Chapter 4 #2
He smelled of wet wool and horses and an underlying spiciness that made her heart throb faster still. His mouth pressed to hers, and she leaned into the fire of his strong, solid body, grateful she was sitting down lest her legs gave way from beneath her.
His chest was firm beneath her hand, his skin feverish. She should stop. He needed tending to, not kissing.
Heat pulsed between her legs, and her fingertips moved of their own volition, smoothing over his muscular chest. She parted her lips, mirroring what he had done and kissing him back. A low groan vibrated beneath her hand, and he slowly drew back.
“I should be fetching yer tea.” She quickly turned to the boiling pot of willow bark, its earthy scent heavy in the damp air.
Reid shook his head and ran a hand through his auburn hair. “I shouldna have done that.”
The burning sensation in her cheeks slid down low into her belly as she poured the tea into the mug. What a ridiculous mistake she’d made in kissing him. In allowing him to kiss her. He regretted it, and she now looked quite the fool.
“Forgive me. I didn’t…that is, I thought…” The stilted apology stammered from her lips. Dumbly, she thrust the mug toward him.
He accepted it, his stare level with hers. “Ye’re to be a nun, Clara,” he said in a low voice.
Shame simmered under her skin—skin that still crackled with awareness at his proximity, at the pleasure of his mouth moving over hers. Somehow her resolved endeavor to join the abbey had wildly deviated at that moment.
And all it had taken was a single kiss.
She was grateful for his respect for her future path, even if she had so readily forgotten her purpose.
After all, the reason for becoming a nun was to ensure her family would not worry about her.
Traveling alone with a warrior whose body was riddled with scars and wounds and bruises did not bode well for a peaceful future, or for ensuring her family would not have cause for concern.
“I am to be a nun,” Clara stated, more brightly than she felt. “It was good of ye to be so considerate.”
He gave a tight nod and tore his gaze from her. She gathered her healing supplies with trembling hands. Her nerves had left her clumsy, and she accidentally knocked over stoppered jars and dropped a roll of linen, causing it to uncurl onto the ground.
Once she had secured the last of her materials into her bag, she looked up to find him wearing his leine once more.
The neck of his shirt hung open, revealing the place where his muscular chest met his collarbones and strong throat.
Her fingers tingled with the memory of how he had felt beneath her touch, and her lips still hummed from the caress of his lips.
Heavens, even her heart still beat too swiftly.
But he was right. She was to be a nun, and it wouldn’t do to lose her head over a man—especially not a warrior.
His life was one of danger, and she needed one of peace. One of safety.
They shared a meal of dry salted beef, stale bread and a bit of hard cheese, all washed down with wine, in silence. Though the meal was cold on a chilly night, it still filled her belly and left her groggy with the need for sleep.
Reid was correct when he’d stated their ride was more rigorous than she was used to.
She’d pressed a hand to his brow after they’d supped, confirming his fever had indeed receded.
It had been intimate while she remained close enough to touch him as she gauged the tea’s effects.
Before she could allow herself to be tempted to lean into him once more, she made her way to the opposite side of the fire and slipped into her bedroll for the night.
Despite Clara’s fatigue, sleep would not come.
It wasn’t only the riotous tumble of thoughts through her mind but also the firmness of the ground beneath her and how even the burn of humiliation at that kiss was insignificant against the frosty spring night air.
The frigid dampness managed to wriggle into her bedroll at the gaps near her neck.
It settled deep into her bones until her joints ached from the tight ball that she’d curled into to preserve her body heat.
A log thunked onto the fire behind her, followed by a rush of welcome heat and light. Amid the pop and hiss of fresh wood being licked by greedy, glorious flames, Clara finally relaxed into slumber.
It wasn’t to last, unfortunately.
As soon as the fire began to wane, so too did its heat, and fingers of cold crept into her bedroll, rousing her from slumber. Another log was added, and then as the log dwindled, the chill came back. This happened twice more before the rustle of a person moving sounded in the dark.
Clara fingered the hilt of the dagger she’d brought to bed with her, fully prepared to defend herself if need be. Footsteps approached. She tensed and opened her eyes a slit, regarding the fire and the emptiness around her.
Where was Reid?
The air stirred as something lightweight landed beside her, and the bulk of a man settled atop it.
Ah, there he was.
His familiar scent mingled with the smoky campfire as he lay close enough to her that he was nearly touching her; his heat immediately began to warm her frigid limbs.
“This isn’t necessary,” Clara said through a clenched jaw.
“Yer chattering teeth were keeping me awake.”
Clara ought to apologize, but she was too exhausted and too cold. Instead, she melted against him, letting him thaw her from the back as she was heated from the front by the fire. He shifted slightly and his large arm eased over her.
It was an intimate embrace, putting them in a position she should have protested.
But she could not help but revel in the way he held her.
Not only the additional heat it provided, but how it appealed to something deep inside her she’d never explored before, a yearning she’d never even known existed.
It made her relive that kiss they had shared and left her craving far, far more.
She slept on without waking again and did not rouse until the sun tipped its head over the horizon to bid them good morrow with its gilded light. Reid’s arm was still slung over Clara, hot and heavy where it dropped across her shoulder.
Never had she thought to share sleeping space with a man.
She rolled toward him, careful not to disturb his slumber.
While she had meant to touch her hand to his forehead to gauge his temperature, she found herself drawn to his relaxed face.
Fine lines creased his brow, and the skin at the corners of his eyes looked as though he’d spent much time squinting against the sun, but the rest of his face appeared youthful, his expression blank and his lips soft.
The whiskers at his jaw caught the morning light and winked with a coppery brilliance.
Suddenly, her palm itched for the prickle of those stiff hairs. She reached up and settled her hand on his face, slightly too hot, which meant his fever had returned in the night.
She slipped from her makeshift bed and prepared more tea for him, as well as a meal with their meager rations. The firewood had nearly all been used, most likely to keep the cold at bay—for her. A small wooden figure lying in the dirt beside the fire pit caught her attention.
Curious, Clara bent to retrieve it and found it to be a whittled image of a fox. And quite a well done one at that. Had Reid made it?
She glanced to where he still slept and put the carving into her pocket so it wouldn’t be left behind before she set about waking him. Once he had some willow bark in him and had broken his fast, he would do well enough. Or rather he should, so long as the weather held.
No sooner had the thought completed itself in her mind than the sky overhead rumbled with an angry growl and the promise of rain.