Page 69 of Winter Longing
Anyway, for Cole, the interior of the castle—anywhere outside the hall—was still a strange and unfamiliar world, but in their bedroom, the space he shared privately with Ailsa, it began to feel a little like home.
He’d returned to their chamber last night to an unexpectedly exquisite sight: his new wife submerged in a wooden tub placed before the fire, her auburn hair damp and loose around her shoulders. Anwen stood at her side, a rough cloth in hand, turned to see who came though Ailsa had not. At first, he’d felt like an intruder, halting at the door with an apology on hislips for not having knocked, ready to retreat. But Ailsa’s calm, unflustered invitation—“Stay”—stopped him mid-turn, and he’d entered the room. Within a minute, while he’d shed his cloak and boots, having caught glimpses of Ailsa’s bare, dampened shoulder, just the hint of the curve of her breast, and marveling at the way the firelight worshipped her face and her flesh, he’d huskily dismissed Anwen, and had happily stepped in to help Ailsa finish her bath.
What shyness she’d exhibited on their wedding night had slowly given way to a boldness that both surprised and captivated him. Ailsa, it seemed, was learning to trust him in ways that went beyond words. Her initial hesitancy had melted into a quiet confidence, her tentative touches becoming increasingly assured, her laughter freer, her kisses more daring. With each passing night, her passion revealed itself not only in her touch but in the way she looked at him. Cole knew for certain that no man had ever touched her as he had, but she looked at him at times, he was convinced, like he was the only man who had ever mattered. He found himself utterly enchanted by her.
The days quickly settled into a new routine.
Cole made every effort to contribute to both his marriage and to Torr Cinnteag. He continued his training under Tavis and Dersey's scrutiny, and though the laird remained as gruff as ever, there were moments—a brief nod here, a begrudging word of approval there—that told Cole he was making progress. When Tavis remarked that Cole should sit in on his meeting with the castle’s steward—“Ye need to ken what it takes, what is needed, to manage a demesne of this size”—Cole had sat with Tavis and the steward, a gray-haired man named Murchadh, listening to the steward’s suggestions for rationing the wheat supply for what was already seeming to be a long and rough winter. He learned that the Sinclairs sometimes traded cured fish and furs for grain with neighboring clans, though some recent skirmishes—and the loss of the MacLaes’ good will— had complicated such arrangements.
Murchadh also spoke at length about the livestock—how the cattle would need additional fodder if the snow kept coming and the fields were buried, and how the hens' dwindling egg production might necessitate the culling of older birds. They discussed the state of the castle’s stores of salted meat, the dwindling supply of candles and lamp oil, and even the need for mending torn woolens before the colder months settled in.
At first Cole had remained silent, only listening, but with some expectation that he was supposed to learn, he began to ask questions, needing some words, phrases, and processes defined and explained to him.
Murchadh also reminded Tavis that a neighboring clan’s annual tribute was overdue, and that a decision would need to be made about whether to send men to collect it or risk seeming weak in the face of the delay.
Tavis decided that he would confront the clan, announcing that Cole should accompany him.
That night, he’d had to confess to Ailsa that he didn’t understand the tribute, what it was or why it was owed to them, and that he had no idea what, if anything, might be expected of him when he rode with Tavis to this neighboring clan.
Naked in his arms after he’d made love to her, she’d traced patterns over his chest and explained as much as she could to him.
“The Henshaws were granted nearly a thousand acres of fertile soil generations ago,” Ailsa explained. “Originally, it was part of a planned marriage alliance between our families, but the Henshaw groom was killed before the wedding could take place. By that point, they’d already begun working the land. Out of respect for their loss, it was gifted to them as tribute to their fallen son, with the agreement that after five years, they wouldbegin paying a lease. Since the land is much closer to their keep, more accessible to them than us, it wasn’t much of a loss to Torr Cinnteag.”
“But why does Tavis want me to go with him? Is this some kind of test?” Unexpectedly, but in truth, Cole thought he might actually be spending more time in Tavis’s company than he did Ailsa’s of late. This didn’t bother him as much as he thought it might. Honestly, he’d rather prove himself to the laird now, quickly, showing that he wasn’t a threat, rather than be walking around on eggshells for any length of time.
“It might be,” she allowed with a tilt of her head. “Tavis needs to be assured nae only of yer loyalty but of yer usefulness—yer capabilities.” A faint grin curved her lips as she added, “Or maybe he intends to bring someone intimidating along for effect. The Henshaws have grown lax in recent years, delaying their tribute longer and longer. Perhaps he means to remind them of their obligations. Ye are rather fierce looking when ye are cross.”
As the days passed, he and Ailsa slowly learned more and more about each other. They shared stories from their pasts—childhood misadventures, cherished moments, and particularly fond memories of their mothers specifically. Ailsa’s curiosity about his world in the future led to many late-night conversations, though he sometimes struggled to explain certain inventions, abstract concepts, and the complexities of modern life.
From nearly the beginning, though, there was an undeniable sense of ease between them, a comfort that seemed to transcend the stark differences in their worlds. It didn’t surprise him, not really. He’d been drawn to Ailsa from day one.
It felt natural, even as so much uncertainty loomed in the background. Neither of them spoke of what their marriagemeant in the long term, but for now, they seemed content to take it day by day.
For the first few mornings after their wedding, Cole woke up to an unfamiliar weight draped against him. It was a sensation that startled him at first initially—the warmth of Ailsa beside him, her soft breath tickling his shoulder—but one that quickly became something he found himself looking forward to.
This morning, he took some time to simply stare at her while the faint light streaming through the shuttered window illuminated her sleeping face. Her braid had come loose in the night and stray strands curled against her cheek. Cole didn’t dare move at first, half out of fear of waking her and half because he wanted to savor the moment.
He liked to lay still, watching as she stirred, as her long lashes fluttered open.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough from sleep.
She blinked at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips even before she’d fully opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to him.
“Good morning,” she replied, her voice a gorgeous, groggy purr that sent a pleasant hum through his chest.
As she shifted to sit up, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, Cole reached for her hand, pulling her gently back down beside him. “Not yet,” he said, a playful note in his voice.
She laughed softly, her cheeks flushing, but didn’t resist. Their lips met in an unhurried kiss, one that quickly deepened, revealing a growing familiarity between them. The passion from their wedding night hadn’t faded—in fact, it simmered just below the surface, ready to ignite at the smallest spark, as it had each night since. Cole shifted, turning her onto her back as he deepened the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, Cole rested her forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers.
“We’ll be late to break our fast,” she murmured, though she made no move to leave.
“Let them wait,” Cole replied with a grin, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
“Anwen will come knocking,” his wife reminded him, since the maid arrived each morning to help Ailsa dress.
“I dropped the bolt in place last night,” Cole announced—a practice he’d begun after the first morning, when Anwen’s arrival had shocked the hell out of him. Apparently, he’d learned, he was expected not to feel awkward, to rise naked from the bed and go about his day as if there wasn’t a third person in the room, another one of those medieval things that would take some getting used to.
