Page 35 of Winter Longing
“Good morning,” Cole said, forcing a casual tone.
Tank, having followed, echoed him with an easy grin, asking, “And where are you two fine ladies off to today?”
“We go to Mallaig’s cottage,” she said, gesturing to the basket. “He’s infirm and depends on our generosity.”
Anwen scoffed at this, but said nothing, busy as she was once again studying Tank, her gaze sharp and critical, as if silently measuring him against some unreachable standard. Her expression clearly conveyed that he didn’t quite measure up to whatever ideal she had in mind.
Cole ignored the maid and addressed Ailsa. “Need an escort?” The words came out more eagerly than he’d intended, but he covered it with a casual smile.
Ailsa’s grip tightened on the basket but she did not hesitate to refuse him. “Nae, thank ye.” Her voice was polite but clipped. “I believe ye’re expected elsewhere this morning.”
Cole frowned. “Elsewhere?”
She gave a nod over his shoulder. “At the training field. Tavis will be expecting ye.”
Training?Cole turned and spotted Tavis among the crowd of soldiers and horses. The laird of Torr Cinnteag was a commanding figure, towering over his men with the kind ofpresence that made him impossible to ignore. He stood like a natural leader—broad-shouldered, powerful, and every inch the embodiment of a medieval ruler. Tavis wore his "crown" in the form of layers of fur-lined garments and heavy, jeweled embellishments that accentuated both his physical and his authoritative stature. While the other soldiers around him were dressed simply, in rough wool and leather—looking every inch the medieval grunts that they undoubtedly were— Tavis’s attire seemed to have been designed not just for protection against the cold but to project an image of grandeur and authority. His movements were deliberate and controlled, the way he carried himself—a man used to being obeyed—adding to the almost regal aura he exuded. Even without a literal crown, Tavis Sinclair looked every bit a king.
When Cole turned back to Ailsa, she and Anwen were already gone, her hand tucked into the maid’s elbow as the two walked out through the gate.
He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I think she’s mad at me.”
Tank didn’t hold back his snort of laughter. “Ya think? What’d ya do?”
A tinge of embarrassment colored his words as he repeated to Tank what he’d said, what he’d asked her last night at supper.
Now Tank laughed outright, loud and long, causing Cole to roll his eyes.
“Good news for me, though,” Tank said when he reined in his mirth. “Here I thought that between the two of us, I would be the idiot.” He clapped Cole on the shoulder in good humor and turned him around toward the gathering army. “At least we’ve got something to do today.”
Cole grunted in agreement, but his thoughts lingered on Ailsa. Something about her coolness toward him stung morethan it should have. Purposefully, he shook it off as they looked at Tavis and his men preparing to head out to train.
“Might as well get to it,” Tank said.
Cole’s brow knitted. “Get to what?”
“The training,” Tank answered.
“Us? Training?” Cole asked, his tone sharper than he intended.
Tank shrugged.
“You can’t think that either they seriously want us to join them or that we have any business doing so,” Cole remarked, partly as a question.
Tank turned to him, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Why not? What? Are we just supposed to sit around and wait for some magic portal to take us home? I think we should embrace this,” Tank said with conviction. “This is exceptional. What’s happened to us—it’s like something out of a fantasy novel. Why would we waste the chance to live it up?”
Cole raised an eyebrow, wary of where this was headed. “Live it up? Tank, we’re stuck in the fourteenth century. There’s nothing to live up to except disease, war, and maybe dying young.” He thought they should focus their efforts on something of greater importance. “What about getting back home? To our time?”
“And how do you expect to do that?”
Frustrated by his own lack of ideas, Cole returned gruffly. “I don’t know, but I think we should be thinking about it. There must be someone we can talk to, someone who—” he stopped, super annoyed when Tank began to laugh. “What?”
Tank waved his hand, as if to downplay the humor he’d somehow found in their circumstance. “All right. Say it happened in the reverse, that someone was brought to our time from now, or from any other time. And they want to talk to someone about getting home.” He pointed at Cole and raisedhis brows. “They ask you specifically, who should I talk to about this? Who you gonna send them to? Who should they talk to?”
“Well, hell, I don’t know.”
“Exactly. Who is there to discuss this with? Are their time-traveling gods or wizards around? No, I’m guessing not. Listen, dude, just go with it. There’s nothing to do about it. We have to live with it.”
Unable to comprehend Tank’s attitude, Cole tried another approach. “Don’t you care about the people back home? They’re probably worried sick about us—Rosie especially, your brother,” he added, knowing that like Cole, Tank’s parents were deceased already, something they’d bonded over years ago. “They must be frantic.”
