Page 5 of Kilty Plea
She slumped.
‘Twas done. She belonged to the Hunter.
What of Lenny?
Mayhap life with the Hunter would make it easier to escape and look for her brother. Aye, she’d willingly put up with his pawing and manly urges, no matter how painful, if it meant she was away from the Abbey and closer to finding Lenny.
He was her responsibility, and she’d failed him once already.
When the Hunter lowered the bowl, ‘twas mostly empty, but Flora knew what the Abbot expected. Lifting it to her lips, she finished what remained, and tried to savor the thick, delicious broth.
“Good!” boomed the Abbot, and behind her, the Faithful cheered.
Enough ale has flowed this night that they would cheer a badger, were one to wander by.
The Abbot had continued the ceremonial words—fellowship, debts being paid, blah blah blah. But Flora found her gaze held by the dark shadows of the Hunter’s helmet.
What did he see when he looked down at her?
When the Abbot finished his speech, his followers cheered, and he rose to his feet—unsteadily, Flora noticed—to move among them. Leaving her kneeling on the dais at the Hunter’s feet.
Ye belong to him now. Ye’re safe from the Abbot.
But, plucking heck, would she be safe fromthe Hunter?
“Flora,” he said again, taking the empty bowl from her hand and moving it to the table at his side. “Ye must be cold.”
And that’s when he took both of her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. ‘Twas such an effortless movement, she gasped, both in surprise and in fright. How could his touch be so warm, when the air was so frigid, this close to the dead of winter?
“Lass?” he prompted, and he had a lovely voice, didn’t he? Low and gravely, as if it wasn’t often used.
What had he asked? Flora forced her gaze to his chest, so she could think. “Aye, S-Sir Hunter,” she managed. “’Tis chilly.”
It took a moment to realize the noise he made was supposed to belaughter. “’Tis a bit more than chilly, I would think. Here.”
With that, he stood, and she gasped again, because he was so very much larger than her. Flora stepped back so they wouldn’t be crowded, but in doing so her numb foot slipped from the dais. She teetered—
And one of his large arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her forward. Saving her.
Behind her, another cheer went up, but Flora couldn’t process it. All she knew was that she waswarm. The Hunter’s helm made him seem cold and distant, but his body…
Saints protect us, his body was so warm, she wanted to press herself against him and never back away.
Mayhap ‘twas why the Faithful were cheering, because of her reaction to this man.
Focus, Flora.
Aye. Aye, she might be his now, but he was naught more than a means to an end. An escape.
So she forced herself to plant her palms against his chest—so warm, so warm!—and push away. “Thank ye, Sir Hunter,” she whispered, her gaze on the heavy brooch which held his cloak closed at the neck.
“Ye dinnae call me ‘brother’?”
Was that amusement in his tone?
Please, God, let him be good-natured. Let him help me.
She considered her words without lifting her gaze. “Ye are no’ my brother,” she said in a low voice, hoping the Abbot couldn’t hear the risk she was taking. “And the Abbot is no’ my father.”
