“Should I be worried you’ll try to stab me?”
No, I might try to kiss you instead. Heat fanned across her cheeks with the thought, and her breath caught as he motioned for her to come toward him. She went, thankful to be in the shelter of his body and blocked from the wind for a moment.
“Where will you keep the dagger?” he asked, running his gaze over the riding dress and thick tights she wore. Adrian twitched her skirt, the red fabric snapping out in the wind. “Do you want to remove this? It could get tangled.”
“It’s cold.” Sorcha lifted her skirt and tucked the sheathed blade into the right calf-high boot she wore. After stamping her feet to make sure it wouldn’t move, she let her skirt drop back into place. “See?”
“And if you lose it?”
“I won’t.”
“Are you so sure?” he asked, gesturing her to hold her arms up. “Come here, I’ll tie this around your waist.”
Adrian tied the rope around her waist, each movement quick and efficient, no trembling hands or furtive looks. He kept his eyes on the rope, checking the knot and nodding to Magnus and Ivo as they tested the wooden support arm that would ease her off the cliff edge. They promised it was sturdy, but even as Sorcha watched, it swayed in the wind, blurred by fog and mist that was quickly becoming rain.
“Lantern and flint. Do you know how to use these?” Adrian asked, holding them up.
“Yes.”
“Will you be able to if your hands are cold and shaking?”
Sorcha lifted one shoulder. “I won’t have a choice.”
Adrian nodded, handing them to her. Sorcha fumbled with the length of rope, her cold hands clumsy. Without a word, he stepped forward and took the lantern, then secured it to her body. He pressed the flint into her hand, his touch gentle and his gloved index finger making a small circle on her palm. Her hands looked so small in his, pale against the black leather.
“Where are your gloves?” he asked, voice soft, the wind whipping it away.
“What?” Sorcha was confused by the tone and needed a moment to digest the flurry of emotions and sensations his touch brought to the surface.
Any time he touched her, he wore gloves. There had been times—like when he’d dipped his hand into her bath—that he hadn’t been wearing them. But whenever there was a real chance of skin-to-skin contact, he touched her wearing gloves.
“For your hands. It will help with the rope.”
“Oh,” she said, handing the flint back to pat a lump in her pocket. She pulled the crimson leather gloves free, quickly slipping them on.
She glanced around, eyes briefly coming into contact with Revenant. Hate. Pure and burning, and evident in the fists clenched at his side. Sorcha shivered, bringing her gaze back to Adrian.
“Put this in your pocket,” Adrian said, holding the flint out until she took it. “We’re going to wrap another section around your thighs to take some of the pressure off your waist. It will be more like a harness that way. When you reach the cave, you can loosen it around your hips, but don’t remove it completely unless you are absolutely positive you can tie these knots again.”
“What if the rope isn’t long enough?”
“It will be.” Adrian adjusted the rope, accepting another length from Thompson, who glanced at her and away with an air of indifference.
Sorcha stood with her arms out as Adrian adjusted the harness.
“And it will be strong enough to pull both myself and the relic back up?”
“Yes.”
“You sound so sure.” Sorcha snorted. “What if you drop me?”
Adrian paused, eyes resting on her before moving back to the rope—continuing to test the knots. “I won’t let you fall, Sorcha.”
“I almost drowned in the lake,” Sorcha whispered, not sure if she was reminding him or herself.
“But you won’t here,” Adrian said.
Sorcha scoffed. “Only because the fall would kill me first.”