Page 6 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

LEXI

T orin asked, while putting on his kilt, “Did ye see my sporran in the bags? I feel undressed without it.”

I walked toward Ferrari. “We didn’t look in this one.” I opened the top and dug through it to find Torin’s sporran. I yanked it up, “Another win! We just keep winning!”

“Och aye, my sporran!” He opened it. “My coins, my…” He held up the pencil box with the matches.

“Oh that is good, we find matches after we get to go home. A fire would have been nice here today. But we don’t need them now.”

He put the sporran on around his waist.

I said, “So next we have to set the vessel, you remember the markings?”

“Aye.”

“Good, we just have to get them right.”

He balanced the vessel in his hands as if he were checking the weight.

I said, “Except last time you did this, you were in my basement.”

“We established twas safer.” His eyes flicked up at the trees. “Doing it outside is how a man ends up jumpin’ intae a tree five centuries away.”

He exhaled, crouched low, and placed the vessel on the ground.

“Do you mind if I hold on?”

He extended his elbow. I knelt beside him, gripping his upper arm, needing the proximity while he worked.

He set about adjusting the vessel’s markings, careful and methodical. He would turn it, get the markings in order, then quickly roll it onto the dirt. Then we would both peer down on the symbols. Again and again, until every line was exact.

The process felt endless. My knees ached, my nerves frayed, I shivered a bit in the chill afternoon in my dripping wet hair — but I did not want him to rush.

“I am sorry tis taking so long.”

“No worries, I’m just happy to go back. When we get there I am going to make you a steak dinner. I’m already planning it.”

We both peered down at the vessel lying still in the soil. Torin didn’t reach for it. He just stared, tense, like the thing might grab him and drag him away.

I whispered, “Does it have the right markings?”

“Aye,” his voice was low, certain. “We are verra fortunate. We hae a vessel. I will get ye home.”

“This feels like even more winning.”

“It does.” We both stood and he adjusted the belts at his waist. His eyes shifted to the horses waiting nearby. “I haena time traveled with a horse afore. I wonder will it be enough tae hold their reins?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Wish we had instructions — should we sit on them?”

“Nae, I daena like that idea. If I land in a heap, I daena want a horse on top of me, even if tis a fine horse. We will hold their reins.”

“As good an idea as any.”

He gathered the reins and drew the horses close, until their warm muzzles pressed into a tight circle around us. He slipped an arm around me, clutching the back of my wet sundress, as if holding on, and I tucked myself against him, gripping the reins alongside his hand.

Torin spoke to the animals as if they understood. “Horses, forgive me for what I am about tae do. Ye are goin’ tae hate time travel, but sometimes ye hae tae do things ye daena like.”

Then his eyes met mine as I was stoically holding onto his arm. “Ye arna afraid?”

“Last time I was assaulted and kidnapped away from my home. This time, I’m going back by choice. I’m not afraid.”

His jaw flexed. “Tis painful.”

“Is it? I didn’t notice, I think I was… unconscious. Maybe that was the attack, not the travel, you know? I guess I think maybe this won’t be so bad.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “Twill be bad. Ye must ready yerself, Princess.”

He twisted the vessel.

I held on.

But nothing happened.

He banged it against his palm and then twisted it again. Nothing happened.

After watching him concentrate and try a few different, increasingly desperate things, I asked, “It’s not working?”

“Tis nae working.”

“Has this happened before?”

He lowered the vessel down to his side and stared out at the mountain in the distance. “Aye, it has happened.”

“Great.”

He let go of the reins of the horse.

I said, “Can we stay here until…?”

“Nae, we canna stay here at all, tis verra unsafe. We’ll reach the next town. We’ll get a room. Then we’ll try again.”

He exhaled and looked me over. “First, we need tae dress ye.” He dug through a saddlebag, found the damp tunic, and held it toward me.

I frowned deeply. “I knew this was going to happen. Didn’t I tell you Torin? I washed it because I could tell, I was going to have to wear this gross dead man’s tunic.” I crossed my arms.

“Ye knew it, ye were right on it.” He continued holding it out.

“I do not want to wear it.”

“I ken, but ye hae on a wee soggy dress. This tunic will cover ye and tis not near as wet.” He twisted it and wrung it, there weren’t any drips.

“It smells like the odor of a dead man’s ass.”

He bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “Ye still hae tae wear it.”

“Fine.” I grabbed it from his hands.

