Page 27 of Winter Longing
“Maybe. I don’t know.” After one more squeeze, the men separated. “Who did this to you?” Cole asked.
Tank scoffed and threw his thumb over his shoulder, where Tavis Sinclair and many of his army stood watching.
“These fine gentlemen,” Tank answered and then smiled devilishly. “Took more than four to subdue me.”
Because Tank hadn’t been killed, and because he himself hadn’t been harmed as of yet in any manner, Cole felt bold enough to address Tavis, who had just dismounted almost twenty feet away. “This is my friend that I’d told you about. You felt the need to rough him up like this?”
Unaffected by the censure of Cole’s tone, Tavis shrugged. “He should nae have refused our efforts to assist him.”
Tank harrumphed once more, though Cole was surprised by how good-natured it sounded. “C’mon, Sinclair. Be honest. You’re heavy-handed with yourefforts. Came with a bit more menace than you’re making it sound.” To Cole, he added, “I thought they were trying to kidnap me or something.”
A fleeting glance around the gathered and watchful soldiers showed a few faces looked similar to Tank’s, bruised and swollen. Yep, he’d put up a good fight.
“But all good now?” Cole asked quietly of Tank.
Tank waved off Cole’s concern. “All good.” He searched the crowd and pointed to a young kid who looked as pale as death and was burrowed in more than one heavy fur. “That pimple-faced brat went under, horse and all, into this huge crevice beneath the snow. Good thing I was there, or they’d still be peering down into the abyss, wondering how to get the kid out of there. Anyway, so Mr. Sinclair here understands I’m neither an idiot nor meaning any trouble.” He faced Tavis again and moved his finger between himself and Cole. “We save lives, that’s what we do. We don’t leave a guy behind.”
“We are appreciative of yer selfless efforts, sir,” Tavis acknowledged stonily. “And that is why ye live yet and have been allowed to be reunited with yer friend.”
“What a guy,” Tavis said drolly under his breath. He then glanced around again. “So what is this?” He asked Cole. “Aside from the obvious.”
Unable to help himself, Cole laughed. “Sadly, it is just that: the obvious. A medieval castle.”
Out of the corner of his mouth, without moving his lips, Tank said, “Dude, we need to talk about this—”
“Not here,” Cole advised.
“No, somewhere private,” Tank Agreed. “This is crazy.”
The door to the keep swung open, drawing Cole’s attention as Ailsa stepped out into the yard. She wore no cloak or wrap despite the chill, her posture straight and purposeful, but her gaze was what caught his attention. It swept over the gathered faces, lingering briefly on her brother with what Cole assumed was relief at seeing him returned safely. Tavis acknowledged her with a nod as he swept by her, pausing only briefly to say something quietly to Ailsa.
She did not follow her brother into the keep. Instead, her eyes continued round the crowded yard, this time landing on him. Cole’s breath hitched at the deliberate way her gaze found his, like she’d been looking for him. The small, almost shy smile that curved her lips didn’t fade, and for a moment, it seemed like they were the only two people in the bustling yard. He couldn’t stop the answering grin that tugged at his own mouth, his heart giving a quick, unexpected thud in his chest.
“Christ, who is that?” Tank whispered in awe at his side.
Cole’s smile froze, as awed by her as if seeing her for the first time, same as Tank.
“Be careful. That’s Tavis’s sister, Ailsa, aka off-limits.”
“Hmph, a full-time job for him, I’m guessing.”
“Undoubtedly.”
To both his surprise and delight, Ailsa stepped away from the castle, walking toward them, her gaze skimming over Tank, dressed similarly to Cole.
“Yer friend, I presume,” she guessed as she neared.
“It is,” Cole said. “Apparently, your brother found him in his travels.” He did want that private conversation with Tank, about how it had come about, where Tavis had found him, but it could wait. “Hank Morrison, this is Ailsa Sinclair, sister to the laird, Tavis Sinclair.”
Tank’s usual air of unshakable confidence faltered as he extended his hand, his movements slightly less smooth than usual. “Jesus,” he breathed, likely in response to Ailsa’s beauty. “I mean, a real pleasure, Miss Sinclair,” he said, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic hesitancy that reminded Cole of a bashful teenager rather than a battle-hardened Marine and veteran firefighter. His words almost seemed to carry an ‘aw shucks’ tone.
Cole blinked. Tank—aw shucks?The man who could walk through chaos like it was just another Tuesday and charm anyone in the room had suddenly been rendered nearly tongue-tied. Cole smirked, filing this away for later ribbing. Clearly, even the indomitable Hank Morrison wasn’t immune to a pretty face.
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Ailsa returned, her tone gracious but tinged with curiosity. Her gaze lingered on Tank for a moment, polite but assessing. “Cole was quite worried about ye. In another half an hour, we’d have gone out on our second search for ye had ye nae been delivered to us. Welcome to Torr Cinnteag.”
Tank nodded, his usual composure starting to return, the smile evolving being that practiced one Cole had seen usedcountless times with countless women. “Thank you, Miss Sinclair. Appreciate the hospitality.”
Coming almost immediately on the heels of his surprise over Tank’s mildly flustered manner, Cole couldn’t ignore the odd twist of unease that warred with his true happiness at having Tank here with him. Tank was Tank—charming, confident, and, well, notoriously good with women. And Ailsa? Ailsa was...different.
