Chapter Seven #2
Unable to help himself, he found himself circling back, again and again, to the moment near the burn when Elena had regarded him, the rawness of it still vivid as if it were but moments ago.
He had known the gaze of women, in every permutation: a fleeting glance over a market stall, a calculated smile just shy of a dare, the brazen appraisal that sometimes made men fools.
But this morning, as he’d shed his bloody tunic, Elena had stared so intently, so nakedly, that the gesture stripped him bare in a way no amount of undressing ever could.
He might take it all the way to his grave, the memory of that first startled intake of breath as she beheld the map of old wounds and muscle stretched tight across his chest. There had been no attempt at decorum, no flicker of dissembling; only the unguarded, reverent scrutiny of a girl who had possibly never before seen a man so up close and personal.
He remembered clearly that her cheeks had turned a shade that put fire’s embers to shame. He could almost feel her gaze on his skin even now. And yet, what unsettled him most was the innocence of it.
The memory tightened something low and dangerous in him.
Not pride—he had never been given to that—but awareness.
Sharp and sudden and unwelcome. It had taken every scrap of discipline he possessed not to turn then, not to close the distance she herself had not known she’d crossed with only her gaze, not to reach for her.
Jacob moved higher along the slope, scanning for signs of small prey, his jaw clenching though the ground here seemed promising.
Because wanting her—noticing her—was a dangerous indulgence. One he could not afford. Not with her depending on him. Not with pursuit still a possibility, however faint.
Jesu, that was the last bluidy thing this adventure needed!
The slope below the cave was broken with stone and brush—good ground for small game.
Jacob moved quietly, watching for the twitch of ears, the sudden stillness that betrayed a rabbit pressed low against the earth.
With only his dagger at his belt, he kept close to the rock, favoring patience over distance, and still, the hunt took longer than expected.
He finally find prey, caught it near a stand of scrub pine, quick and clean, the work done before the animal could cry out. It wasn’t enough, but would have to do.
THE CAVE GREW VERY quiet after Jacob left.
Elena remained where he had placed her, just past the bend where the space widened and the ceiling lifted enough that she could stand without stooping.
The darkness settled gradually, not all at once—first the mouth of the cave dimming to a dull gray, then the western cleft losing its last trace of twilight, until the stone around her seemed to drink what little light remained.
She did not move deeper, nor did she venture closer to either opening. He had been clear, and she trusted him.
Still, the waiting unsettled her.
She told herself he would not have gone far.
That he knew the mountain, that he would not risk leaving her longer than necessary.
And yet the silence pressed in, made larger by the absence of his presence.
Every small sound—the faint scuff of the horse shifting her weight, the distant sigh of wind moving along the rock face—took on shape and meaning in the dark.
Elena burrowed deeper into Jacob’s plaid and sat, knees pulled in, back to the stone.
The cave smelled of earth and mineral damp, clean but unfamiliar.
She focused on steadying her breath, on listening without letting her imagination wander too far ahead of reason.
He would return, nothing bad would happen to him out there.
Certainly, if he came upon someone with ill-intent, she’d clearly been shown that Jacob knew how to handle himself.
Time stretched, long enough that she began to chew her nails, her mother not here to softly push her hand away from her mouth.
Elena did not know how long she waited there in the dark, wrapped in Jacob’s plaid, time measured not by the light of the sun but by the slow, methodical dripping of condensation from the cave’s ceiling somewhere beyond her line of sight.
It wasn’t long before her mind began to wander, at first in tight, logical circles: If Jacob did not return, she would simply wait until daybreak, use the horse, and move cautiously, continuing south before she headed west.
The sharp clatter of what sounded like a pebble falling to the ground came from somewhere near the cave’s mouth.
Her heart lunged. She stood and pressed her back against the stone wall, straining to listen.
At first, she heard nothing save a silence so thick she wondered if she had imagined the sound.
Then, the tiniest suggestion of movement—not the wind, not the horse, but something two-footed and cautious, a measured shifting of weight on loose gravel.
Her breath caught and she counted the seconds.
