Page 19 of Winter Longing
Ailsa blinked, momentarily speechless. Never had she known a man, not infirm or otherwise disabled, who was unable to ride. A flicker of doubt coursed through her, wondering if he jested, but his blue-eyed gaze seemed sincere.
Just then, Dersey approached, his discontented frown deep, suggesting he’d overheard Cole’s outlandish confession.
“What’s this?” Dersey’s gruff voice carried, his gaze shifting from Cole to Ailsa with obvious impatience.
Dragging her incredulous gaze from Cole, Ailsa hastily introduced them, having forgotten until now that they’d not properly met. “Dersey, this is Cole Carter, the man ye brought from the forest yesterday.”
Cole covered the space between him and the mounted Dersey, reaching up his hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice firm.
Dersey stared at Cole’s extended hand as if afraid it might produce a weapon from thin air, scowling as he circled his fingers around the hilt of his sword.
Without a word Cole took a step backward, lowering his ignored hand. While Ailsa was embarrassed by Dersey’s mute hostility, Cole seemed unphased, more captivated by Dersey’s weathered face and imposing stature, his eyes bright with interest rather than intimidation.
“Anyway, thanks for what you did,” Cole said and turned his back to Dersey, effectively—and haughtily, Ailsa thought with a hint of a smile—dismissing the older man.
“Ailsa, I appreciate this, I really do,” Cole said, drawing her full attention, in part for how easily her name came to his lips, “but I don’t think this will work. I can’t ride a horse, and I wouldn’t expect you or these men to walk with me. I don’t mind going out on my own. If you can just point me in the right direction, either where you found me or where I might have come from...?”
“Canna ride a horse, he says,” came Anwen’s voice behind Ailsa, her tone derisive.
Ailsa’s fingers tightened on the reins of her own mount, unprepared for the unexpected pang that came with the thought of him leaving. She couldn’t fully explain it, but something in her balked at the idea of letting him search alone. If he found his friend, she had the unsettling notion they might not return to Torr Cinnteag—and that idea filled her with a strange, wordless disquiet.
“Nae, 'tis dangerous to go off on foot, and alone,” she determined. “Ye’ll ride double. We’re safer on horseback, sir.”
She turned and stared expectantly at the men waiting to accompany them, annoyed to find that each of them had found something suddenly fascinating to inspect on the ground or in the distance, deliberately avoiding her gaze and clearlyuninterested in offering a ride to Cole Carter. Though Cian faced her, wearing a wince that suggested he was not keen at all with the idea of sharing the saddle with Cole Carter, Rory and Colin kept their gazes averted.
While even Anwen frowned with displeasure over the obvious slight, Ailsa rolled her eyes with frustration, and faced Cole again, directing her mare to sidle next to him. “Climb up. Ye can ride with me.” She removed her foot from the stirrup so that he might use it to mount.
“Och, Sweet Mary,” Anwen squeaked in dismay.
Domhnall spoke up as well, his tone curt. “He will nae!”
Dersey groused vehemently, “We can spare the horse—he’ll have to learn to ride as we go.”
“The laird would nae take kindly to—Jesu, lass,” added Cian, aghast at the very idea.
They’d each spoken in their own Scots’ language, but Ailsa wouldn’t have imagined that Cole Carter didn’t understand their objections based on their harsh tones.
She addressed Cian specifically, in English, ignoring the others. “If ye fear ye canna protect me from a lone male who is scarcely recovered from his weakness...” she began with feigned innocence.
At her side, Cole objected to her characterization. “I’m not weak,” he insisted, mildly offended.
Ailsa shot him a disgruntled look, willing to sacrifice his pride to make her case.
When no one offered any other objection, and after a cautious glance at Dersey, Cole shoved his foot into the stirrup and grabbed hold of the pommel in front of her, hauling himself up behind Ailsa. He landed with a bit of a bounce and Ailsa scooched forward in the saddle, hoping there was enough room for him. Even as she imagined she should have expected it, she stiffened when Cole’s hands landed on her hips, his fingerscurling lightly into the fabric of not only her mantle but the léine beneath it.
Ignoring the fact that her cheeks were no doubt flushed once again with a furious blush, Ailsa turned what she hoped was an innocent gaze onto Dersey. “Shall we?” she asked.
The captain’s lips were thinned so dramatically they were lost entirely inside his beard. “Be the death of me, ye will,” he muttered. But he moved forward, taking the lead of the small party as they moved out through the gates of Torr Cinnteag.
Anwen, a proficient but awkward rider, fell into step beside Ailsa and Cole and made no secret of her inspection of him.
“Ye speak English well enough, Anwen,” Ailsa reminded her. “If ye’ve a question for him, ask him.”
“Nae query have I at this time,” replied Anwen imperiously, as if to impart that she would reserve judgment.
“We’ll start where we found Sir Cole yesterday,” Ailsa called out to Dersey, “and work from there to the south.”
“Aye, I ken what I’m about,” was called back.
