Page 5 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

LEXI

I needed to be busy, very busy, absolutely not looking at him, so I decided to wash that gross shirt. Over my shoulder I asked, “Do you think if I soaked this shirt in the river, wrung it out, and laid it on that rock, it might dry in the sun?”

“Aye, ye can try. We hae a couple hours of sun yet, but why are ye thinking on it?”

“I don’t know, I’m just worried I might have to wear it.”

“Ye winna hae tae, I will get ye home as soon as we are done restin’. If we hae tae move, ye can stay in yer dress, and I’ll wrap ye in the plaid.”

“What is a plaid?”

“A plaid? Och, Princess, tis the length of wool I wear. I wrap it round m’waist for a kilt, then throw the rest over m’shoulder for a cloak. Tis blanket, cloak, and armour against the rain, all in one.”

“Okay, good, but still, I ought to wash this tunic just because it’s gross and I don’t want it spreading its stink around.”

I kept my gaze fixed anywhere but on him as I picked up the foul-smelling shirt from the pile. I didn’t want to risk getting my socks wet, so I peeled them off and kicked away my rainboots — again sending up a silent thank-you that I’d chosen them instead of flip-flops.

Barefoot, I carried the shirt down to a broad slab of rock jutting over the river, maybe ten feet above where Torin was bathing. The surface was slick in spots, so I picked my steps carefully until I reached the edge. I dipped a toe into the current and yelped.

“Too cold! How are you swimming in it?”

Torin looked up, water streaming down his battered face, already cleaner and calmer now that he’d washed away the dirt and blood. He smiled, merrily. “Tis perfect — a Scottish spring!” He plunged under again.

He surfaced, hair plastered to his brow.

I said, “It feels like ice.”

“Aye, because the ice melts on the munros and cascades down tae us. Tis ice water, Princess.”

I knelt at the edge of the rock and plunged the linen shirt into the river. The icy current numbed my fingers instantly, but I scrubbed briskly anyway, hoping the cold water would work some kind of magic on the stink.

I asked, “What river is this?”

“The Dee.”

The morning sun shone bright across the bank, but my hands were already raw with cold.

Torin’s voice drifted up, casual. “If ye put yer arse in, it’d help yer pink, chafed skin.”

I wiped damp hair out of my face with my wrist. “Too cold. And how would that help?”

“Ye could numb it.”

I shook my head and went back to scrubbing. “Don’t worry, I can barely feel?—”

Then he straightened, waist-deep in the river, water streaming off his chest. His gaze focused past me to the trees beyond, every line of his body suddenly sharp.

I whispered, “What?”

He pressed a finger to his lips. “Wheesht.”

The shirt slipped from my hands onto the rock. My heart thundered as I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. Just woods and silence.

My heart was racing.

He waited, still as stone, then in a sudden burst splashed up out of the river, water flying in all directions. “Get down!”

I dropped flat on my stomach against the cold rock as he streaked past me.

He snatched up the wet shirt and yanked it over his head as he bounded up the bank.

It clung to him, soaked and translucent, plastered against muscle.

The hem fell only to mid-thigh, and modesty was long gone. I had seen his whole… everything.

Torin bounded past the blanket, scooping his sword in one fluid motion. Two more strides and he stopped, rooted, blade raised toward the trees. The surge of motion stilled into coiled strength — every line of him braced, dangerous.

Then I saw them, shadows, just beyond him, two men.

If I could see them, they could see me. My stomach dropped. I flattened myself further to the rock and crawled backward, then slid over the lip of the rock into the river.

The water was deeper than I thought. My foot scrabbled for a hold, finding nothing. My hands slipped from the stone and suddenly I was under, the current seizing me, tumbling me downstream.

I broke the surface choking, ears filled with the roar of water, and Torin’s voice far away, yelling at the men: “Daena come any closer! Keep goin’, or ye winna leave alive!”

I flailed, my chest burning, certain I was drowning. This was it — I would vanish, and Torin would never know what happened to me.

My last thought before the river pulled me under again was that he would be so worried.

Then my knee slammed into something solid. A rock. I grabbed, clawed at it, and hauled myself upright into water that barely reached my waist. Three feet deep. That was all.

I staggered to the edge and dropped to my knees, shivering, the icy current tugging at my dress. From there, half-hidden by reeds and rock, I watched as Torin, completely tense, sword raised, held two men at bay with nothing but the commanding threat in his voice.

