Chapter Six
The storm unleashed a rage unlike anything she had seen before.
Cora had been raised in these mountains, near this very loch, and yet she could not remember encountering a storm of such magnitude in all her years.
It was as though the sky had been split, and the heavens poured forth in an attempt to purge something from the earth.
She rushed toward her cottage, the bundles of plants tucked into her skirt pockets and in the overflowing basket she used while foraging. Her hair matted to her face, rain obstructing her vision.
Cora cursed as she quickened her pace even as the weather impeded her haste.
The last thing she wanted was to trip over the stones and injure herself.
Who would find her in such a downpour? She was not expected in the village until the next evening.
None would find her absence concerning. The thought gave her pause. Who would miss her if she were gone?
Shaking away the concerning thought, Cora traversed the path with determined steps. Intent on reaching her cottage and the dry, warm haven within it.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Her heart pounded. She pushed forward, glancing toward the direction of the village.
Cora paused. What is that? A dark mass lay upon the rocky ground near the water’s edge. Forgoing her better judgement, she ignored her haste home and approached with caution, expecting to find an injured animal. Her breath caught when the figure took the shape of a man, lying upon the ground.
Phillip.
Tossing the basket aside, Cora dropped to her knees beside him. Her fingers brushed his cheek as she searched for signs of life. His eyes fluttered open briefly against the rain. A sigh of relief broke from his lips.
“I must be dead. An angel has come to take me away.” He closed his eyes, and a smile pulled at his sinful mouth.
“You are most certainly not dead, but you will be if you remain here.” She assessed him for injuries, noting the grimace on his face and the sharp hiss of breath as she prodded his arm. “Can you walk?”
He slowly rose to a sitting position. “I can try.”
“What happened?” she asked as she linked her arm through his and aided him to his feet. His warm scent surrounded her as she allowed him to lean his weight upon her.
“I was thrown from my horse.” He winced as he attempted to walk.
Cora nodded, ignoring the heat of his body against her, the cold press of the drenched fabric clinging to her skin, and the insufferable, yet comforting weight of his presence.
Together, they trudged along through the rain, past her abandoned basket. They needed to get out of the storm and into the warm safety of her cottage. By the time they’d reached her door, his hands trembled and his teeth chattered.
Once inside, Cora deposited Phillip in a chair by the banked fire. She knelt down and stoked it to life before placing a kettle of water upon it. Turning, she found him shaking, but his gaze was alert and steady upon her as she worked.
“Why were you out riding in the storm?” she asked, rising to her feet. Her skirts clung to her thighs, hair dripping in rivulets over her skin. She shivered, not from cold, but from the intensity of his gaze.
“I needed to speak to you.”
Her brow furrowed as anger unfurled within her at his recklessness. “And that couldn’t have waited until I returned to the village?”
“No.” He pressed his lips into a firm line.
Cora shook her head at the trembling, stubborn man dripping onto her rug. “Take your clothes off.”
His brows shot into his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are soaked through.” She held out a hand. “Come now. No time for modesty.”
Phillip arched a brow. “Perhaps you should follow your own direction.”
Cora glanced down at her own drenched garments and sighed. “Very well.”
As she reached to unfasten the ties of her bodice, Phillip cleared his throat. She paused, meeting his gaze. Conflict simmered deep in his mind, drawing his brows together.
“Would you rather we turned our backs to each other?” Cora asked, admiring his restraint.
Phillip nodded. For all his flirtations, he truly seemed to harbor some semblance of gentlemanly behavior.
Cora ventured to the trunk at the foot of her bed, shuffling through the old garments tucked deep in the bottom, and withdrew a simple shirt and wool trousers.
Her late husband’s, which she kept on hand for her own use should she dare to wear them.
She handed them to Phillip and then retrieved a simple chemise, blouse, and skirt for herself.
She turned her back to him and began undressing, stripping down to nothing. The rustle of movement behind her and the crackle of the fire mingled with the storm raging outside. It sounded like it would tear down the walls.
Her skin prickled, whether from the lingering dampness as she drew on the dry garments or the simmering awareness of his presence in her cottage, she could not tell. Cora drew on the chemise, followed by the skirt and blouse.
Cora buttoned the blouse, turning slowly to glance over her shoulder at Phillip.
He stood bare chested, swaying before the fire, struggling to fasten the ill-fitting trousers. He cursed and collapsed in the chair.
“Perhaps they are too small?” Cora stepped closer. Her gaze skimmed over the bare expanse of skin, noting the gash marring his left shoulder. She retrieved her small healing kit from the cupboard and pulled a chair beside his.
Phillip eyed the item in her hand. “What is that for?”
“You’re bleeding.” She gestured to the wound on his shoulder.
He attempted to inspect it but groaned at the effort and shrugged in defeat. “Do what you will.”
Opening her kit, Cora retrieved the items required to clean and dress the wound. As she dabbed away the blood, she noted the shallow injury and dismissed the need for stitches.
“How bad is it?” he asked as she worked.
Her fingertips brushed over the muscles corded beneath his skin. So soft and yet so strong. She longed to trace the contours of his torso, to feel the raw power of him beneath her touch. Clearing her throat, she dismissed the lustful thoughts.
“Just a flesh wound.” She placed a bandage upon it and bound it in place. “Are you injured elsewhere?”
“Just my pride.” He winced as she pressed her fingers along his arm to assess for any broken bones. “I believe the fall left me more bruised than broken.”
She prodded along his torso, then down along his hip. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.