“Ye must dress here. I canna risk ye out of my sight.” He dug through the pack and pulled out a plaid.

“I don’t even want to ask if you’re going to put that disgusting dead man’s plaid on me.”

“I wouldna think on it, Princess, just dress.”

“I will but you don’t look at my great ass.”

Torin smiled, holding out the plaid like a screen. “I will stare at the river, at the trees, at the verra clouds — anythin’ but the glory of yer hindquarters.”

I laughed. “Glorious hindquarters? I feel like you’ve looked.”

He grinned. “I would never admit it, I am yer lowly servant. I think of naething but keepin’ yer glorious hindquarters safe.”

“Very funny.” I unzipped my sodden sundress and let it fall in a wet heap at my feet.

I was in wet panties and a bra. The cool air gave me goose bumps.

Quickly, I tugged the linen shirt over my head and shoved my arms through the sleeves.

It smelled better now — boggy with a hint of smoke, a trace of sweat.

“Done.”

Torin lowered the plaid, folded it in half, measuring its length, then wrapped it around my waist. “Hold it.”

I held still while he searched a bag for a leather strap, and cinched it firmly around me. The extra fabric folded over the top. He drew one side up and over my shoulder. When he stepped back, his brow lifted in quiet approval.

He fastened his cloak around my shoulders with a brooch, pinning both plaid and cloak together. “Yer dress inna perfect, but nae one will question it now.”

“Yeah, but how do I look?” I asked.

“Like a bonny Scottish lass.”

“Thank you.”

Torin scooped up Dude and tucked him neatly into one of the saddlebags on Ferrari, the smaller horse.

“Can you please check the vessel again?”

He pulled it from a bag and looked down on it.

He shook his head and returned it.

I said, “I am very very disappointed.”

“I ken.” He patted Lambo’s flank and tipped his chin at me. “Climb on.”

I set my foot in the stirrup, and Torin gave me a nudge upward. He grunted with the effort, which made me feel ungainly and ridiculous — like I was nothing but a burden. A pain in his arse.

I was.

Once I settled into the saddle, the horse stamped sideways. My balance lurched, and panic surged.

“Oh — oh no, it’s going to?—!”

I clutched at the horse’s mane and neck as it tossed its head back. I shrieked, already half sliding from the saddle.

Torin’s hand shot up, gripping my thigh hard as his other hand yanked the reins. The horse came to a brusque halt. “Nae, Princess, daena fall.”

“It tried to throw me off!”

“Tis Lambo. Lambo dinna want tae throw ye. He only wanted tae show ye how eager he is tae go.”

“I want down. I don’t want to ride him. I’ll walk.”

I lay draped over the horse’s neck, arms clamped tight, eyes shut. I wanted down. I needed down. But I didn’t dare let go.

“Let me down.”

Torin’s hand firmly held my thigh, the reins were gripped tight in his other.

“Nae, Princess. I should hae held him steady when ye were up alone. But as ye told me the other day when I was in yer car — ye said, I promise ye will be okay. Ye were right. But this is more urgent. Those men may return. We must leave.”

My eyes stayed closed, holding on with all my might, my cheek pressed against the horse’s mane. “What do I do?”

“Ye are balanced. Just rise up. I will hold ontae ye.”

I nodded and opened my eyes. His face was very close to mine, steady and unflinching. “Promise?”

“Aye, Princess.”

I slowly loosened my grip on the horse’s neck and pushed myself upright. My hands trembling, I clutched the saddle horn instead.

Torin said, “Aye, good lass, are ye balanced?”

I nodded.

“Hold on.” In one fluid motion, Torin stepped into the stirrup, swung up behind me, his leg brushing mine, his weight rocking the saddle until he settled.

The horse shifted restlessly, but Torin’s thighs pressed in, steadying both of us. His arms closed around me.

“Hie!”

The horses surged forward, hooves drumming the earth, Lambo carrying us away. Ferrari followed along with most of the bags.

The instant the horse moved, fire streaked up my thighs. Raw skin against rough wool — every step was agony. I shifted, trying to tug the edge of the plaid down between my legs for protection, but it was still wool. I needed silk. Satin. Anything but scratchy, damp plaid.

Torin must have noticed me squirm. “We winna ride far.”

“Where are we going?”

He was quiet as he guided our horses up from the riverside, the reins steady in his hands. His jaw was set, eyes scanning the treeline. “I haena decided yet.”