They all yelled and carried on in rough voices, in words I couldn’t make out. The standoff stretched far too long — every breath felt like a year. My chest heaved, my teeth chattered, and my mind kept circling the same thought: what if he died, what would I do if he died?

And then, something shifted. One of the men spat into the dirt, barked something that sounded like a curse, and jerked his chin toward the path. The other scowled but backed away, lowering his knife. They still looked angry and menacing, but they were leaving.

Torin never moved, never blinked, his sword steadily held between them. Finally, with a last shout they were gone, crashing through the undergrowth, their footsteps fading away into the trees. Only the sounds of the rushing river remained.

Torin kept his sword up, watchful, but his shoulders eased, just a fraction. Without looking back, he said, low and steady, “Ye can come up now, Princess.”

I splashed out of the river and stood there, dripping like a drowned rat, before bursting into tears.

Torin turned to look. “Och nae, Princess… ye are verra drenched. What happened?”

“I thought I could hide!” I wailed, piteous and raw. “The river grabbed me and dragged me down!”

“Och nae.” He put down his sword, picked up the plaid, and came to me where I sagged, bedraggled and forlorn. He wrapped the wool around my shoulders, holding it snug under my chin, looking down on me.

I cried, “I thought I was going to die.”

His arms came around me, pressing me against his chest. We stood there, still, until my sobs eased and I simply leaned into him.

Then his hands began to move, slow and steady, rubbing up and down my back, drying me through the plaid, warming my arms and shoulders with his touch.

The care of it nearly undid me more than the river had.

Then he raised my chin and his expression was grave. “We hae all our valuables laid out on the blanket. The men saw. We are rested enough, we ought tae get ye home, as soon as ye are able.”

I nodded, though my chin trembled. “Everything is wet. I’m cold.”

“I need tae pack, but I will hae ye home in a minute.”

I let out a shaky breath and nodded.

He hugged me tighter, then stepped back and said, “I need tae change intae my tunic.” He picked it up.

I winced. “Ew, but that one has blood on it…”

He shrugged. “But tis dry, twill be more comfortable.” He added, “Turn around so I can change.”

I turned away, very aware of the sound of fabric peeling wetly from skin. He stripped off the damp tunic, and for one brief, burning moment, he was naked again, right behind me. I kept my eyes shut tight.

“Ye can turn around now.”

I did, and my stomach lurched. A bloody stain spread across the chest of his dry shirt.

He raised a brow. “Tis nae haunted.”

“Kinda is. I mean, you’ve literally got the blood of... ugh. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Then he smiled faintly. “Then we winna think on it, I hae important things tae do.” He picked up his plaid. “I must put on my great kilt tae cover my great arse. I daena want ye tae feel ye hae tae look at it again.”

A blush drew up my cheeks. “I just forgot to look away.”

“The sight of my great arse struck ye dumb!”

I laughed.

“Och, tis a relief, I feel a great deal better when ye laugh.”

He stepped close, and used an edge of the fabric to towel the water from my hair. His touch was steady, careful.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

He brushed a lock of hair from my cheek, smiling wryly. “And I am sorry ye almost drowned in the shallow water.”

I raised my chin. “I almost died in a rushing waterfall but gripped the tree root and pulled myself ashore. You didn’t see, it was heroic.”

“I am certain twas.” He stepped away. “Better now?”

“Yes, thank you, Torin.”

“Ye are welcome, Princess.”

While he bound himself into his great kilt, I said, “Don’t you have to lay it on the ground and sort of… roll into it? I saw that in a documentary once.”

Torin screwed up his face. “Lay upon the ground, Princess? I dinna hae tae lie in the dirt tae don m’clothes.

” He pleated the fabric between his fingers, wrapped it snug around his waist, then belted it tight.

It happened really fast. “A man kens tae pleat as he stands. Else he’d go unclad half the day.

I can dress in the rain, on the march, or with a sword at m’side — no rollin’ in the muck required. ”

I, on the other hand, sat down on the blanket to pull on my socks and shove my feet back into my rainboots. My dress was plastered wet to my skin. I couldn’t wait to get home.

Dude sauntered in from his sunny perch, tail high, as though he had known all along we were about to leave.