Chapter 8
The Bothy
Inside, the bothy was small and dry: a bed frame with a straw pallet, a folded plaid, a stool, a candle and tinderbox.
In the corner, a small chest held what Drunstan's men had thought to provide – a washing cloth, a drying cloth, a cake of rough soap, and, to Una's considerable relief, a folded serviceable gown of plain dark wool. Simple, and clean.
Cormac studied the space and noted everything. Whoever the patron was, they had arranged clean accommodation for their captives. He pulled the door closed behind them. For a moment the only sound was the stream through the rear wall and the distant murmur of the camp settling in.
Then, from somewhere in the trees outside, came a bird call. Two short notes, one long, a pause, then two short again.
Una watched Cormac's expression change at the sound, some of his tension releasing. He stared toward the window, then turned from the door and crouched before her.
"Are ye hurt?" he asked.
"No," she said.
He held her gaze for a moment, and his expression softened. Then, quietly, he asked, "Why did ye run from me, Fenella? Ye ken I would never harm ye."
Una hated that name, especially said so gently. She wished for one mad moment that he knew who she really was, that it was her own name he spoke and her own eyes he gazed into – not Fenella's.
"I... I ken that now," she replied. "But I had to take my chances. We had only just met, and ye're well known as a fearsome raider."
He was quiet for a moment, then his expression softened. He reached across her.
She went still.
His fingers were careful, almost tentative, as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then, so quickly she might have imagined it, the back of his hand brushed the smudged dirt on her cheek with a featherlight pass before he caught himself and stood abruptly, stepping away.
He cleared his throat.
"Come," he said. "I'll take ye to the stream. Ye can wash and see to yer needs. I'll remain close but give ye privacy."
Cormac collected the washing cloths and soap from the chest and set them in her hands without ceremony. Then, as they moved toward the door, he said quietly, "I'll not let anyone harm ye. Ye have my word."
"Thank ye. Ye have already proven as much, and I trust ye, Cormac."
He gazed at her for a moment. Then he nodded, pushed the door open, clasped her hand firmly in his, and walked her past the two guards stationed outside. "The lady needs privacy to refresh herself. It has been a harrowing day."
The guards nodded but kept a wary eye on them both.
Once outside, he positioned himself where he could keep watch and ensure no one came close.
***
UNA PUSHED THROUGH the trees until she reached the bank, then sank to her knees with a sound that was half-sob, half-sigh.
Privacy. Fresh water.
She wanted to weep with relief.
Her bladder had been screaming at her for the past fifteen minutes.
She took care of her needs quickly behind a tree, then walked to the stream and splashed cold water on her face. It was heaven. Pure, blessed heaven.
She wet the cloth, worked it into a lather, and used it to wipe away the grime and road dust from her face, neck, and hands, even lifting her tattered garments to cool the skin beneath.
Then she dried herself, sat back on her heels, and let herself breathe.
Just breathe. The stream ran steadily over its stones and the trees were dark and quiet around her, and for a moment that was enough.
She thought again about the bird call and understood instinctively that it had been a signal meant for Cormac. His men were close. She was almost certain of it. Which meant he had not wandered into this situation alone and unplanned.
Cormac the Shadow was every bit as lethal and cunning as the mercenaries holding them captive.
The thought did not frighten her as much as it perhaps should have.
She got to her feet, tidied herself as best she could, and went back.
***
CORMAC HEARD HER COMING back through the trees and felt the tightness in his chest ease.
He had stood at the east corner of the bothy with his eyes on the treeline and tried not to think too carefully about his situation.
He was on a mission for the king. He had gained entry to this camp against considerable odds and had a name – Drunstan – and an unknown patron still to be uncovered.
He would not be here long. A day at most before he had what he needed, signalled Seumas, and brought them all to justice.
Lady Fenella was the only complication. The longer he remained in her company, the more he recognized the danger she posed to his concentration.
Everything about her called to him in some way he could not account for.
But she was a thane's daughter. He had no right to dwell on how soft her cheek had felt beneath his touch, or how entirely natural it had seemed when she gripped his plaid in the woods and pressed close.
And he had certainly no right to feel the fury he felt at the thought of any man trying to take her from him.
He was still grappling with that when she emerged from the trees.
***
CORMAC TOOK HIS TURN to see to his needs and cool himself at the stream while Una waited nearby with her back to the water.
He was quick – cold water to scrub the dirt and dust off his skin and dry with a kerchief.
He stood for a moment in the chill air, listening to the camp and the surrounding forest. He could hear the two guards stationed close by, and from deeper in the trees, Seumas sent a brief signal: a glint of glass catching the last of the afternoon sun.
Cormac exhaled and turned back. His men were close and ready at his command.
He clasped her hand and walked her back to the bothy.
Once inside, he turned his back so she could change into the plain dark gown from the chest.
Una folded her ruined sage green dress and tattered arisaidh on the stool, then worked the tangles from her hair with her fingers and plaited it into a single long braid.
"Ye can turn around now," she said.
He did, and froze.
Una glanced down at herself with a slight frown. "It was the only clean gown in the chest. My garments are torn."
"Aye," Cormac said, shifting slightly and clearing his throat. "Ye look bonnie, lass."
Una blushed. They stood staring at one another.
The moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. Drunstan appeared at the threshold.
"Lady Fenella, ye must be hungry. My men have prepared a light repast. Both of ye, join us by the fire. There is much to discuss."
Cormac cursed the interruption inwardly.
He could not deny it – he found her appealing.
More so in the simple gown, which was a fraction too small and did her figure no disservice.
She was a natural beauty, needing no court refinement.
Intelligent dark eyes, thick hair in a long braid, a face that required no adornment.
She appealed to him in ways that were becoming inconvenient.
He was forming thoughts entirely unsuitable for his current circumstances.
He wondered what it would be like to clasp her long braid in his hand as he pounded into her from behind.
He stopped himself before that thought progressed further.
Perhaps Drunstan's interruption was a fortunate thing after all.
He had to remember who she was. Lady Fenella was a thane's daughter.
Women of rank lived in a different world, and men like her father decided who was and was not worthy of their daughters.
There was no conceivable path by which Thane Ruadhán would permit his daughter to wed the Shadow.
And even setting that aside, Cormac had always found noblewomen more trouble than they were worth.
If only she were simply a woman with no title and no fortune attached. He suspected she would suit him rather well. But that was not the case, and he needed to finish his mission and return her safely to her world.
He glanced at her once more, despite himself. Then gave himself a sharp mental kick for the indulgence.
Cormac crossed to her, took her hand, and held it.
"Come," he said. "We best eat. It has been a long day and ye need sustenance."
He kept her hand in his as they followed Drunstan toward the firelight at the center of the camp.
He caught several of the men eyeing her as they approached, a couple letting their gaze linger where the gown pulled tight across her ample chest. His jaw clenched. He met the nearest man's stare until the man looked away, then drew Una closer against his side.
"Why are ye holding me so close?" she whispered.
"'Tis cold out."
"But I can barely breathe," she replied.
"Do ye prefer these men to ogle ye?" he said under his breath.
Una looked up and, for the first time, noticed where the nearest men's gazes had settled.
She inhaled sharply and turned her front toward Cormac's side. She heard him chuckle quietly as he wrapped part of his plaid around her shoulder.
He walked with her pressed against him and kept his eyes moving across the faces of the men around them. One word ran through his mind, steady and insistent.
Mine.
***