Chapter 8 #2
What the hell was she thinking, wandering about after dark?
Anyone could be outside her doors, waiting to attack her.
Was the woman that naively trusting or simply the brainsick hermit she had appeared in her grandfather’s great hall?
Whichever the case, the more he learned of her, the more difficult he realized his task would be.
Her footsteps hesitated and then stopped very close to him.
With his eyes closed, his sense of smell sharpened. The earlier woodsmoke was gone. Now her scent brought him visions of newly mown lawns, sparkling after a fresh rain.
With a sigh and a rattle of pottery and wood, she moved away.
Whatever the reason, Isabella seriously lacked the care for her own safety.
Though they likely had a fortnight before MacDowylt could return with his armies, anything was possible.
And while Robert grudgingly admired the man’s attempt to avoid war in his campaign to add to his lands, this was one time he couldn’t agree with his methods.
In spite of Isabella’s rationale that MacDowylt would return to the castle, the man knew she didn’t live within the security of the castle walls. At this very moment he could have men scouring every inch of the surrounding countryside, hunting for her location.
It’s what Robert would do in his position.
No, there was no haven to let down his guard here. He could either watch her twenty-four hours a day or he could teach her that the sense of security she obviously felt in her surroundings was false.
Better yet, he could do both.
The melodious tones of her voice floated to his ear as he stealthily rose to his feet and tucked the end of his plaid into his belt before approaching her.
She’d just reached the door when he struck.
Slipping directly behind her, he slid his hand inside the hood of her cloak to curl his fingers around her slender throat and pull her back against his chest.
As her strangled scream shattered the night, he loosened his grip immediately but didn’t let go. Instead he pulled her closer as all hell seemed to break loose around them.
The sheep’s plaintive wail combined with the cries of frightened goats. Even his own horse bellowed, the whole of their cries all but lost in a crash of thunder, as if Mother Nature herself were venting her outrage along with the animals.
“Have you no understanding of yer place in the world, lass? Do you no see how easy it would be for someone to capture you, or worse,” he demanded roughly, practically shouting to be heard over the din.
Her answer was a blow to his chest, delivered with a great deal more force than he might have expected.
For an instant, he wondered if he’d missed some weapon she’d carried as the strike sent a knife-sharp pain slashing through his ribs.
He staggered back from Isabella, holding his side as disbelief flooded his mind and he gasped for air.
She stumbled away from him into the dark of the stable, screaming again as she did so, heralding another round of ear-splitting cacophony, the braying of animals lost in the frenzy of the storm raging outside.
His pain disappeared as quickly as it had begun and he breathed in deeply, straightening in time to see flames from the lantern Isa had been carrying spread through the dry floor covering.
Falling to one knee, Robert pounded at the spreading fire with his bare hands, quickly losing the battle as the sparks fed on the dry rushes.
With a whoosh, Isa’s cloak floated past his head and down onto the fire, suffocating the flames and leaving them both in total darkness.
“Are you hurt?”
Robert ignored her question as he staggered to the door, flinging it open to the howling wind and rain. Fresh air washed over him and into the enclosure and he gulped it in, steadying himself before he spoke.
“What the hell did you hit me with?” he demanded, the memory of the unexpected pain still fresh.
“I . . . nothing,” she stammered. “I jabbed you with my elbow and nothing more. Did I hurt you?”
He snorted his disbelief and reached out to where he knew she stood from the sound of her voice. Grasping her arm, he pulled her along with him, toward the door.
“You belong inside yer cottage, behind a bolted door, where you’ll be safe.” Inside, where in spite of her claims he could see for himself whether or not she carried any weapons.
“Wait. I’ve a need to . . .” She pulled her arm from his loose grasp and leaned down before finishing. “I canna move with any speed wearing these pattens.”
She darted out into the driving rain ahead of him, leading the way to her front door. This time when they reached it she held it open, allowing him to follow her inside. Not that he would have settled for any attempt on her part to keep him out as he had earlier.
In three steps he reached the hearth, and pulled his shirt up and over his head as he did so.
He took only the barest notice of his blistered hands as he ran them over his chest, searching, amazed to find nothing there.
Nothing but the familiar thin silver trail, a reminder of the wound that would have taken his life almost a decade past.
As he turned, Isabella gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. When he met her gaze, he realized it was the scar that had captured her attention, but it was Isabella herself that captured his.
The woman standing before him now bore no resemblance at all to the one he’d seen earlier today.
Her hair hung over her shoulder, captured in a neat braid that easily reached below her waist. Wet tendrils curled around her face, framing eyes so intensely green he’d swear she wore colored contacts if he were home.
Though the nightdress she wore would be relegated to the oldest of grannies in the time he considered his own, it occurred to him the clothing was seriously underrated. The heavy wet cloth clung to her body, outlining her curves in a manner more enticing than anything he’d ever seen.
She seemed to come to her senses first. Her hands flew to her hair and her eyes rounded, as if she’d just realized she stood in front of him without her disguise. It was obvious when she also realized she wore only her nightdress, dropping her arms to cross them protectively in front of her.
To Robert’s way of thinking, the gesture did more to highlight than to conceal.
When she looked to her feet self-consciously, he forced himself back to business, to deal with the situation at hand.
“You should get yerself into some dry things.”
“And you as well,” she responded, glancing up first at him and then to the door. “I’d ask you to turn yer back so that I might change in privacy.”
“I can wait outside,” he offered, strangely relieved when she shook her head no.
He turned his back and moved closer to the fire, locking his gaze into the dancing flames. Behind him, the slap of wet cloth hitting the stone floor jolted him hard enough he had to close his eyes to keep from looking around.
What was wrong with him? She was a woman under his protection, not someone he’d picked up in a bar.
Everything about him felt off-center tonight, from the pain he’d experienced when Isabella had jabbed him with her elbow right up to the unusually strong attraction he experienced when he was near her.