Nothing! I’m so sorry, Torin. I didn’t mean to alarm you. So sorry, but look!” I pointed at the vessel. “We have one!!”

“Och aye, tis good news.” He clutched his chest. “Och, ye gave me a fright.”

“I am so sorry, I got so excited.”

He put down his knife and picked up the vessel.

I asked, “Is it going to grab you?”

“I daena think twill.”

“Can I hold onto you, anyway?”

He nodded and put out his arm for me to wrap my hands around. I put my head on his shoulder so I could see.

He shook the vessel slightly and listened, then began studying it.

“What do you see?”

“The markings arna the same.”

“None of them?”

“Nae, none of them, I daena ken…” He looked around at the horizon. “We are in Scotland, but?—”

“Are we? Because one of the bags has a tag that says…” I held that bag to show him. “Made in Texas.”

“What dost it mean?”

“Texas is in America, a different state, and as you know, America was created in 1776, basically. So I wondered if we were in a more modern time and possibly...” I squinted out at the mountains, uncertain if it would make sense at all what I was about to say. “Could we be in the state of Texas?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Nae, I daena think so. I recognize all of this. The munro tae the north is Ben Macdui, and—” he lifted an elbow toward another peak, “there is Bod an Deamhain. That means we are near Linn of Dee. Unless this place, Texas, has a munro that looks like this…?”

“A munro is a mountain?”

“Aye.”

“I don’t know… but I don’t think so. What does Bod an Deamhain mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I daena think I can say it before a lass, much less a princess.”

“Tell me. We are in this together. No secrets.”

He cleared his throat, pink spreading up his face. “It means, well… the Cock of the Demon.”

I snorted, then burst out laughing. “Oh, well, yes, I can see that. Tall and, um… pointy.”

“Pointy?” He groaned. “Och, nae. Ye ought tae say sturdy, sharp as a blade. Ye daena want tae insult it, else the weather will turn.”

“Right. ‘Pointy’ is an insult. Got it.” I lifted my voice toward the horizon. “Mister Demon Mountain, very spectacular shape you’ve got there. Big, with great girth. Really puncturing that sky. Please don’t make the weather bad.”

Torin threw his head back and laughed, deep and hard. “Och, that was delightful. We’ll hae fair weather for days now—even while it rains.”

“Wait, is it going to rain?”

“Aye. Soon.”

He sniffed theatrically at the air. “These are Scots trees, too — you ken them by their smell. We Scots delight in our aromas.” He gave a sniff under his arm and groaned. “I will be needin’ a wash.”

“Well, if we can get the markings right on the vessel, maybe we can shower back at home.”

Torin nodded, his face close to mine, because I was still gripping his elbow — closer than I was comfortable with, but a closeness I also liked.

“We’re in Scotland, but we don’t know when. Could be anytime, right?”

“Aye.” His gaze dropped back to the vessel. “I canna determine what tae do with it.”

“This makes me nervous. We could end up anywhere. What if we just put it down for a minute, get our wits around us?”

“Aye, and we need tae take the horses — we canna leave them behind. We hae tae pack them first.”

I looked around, frowning. “We made a mess.”

Torin said, “I hae landed many times in verra dangerous situations. We hae tae be ready. Twould be good tae get cleaned up. I need food. A little rest so I am ready tae fight. Did I mention that I am verra hungry?”

He set the vessel carefully on the ground.

“Me too. There is food, Torin, but none of it looks appetizing.” I passed him the bundle.

He unwrapped it like a starving man anyway, eyes bright with hunger.

I tugged the wool blanket free from the larger bag and dug through the bottom.

My fingers closed on a long linen shirt, yellowed, rank-smelling, the fabric limp with old sweat.

I pulled it up and pouted. “Ugh. We have to figure out how this vessel works or I’m going to end up wearing this disgusting thing, aren’t I? ”

“Aye. Yer dress inna fitting for this time.” He shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth and chewed grimly.

“Well, I’m glad we are leaving this time, because this is gross.” I tossed it to the side.

“Aye, tis gross because the man who wore it afore was wretched and foul.”

I said, “The same man who packed up this food with his disgusting hands.”

He shrugged. “Yet he is dead, so we daena care about his hands.”

“That’s... not how germs work.”

He grinned around his chewing. “Daena matter if ye are hungry enough.” He held out a slice of cheese at the tip of his knife.

I grabbed it and shoved it into my mouth, grimacing. “Delicious.” I stuck out my tongue. “I look like you did when I gave you Diet Coke.”

He looked down his nose. “Dost ye like that drink? Twas terrible.” He ripped the dried bread into pieces and passed me a share.

“I love it, drink it all the time.” I ripped off a bite with my teeth, sprinkling crumbs down my sundress. “Ah, man, it’s dry.” I chewed and smacked my lips.

“Dry as a witch’s lips on a bitter day.” Torin sprayed crumbs into his beard. He finger-brushed them off. “Och, I am a mess. I hae the blood and bread of a dead man upon me.”

He reached back into the bag, rummaging until his hand closed on a squat little horn pot. He pulled the wooden stopper free, and a sharp waft hit us — pine, resin, something raw and biting, almost like turpentine.

Torin sniffed it and grunted. “Tis a balm for ye, Princess.”

