Page 32 of Winter Longing
Considering their unusual circumstances, Cole wasn’t sure that was exactly true, or possible.
On their way?To where?
“But where were ye going? Ye hide something, I trow. I dinna ken what it is, but I ken ye are hiding something. What brought ye into my demesne?”
Cole’s mind briefly went blank, wondering what a safe answer might be. But what did he know about good excuses for trespassing in medieval Scotland?
“Looking for work,” Tank surprised him by answering. “The war has taken everything from us—our home, our family, even the land we worked. We’ve nothing to return to and no money to our name. We hoped to find honest work up north, rebuilding, repairing—whatever needs doing.”
Cole resisted the urge to turn and gape at Tank, even as he suddenly wondered who his friend was right now. A quick-thinking inventor of tales, it turned out.
Holding Tavis’s gaze steadily, Tank continued. “If we’ve overstepped by being on your land, we meant no disrespect. We were only hoping to survive, to find a way forward.”
Tavis raised a hand, suggesting he didn’t want to hear any more. He studied both men a moment longer before saying in a low and slow voice, “Ken this: ye are being watched. Guards have been posted round the rectory. If ye step out of line—if ye so much as breathe wrong—ye will be imprisoned. Or worse.”
“Understood,” Tank replied promptly. “But have no fear, Sinclair. You won’t have any trouble from either of us.”
Cole decided he didn’t care for Tavis Sinclair. He seemed too much in love with his power, as if he reveled in intimidation. Maybe it was simply part of his medieval lord’s mentality, but Cole didn’t like it. On the other hand, he could appreciate that he and Tank must be suspicious characters to any or all people they’d met.
Though he appeared still skeptical of them, Tavis sat up and indicated the chairs on either side of him. “Ye will dine here tonight but mind your place. Do naught to draw more eyes than ye already have.”
Cole and Tank exchanged brief glances, and Cole thought that like him, Tank was trying to keep unease from showing in his expression.
“You got it, chief,” Tank said agreeably before he and Cole rounded the table from the same side, approaching Tavis. Tank went behind Tavis, taking the chair to the laird’s left.
Cole was prevented from sitting directly on Tavis’s right by the hand swept over the arm of the chair there.
“'Tis where my sister presides,” he announced regally, pointing to the next chair. “Ye sit there.”
Cole had no problem with that, being removed from too close a proximity to Tavis, and then knowing that he would be able to enjoy Ailsa’s company this evening.
Cole had just resigned himself to the awkwardness of sitting at the head table when the hall began to fill with people arriving for the evening meal, their chatter and footsteps breaking the tense atmosphere. He noted something he hadn’t last evening, that people came not only from the main door to the hall, but from other passageways inside the keep.
Admittedly, he only noticed this because Ailsa was one of them, coming from an arched doorway to the right of the main table. She was followed by that other woman, Anwen, who was a curious person as she wore an expression that looked like she was constantly smiling, but her manner—at least so far that Cole had noticed—was neither welcoming nor particularly friendly. Cole watched as the robust Anwen cast her gaze over Tank as she walked past, wearing for a moment a new and different expression as she curled her lip in what looked like strong disfavor.
Little did he dwell on it, though, the maid and her silent disapproval, his gaze settling instead on Ailsa, who had changed for dinner as she’d done yesterday. He was as certain now as he’d been earlier, as he’d been yesterday and in every momenthe’d spent in Ailsa’s company since he’d met her, that he’d never encountered a woman more beautiful. Her long dark auburn hair, loose and soft, fell around her shoulders and framed her face perfectly. She had those striking blue eyes—bright, clear, and impossible to ignore—that seemed to catch the light just right. She moved with an easy kind of grace, her skirts swishing faintly as she walked toward the table, and for a moment, Cole forgot where—and when—he was. She wasn’t just beautiful—though she was that, unquestionably—but she carried herself so confidently, so calm and steady, like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
When her eyes flicked his way, he felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t one to be easily impressed, but Ailsa had a way of holding his attention without even trying.
Strange, how so much of his awkward discomfort evaporated the moment she sat down next to him. He felt an undeniable lift in his spirits, and when she offered him a small smile as a greeting, he found himself returning it automatically.
“Good evening,” he said.
“And to ye,” she replied. With a quick glance at her brother seated at her left, finding him occupied speaking with one of his soldiers who’d come to stand in front of the table, she leaned incrementally closer toward Cole and said softly, “I apologize for having abandoned ye earlier. I kent it better to appease Father Gilbert by acceding to his wishes that I...maintain a distance from ye.” She straightened but quickly leaned closer again and added, almost as an afterthought, “And yer friend, of course.”
“No need to apologize,” he assured her. “I get it, the priest’s misgivings. Better safe than sorry.”
This made Ailsa turn her face rather swiftly toward him, her brows raised. “Will ye give me cause to be sorry, Cole Carter?”
The question hung in the air, layered and open to interpretation. Her intent wasn’t entirely clear, but the way herlips parted slightly, and the way her gaze lingered, told Cole enough. It was a challenge—a cautious probing of his intentions.
“I won’t,” he said firmly. “Not if I can help it. And not ever intentionally.”
As Ailsa straightened, giving her attention to the room, Cole found himself lingering on her words.Will ye give me cause to be sorry, Cole Carter?The question echoed in his mind, not just for its odd phrasing but for the subtle weight behind it. It hadn’t felt like an accusation or even a warning, and yet....
It was as though she’d acknowledged something unspoken between them. Could she feel it too? The powerful awareness of her had been there since the first moment he’d met her—her presence both soft and commanding, her gaze piercing yet guarded. There was no denying it now; he’d been and was drawn to her. But did she feel the same pull, the same magnetic undercurrent that made him notice every shift of her expression, every flicker of emotion in her eyes?
Cole’s chest tightened as a wave of reality crashed over him. What was he doing? What was hethinking? He had no business imagining or examining a supposed connection with her—or anyone here, for that matter. He was a man out of time, separated from his world by centuries, maybe forever. Every second he spent here only reminded him of how much he wanted to go back to the life he knew: his job, his home, the people he’d left behind.