“Bruised, most certainly.” Cora released her explorative touch and rubbed her hands on her skirt. “But you will recover. You’re young—”
His gaze snapped up to meet hers, one brow raised. She realized her lapse and pinched her lips closed, drawing away.
“Cora.” Phillip’s rough voice surrounded her. Her body hummed with delight at the sound of her name on his lips, but her mind raged against the onslaught of need.
Rising to her feet, Cora retrieved her teapot and prepared a warming blend of herbs with the hot water from the fire. She kept her hands busy, her mind focused on her task, lest her body betray her with the gentle tremor in her fingertips and the quickening of her heartbeat.
This was dangerous, having him here like this.
It had been easier to ignore the simmering tension between them while surrounded by the villagers and the patrons of the tavern.
Watchful eyes and wagging tongues keeping them from acting on sinful desires.
Keeping her from betraying herself and surrendering to this handsome young stranger who slowly wove his way into her heart.
Curse him for putting her in such a situation.
She glanced out the window, seeing only darkness and the unrelenting storm outside. Rain streaked against the glass as wind pounded against the pane.
No one with a heart would send a man out in such a tempest. She poured the tea into a sturdy mug and carried it to Phillip, who sat before the fire, his gaze lost in the flames.
“Thank you.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing hers. A spark passed between them, and she nodded, unable to trust her own voice.
Cora retrieved her own tea and sat down beside him.
For a long moment, they remained like this, shrouded in the sounds of the world around them, wordless, as though lost in deep contemplation.
She sipped the hot brew, allowing the healing properties of the herbs to work their magic.
All the while, she pondered the possibilities of a life beyond this small existence she’d built for herself.
A life where she took a chance on a man who could very well ruin her.
“I apologize,” Phillip finally said, his deep voice breaking through her thoughts. “I should not have sought you out. I have intruded upon your solitude.”
A ripple of tension flowed through the air. Cora considered his apology and nodded, her gaze fixed on the misshapen stone in the center of the hearth.
“Why do you pursue me with such intent?” she asked, turning to face him. “Your persistence has been noted by everyone in the village. I am continually asked if there is something between us.”
Phillip smiled, but it echoed with a hollow sadness. “I often forget how quickly gossip spreads.” He ran his fingers through his damp hair.
“That does not answer my question.” She tapped the mug in her hands.
Firelight flickered across his face. Her heart hammered in her chest as she studied his profile. In this moment, he looked more somber, more mature than the spirited young man who frequented the tavern.
“I cannot answer because…” He turned his green gaze to her, his soul bared in the dim light. “I know nothing aside from the fact that when I am not near you, there is an ache deep in my chest. One I cannot explain. It is as if there were a thread binding me to this place—to you.”
Cora took a steadying breath. She had not always felt the same acute ache, but it had slowly appeared over time.
His consistency every month had planted an expectation.
One that had blossomed into an admiration.
But could it be more? She did not trust enough to allow herself to fall so quickly or easily.
Outside, the rain continued, even though the ferocity of the storm had dimmed. They were trapped together—at least for the night. Cora sipped her tea, a knot of uncertainty tight in her chest.
“I have tried in vain to keep from returning,” he continued. “To respect your wishes. But I cannot deny the insistent voice deep in my soul telling me to persevere.”
“Surely, there are younger women more suited to you,” Cora said.
Phillip scoffed. “I have been inundated with marriageable ladies since the moment I came of age.” He shifted in his chair. “None of them entice me the way you do.”
His strange response left her with more questions, but he slowly rose, setting the mug on the mantel. One step and he swayed, catching himself against the stone with the palm of his hand.
Cora shot to her feet and placed her mug next to his before coming alongside him. Her hand rested on his bruised hip.
“Perhaps you have injured it worse than I thought.” Cora explored the area with her fingertips, searching for another indication.
His hand closed over hers, pinning it in place. “Saints, Cora. Will you be still?”
She froze in place, his hand over hers. Her heart raced like a herd of horses galloping over a summer meadow. She licked her lips, breathless at the gentle slide of his fingertip over her knuckles.
Phillip’s touch burned her skin. She ached for it. His breath hitched, matching her own ragged inhale. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Not a sound passed from their lips.
The soft caress of his fingertips over the back of her hand sent her mind into a void. Cora licked her lips, unable to bear the tension pulled tight between them.
Temptation overtook sense, and Cora reached out with her free hand, bringing it to rest upon the bare skin of his chest. His body tensed at her bold touch.
A groan tore from him as it rumbled deep in his chest beneath her hand.
His eyes closed briefly before he turned his piercing, forest gaze to hers.
“My restraint is hanging by a thread, Cora,” he murmured, his tone sinfully enticing.
A shiver wracked her.
“If your thoughts and wishes are what they were yesterday, tell me now.” His tongue darted across his lips, wetting them. “Whatever gentleman I claim to be—he will vanish if you persist.”
“And if my wishes have changed?” Cora asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. His eyes darkened. “I will claim your mouth, your body, and your pleasure. You will be mine, and nothing save the hand of God will stop me.”
The possessive words pierced her soul. She should have been terrified by them, and yet her body ignited at the thought of surrendering herself to this man.
Cora trailed her fingers over his chest, along his throat, and rested a single digit against his full lower lip. Phillip encircled her wrist with his hand.
“Say the word, Cora.” He breathed. “Do you want me?”
The last remaining vestiges of hesitation fell away, melting into the mud outside, washed away by the storm.
“Yes.”
Triumph flared in his eyes as a smile stole across his lips. Then he pulled her against him and captured her mouth in a passionate kiss.
The heat and weight of it stole her breath, her thoughts, her reason.
Cora surrendered willingly, knowing she would never be the same.