He handed it over. The horn was unsettlingly warm. I peered inside. The paste was yellowish, streaked with green, glistening faintly in the light.

I furrowed my brow. “What is it?”

“My guess would be fat and nettles, a touch of pine, maybe garlic. Good for yer skin.”

I blinked at him. “You don’t truly expect me to put this on my skin? It looks like an infection. Who knows what…” I sniffed and gagged. “That man might have stuck his fingers in it!”

Torin shrugged. “Aye, he likely did. He probably smeared it on his chafed arse, same as ye need tae. But I told ye, Princess, he is a dead man now, and whatever he did daena matter anymore. He is gone. Smear it on yer skin and ye will feel the better for it.”

I made another face, sniffed once more, then shoved the stopper back into the opening. “I just can’t. I can’t use it. His toiletries, his shirt... What if he’s…?”

Torin’s eyes narrowed. “What if he’s what?”

I lowered my voice. “Haunting it.”

His eyes went wide. “Ye think he might be hauntin’ the arse balm?”

I grimaced. “You did murder him. It’s a possibility he’s angry. It cannot be safe to put that on my skin.”

Torin shook his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Ye think a man who kidnapped ye, near broke my ribs while I was pinned and couldna strike back, that same villain, is goin’ tae pour his demon spirit intae a horn jar of balm, just tae spite us?”

He dipped a finger into the yellow-green muck and smeared it across a scrape on his arm. The stench hit me as he winced. “Och it stings.”

“I told you!”

He chuckled. “Tis supposed tae sting, tis how ye ken tis working.” He exhaled, then gave me a sidelong glance. “But truly, Princess, ye believe a man so full of evil, so ready for the death I gave him, is still about, floatin’ in the balm?”

“He might be.”

Torin shook his head. “That’s not the way hauntings work.

The croft itself? Aye, I wouldna go near it until the bodies are put tae ground proper.

That place is surely haunted. Tis why I rode so far in the night tae get a distance away, but the man inna hauntin’ their horses, or their clothes, or balms. Nae, that inna how it works. ”

“Fine, but I don’t want to put it on. Maybe it’s not haunted, but it’s still gross.”

“As ye wish, Princess.” He picked up the flask, pulled the stopper, sniffed, and offered it. “Have some. Tis whisky.”

I shook my head.

He arched his brow. “Tis because of the dead man’s haunting of it?”

“No, It’s because his lips were probably on it.”

Torin took a long swallow, then grimaced at the burn. He passed it to me anyway. “There, ye daena mind my lips, ye kissed ‘em of yer own accord.”

I said, “Very funny, that was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”

“I ken, and even if it did happen, I wouldna kiss ye back.”

I drew down my brow. “Why… I mean, I won’t, but why wouldn’t you?”

“Because ye are a princess! Tis a good way for a lowly servant such as m’self, tae lose their head. Ye daena want me tae lose my head?”

“Of course not, but I don’t believe the whole royal thing, so it’s not an issue.”

“Are ye tryin’ tae talk me intae kissing ye again?”

I blew hair from my forehead. “No, I can’t really remember what my point was.”

Torin unwrapped the strip of meat and tore a piece free with his teeth, chewing steadily. He held out the other half.

I pinched it between two fingers, took the tiniest bite, and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. It felt like gnawing leather soaked in salt.

“What meat is this, you think?” I passed the rest back to him.

“Likely venison,” he said, unbothered. “Ye daena want it?”

“Nope. That was plenty.”

He ripped it apart with his teeth and finished it without hesitation. Then he crouched and set the smallest sliver down in front of Dude. The cat sniffed delicately, gave one disdainful lick, then sat back and began washing his paw instead.

I laughed. “See? Even Dude thinks it’s gross and I’ve seen him eat a whole mouse, fur and all.”

Torin said, “He is a wild beast, that one. He wants tae hunt his meat on his own.”

Then he added, “Now I am fed, I must wash.” He pulled off his boots. “I ought tae go down river so I winna shock ye with the sight of m’arse, Princess, but I daena want tae leave yer side.”

“I don’t want you to leave, my um… side, that is… not a good idea. I will turn my back and won’t look.”

“Ye winna tell anyone that I bathed in front of ye?” His belt and sword were placed down on the rocks.

“Of course not. I won’t look, it’s fine.”

He peeled his long socks off.

I turned around and heard his kilt hit the ground behind me with a soft thud.

There was another rustling, the tug of a shirt being pulled off — was he naked? He was naked, right? Oh God, what if I actually saw him naked?

More movement, the shuffle of boots set aside, then bare footsteps on the rocks. I couldn’t stop myself — I risked a glance.

Oh. My.

He was so hot. His back, his shoulders, the lean cut of muscle in his thighs as he picked his way barefoot across the stone-strewn riverbank.

Awkward for half a second, then plunging straight into the water.

He vanished beneath the surface, the river swallowing him whole, until he burst up again with a shout, “Phwesha!” flinging water from his hair in a wild arc across his face and chest.

He turned, grinning, and looked directly up the bank. Straight at me.

I had forgotten to not look.

I blushed. “Sorry, um…”

Even with his bruised and battered face, his grin was cocky and sure of himself.

I turned away.