Page 84 of Winter Longing
She ducked sideways near the gate, allowing room for the horses to pass. She reached up her hand to Tavis as he entered the yard. Her brother clasped her hand briefly and met her teary gaze. “Home we are, Ailsa. For a spell at any rate.”
“And blessed we are to have ye,” she smiled with genuine affection at him.
When he released her hand, she angled between the slow-moving horses, going next directly to Cole. A larger cry of greater relief burst from her as she touched him for the first time in months, her hands latching on to his boots and his cold breeches. In the next moment, he’d slid from the saddle, and Ailsa was in his arms.
“Oh, Cole,” she wept with joy into his shoulder. Though his embrace was not fierce, Ailsa reveled in it, lost herself in it.
“Ailsa,” he breathed into her hair, kissing her temple. “Thank God.”
She lifted her face and stood on her toes, raining kisses over his cheeks and his mouth, her hands holding his face.
She felt his weakness and somehow restrained herself from leaping all over him. “Come now, directly inside, out of this cold.” She slid her arm around him and walked with him toward the door to the keep. “Everyone,” she called, “inside.”
It was then she noticed that Cole was limping, and that he was far weaker than she’d assumed. He winced with each step and at the same time Ailsa pulled back to scan her gaze over her, he put his hand to his side.
“It’s minor, I’m sure,” he said, “but it sure does hurt.”
“Sweet Jesus,” she whimpered, “and here I am, throwing myself at ye—”
“Ailsa, it’s fine,” he insisted, though his voice was more weary than firm. “I wanted you to throw yourself at me, so thank you for that.”
A strangled laugh erupted, and she shook her head to clear it, and again, she steered him toward the keep.
As soon as they stepped inside, Ailsa turned to Cole, her hands going to his arm. “We’ll go straight to our chamber.”
Cole shook his head, the movement slow but resolute. “This’ll be a hospital ward now?” He asked, glancing around the hall, where straw-stuffed pallets were laid out on all the trestle tables and along one wall, and half a dozen maids, and Anwen assisted the soldiers as they entered, directing them to lie down and await the healer, or Father Gilbert’s attendance.
“Aye,” said Ailsa. “But this is nae for ye, husband. Ye’ll heal better in peace, away from all this. It is expected that ye and Tavis will take to your chambers to recover.”
“That’s not right, Ailsa,” Cole objected weakly. “I need to be here, with them.”
“Cole, it is nae—”
“Lass, he speaks true,” a voice interrupted.
Ailsa turned, finding Father Gilbert had come.
He smiled warmly at Cole. “Welcome home, lad. God has blessed you.”
“He has,” Cole agreed.
The priest then addressed Ailsa. “His place is here, lass, beside the men with whom he fought.”
Ailsa’s throat tightened, her frustration warring with the truth in the priest’s words. She looked up at Cole, at the exhaustion etched into his features, the pale cast of his skin, and the stubborn set of his jaw. She had some suspicion that he wouldn’t yield, not on this.
“I only want what’s best for ye,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.
“I’ll be fine, Ailsa. I promise,” Cole replied, his tone softening. He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly over hers. “But I need to be here.”
Father Gilbert offered Ailsa a reassuring nod before gesturing toward an empty pallet nearby. “Come along, lad. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Cole moved carefully, each step measured, as he approached the makeshift bed. He began to climb onto the pallet but paused, his sharp gaze cutting to Father Gilbert. “Check on Davey and Somerled first,” he said firmly. “They’re in worse shape than I am. I can wait.”
The priest nodded and turned toward the other injured men, leaving Ailsa to guide Cole as he eased onto the board. She fussed over him as he lay back, her fingers hovering nervously above him, reluctant to touch. Her eyes caught on the blood-stained linen wrapped around his neck, and her stomach churned.
“God’s bones, Cole,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What happened—”
“It’s just a scratch,” he interjected quickly, offering a crooked grin. “I swear to you.”