Then, as if in a dream, she heard it again, closer this time: a slow scrape, a deliberate tread.
The cave’s acoustics distorted the direction, so that she could not tell whether the sound came from the lower entrance or the narrow western cleft.
Her fear ran wild, conjuring every possible horror, including the hard, cold hands of an Englishman come to drag her away.
The steps paused. A heartbeat, two, three. Elena pressed herself further into the darkness, sidling along the wall deeper into the pitch-black cave, wishing she could disappear entirely.
Then, the sound resumed, this time more purposeful.
The scrape of a boot, a small grunt as someone ducked beneath the low ceiling, and—oh God—an unmistakable human cough.
Jacob. Relief rushed through her so quickly that she nearly collapsed.
She did not trust it, not at first, and waited as the footsteps approached, steady and unhurried now, until at last she made out the silhouette of a man—taller than any of the Englishmen who had abducted her, she was certain, moving casually, not malevolently.
Elena opened her mouth to expel the breath she’d been holding.
Jacob appeared in the faintest gray shimmer, a bundled mass hanging from one hand. He entered with the sort of deliberate caution, as if waiting for his eyes to adjust.
“Elena,” he said, seeming to stare directly at her.
She nodded and stepped forward.
He paused, surveying her in a single glance, a frown settling between his brows. “Are ye all right?”
“Aye,” she said at once, a wee bit breathless. “Mayhap next time, announce yourself,” she suggested, pressing her palm against her chest where her heart still hammered beneath her ribs.
“Aye.” He shifted his weight briefly before glancing around to survey again their surroundings. “I’ll get the fire going. Sorry, I should have seen to that ere I went out.”
He worked quickly, selecting a place where the cave's natural draft would draw smoke upward.
After arranging some scattered stones in a tight circle, he vanished briefly, his voice echoing back that he was just fetching kindling.
True to his word, he reappeared moments later, arms laden with brittle twigs and dried pine needles.
Soon after, the steel of his flint struck true against stone, and soon a hesitant flame licked at the darkness.
The fire was modest and well-contained, throwing just enough light to soften the shadows and push back the chill.
Elena hovered, feeling a bit useless and then sat, crossing her legs beneath her, in front of the fire. Only then did he step back toward her.
“Rabbit,” he explained when he drew that limp critter forward, answering the question she had not yet asked. “I skinned it outside. I kent ye might prefer nae to have blood about the place.”
The consideration caught her off guard. “I thank ye.”
He gave a brief nod, already turning back to his work, setting the meat to cook over the small fire.
The cave changed as the minutes passed—dark stone taking on a gentler cast in the firelight, the quiet becoming companionable rather than threatening.
Outside, night fully claimed the mountain, but within the cave there was warmth now, and soon food, and the steady presence of the man who had proven capable of filling every need.
They ate close to the fire, the small blaze throwing uneven light across the stone and catching in the planes of Jacob’s face.
He had portioned the meat simply, handing her the better cut without comment and settling back on his heels to eat what remained.
For a time, there was only the quiet crackle of flame and the sound of them chewing, the mountain holding its breath around them.
“This,” Elena said at last, glancing at the rabbit in her hands, “should be recorded as the first time I’ve ever dined over an open fire.”
Jacob shot her a look from beneath his brow, his surprise evident. Reality dawned fairly quickly, though and his expression eased. “Aye, I imagine there has never been a need.”
She nodded, delicately plucking more meat away from the bone. “Save to visit Blackwood—and ye were rudely away the last time—I’ve never traveled farther than a day would take me.”
“War is rude, is it nae?” He asked, the suggestion of a grin twitching his lips.
“It is. But that must seem strange to ye,” she said, “to someone who’s likely been all over Scotland—mayhap parts of England as well?
” It struck her, then, how little she’d ever seen for herself, how narrow her world truly was—Wolvesly, the village, Blackwood on two occasions, and only now, Strathfinnan.
Jacob’s eyes lingered on her, the firelight painting new shadows over his rugged face.
“Hm,” he said, taking another bite. “Thousands of miles, I must have traveled by now. I can only imagine the miles our fathers have known.”