Page 43 of Winter Longing
Tightly, Father Gilbert announced, “Ailsa Sinclair must remain above reproach. She is not to be seen in the company of any man without a chaperone, no matter the purpose. Her duty is to her family and to her future husband. Anything that could jeopardize that—any appearance of impropriety—must be avoided at all costs.” He thinned his lips and added pointedly, “She must remain untouched.”
The priest possibly mistook Cole’s clenched-jaw silence as understanding. He nodded approvingly. “If tutoring is what you need, I can make arrangements for someone else to instruct you. ‘Tis wise to avoid any entanglements that could lead to trouble for her—or for you.”
Cole’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to give up the lessons with Ailsa, but he knew the priest was right. He had little say with what went on here, at Torr Cinnteag, with Ailsa, or in the fourteenth century. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “Can you set that up?”
“I shall,” Father Gilbert said. “A wise decision, lad.” With that, he nodded to both men and departed, leaving the two of them in the stables.
Tank waited until the priest was out of earshot before turning to Cole with a knowing smirk. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole shot back, defensive.
Tank leaned against the stable door, arms crossed. “It hasn’t escaped me how you look at her—or how she looks at you, for that matter. Not saying you’re doing anything wrong, but the priest has a point. If we ever figure out how to get back home, do you really want to leave things behind that make it harder?”
Cole didn’t answer immediately, staring at the mare as he resumed brushing her down. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, though he knew damn well he was lying.
Tank chuckled softly. “Sure it’s not. Just... think about it, okay? This isn’t our world, man. And if we’re sticking around, we’re gonna have to deal with whatever rules they’ve got here.”
Tank left the stables, leaving Cole alone with his now frustrated thoughts. He knew the priest was probably right but that didn’t mean he liked it, not one bit. Then again, it was ridiculous to feel this way about Ailsa after only a week. They’d just met. He didn’t even know how long he’d be here.
And yet, as much as he tried to push it aside, the thought of her marrying someone else gnawed at him in a way that set his teeth on edge.
***
God’s teeth, but Cole Carter was going to be the death of her.
He needed to learn faster how to ride, before she lost her wits completely and outright begged him to kiss her, touch her—anything!—to relieve this torturous, sweet ache that his presence stirred within her. Every lesson spent at his side, every exchange of glances, every accidental brush of hands left her trembling with emotions she could hardly name.
She paced the narrow corridor of the family solar, her hands clenched at her sides. It was madness, wanting something so wholly impossible. And yet... did it have to be? Ailsa forced herself to stop, gripping the back of a carved wooden chair as if it might ground her scattered thoughts.
Her brother’s voice from earlier today still echoed in her mind:“When ye return from our sister’s house, we’ll begin the serious negotiations with the MacLaes. William MacLae has expressed his eagerness to move forward on behalf of his brother.”
An arranged marriage, a strategic alliance—her future laid out before her. No consideration for what she wanted, what she longed for. The idea of binding herself to Alastair MacLae, a man she barely knew and felt nothing for, suddenly turned her stomach. Never mind that the rumors swirling around her expected intended frightened her, that he was neither good nor kind, that by all accounts there was little to love... but her heart, it was already wandering elsewhere.
It did not escape her notice, the realization that before Cole Carter’s arrival, she had accepted her fate with dignifiedresignation even as she’d been terribly anxious about it. She had always known this was her role. She’d grown up knowing that she had, essentially, one goal in life: she existed to secure a strategic marriage for the benefit of the Sinclairs. Her sister had done so years ago, and Ailsa had known she would follow. There had been no expectation of grand romance or heart-stirring passion—such notions were for ballads and peasants. Yet, she had believed she could find a measure of contentment, carving out her happiness as a dutiful wife and, hopefully one day, as a mother.
But now, that once-stoic resolve felt fragile, threatened by something—someone—that made her heart pound and her thoughts stray far from the life she had always assumed would be hers.
Ailsa released the chair and resumed her pacing.
Cole Carter was unlike any man she had ever known. His eyes alone, the way they lingered on her, seemed to ignite flames in corners of her soul she hadn’t even realized existed. The sheer presence of him stirred a disquiet within her, thrilling and unnerving all at once, leaving her both breathless and unsteady. And...wanting.
Each moment with him seemed charged, brimming with unspoken promises and tantalizing possibility. He made her want to take risks, to challenge everything she’d been taught about what her life should be.
But what could she do? The answer, of course, was nothing. Duty demanded her compliance, and her brother would never allow her to entertain such a reckless notion as pursuing anything with Cole.
Ailsa flopped down into a chair, her chin in her hand, staring out the window at the loch below. She couldn’t stop herself from wishing for the impossible. She wanted to know him—more, better, wholly. She wanted to find out what lay behind the calmreserve in his eyes, to unravel the mystery of his presence in her world.
She wanted, impossibly, irrevocably, only him.
Thus, she was taken aback and caused a great deal of pain and confusion with what Cole announced at supper that evening.
In truth, she was a bit surprised that her brother allowed Cole to continue to sit beside her at the meal. Though she was certain Tavis—and others—had a newfound appreciation for both Cole and Tank, or certainly less suspicious hostility since they’d joined the daily drills—Tavis’s reminder this morning about her inevitable betrothal had come after he’d made a cryptic remark about Cole to her.
“I dinna quite understand the man’s dedication to the training,” Tavis had remarked, his tone casual with curiosity. Then, watching her closely through narrowed eyes, he’d added, “Mark my words, sister, he will nae stay long. Fighting isna in his blood; he’ll find his way back to whatever place he calls home. And when he does, ’tis better he leaves with no bonds or ties to hold him here, nae person who might tempt him to remain where he dinna belong.”
At times, she suspected that Tavis entrusted her entirely with upholding decorum, as though it were her sole responsibility to avoid any awkward or compromising situation. He seemed to believe she could be relied upon to act with propriety in all circumstances, leaving little need for his intervention or concern.
The great hall was lively this evening, the long trestle tables buzzing with conversation, clinking tankards, and the scrape of eating knives on pewter and wooden plates. Ailsa sat in her usual place at her brother’s right hand, with Cole beside her. On the other side of Tavis, Tank was deep in conversation with a few soldiers, laughing at some jest that Ailsa hadn’t caught.
