Page 34 of Winter Longing
Eventually, conversation drifted to other subjects, and again broke off into smaller private discussions.
Being lucky enough to be seated next to Ailsa was only a small comfort to Cole. The weight of curious stares pressed on him, and he felt as though every move he made was under scrutiny. The low hum of conversation around the hall only heightened his unease, wondering if he and possibly Tank were the subject of some conversations. As the meal continued, he caught more and more glances, some speculative, others openly hostile, and his discomfort grew. He sat back in his chair and looked over at Tavis, a bit unnerved to find the formidable laird’s gaze already fixed on him.
Tavis Sinclair stared unabashedly at him, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. And though there was no hostility in his expression—no scowl or furrowed brow—the sheer intensity of his eyes was enough to make Cole’s stomach tighten. While he supposed the guy was simply taking his measure, this seemed more an interrogation than merely a glance.
A flicker of something unspoken passed between them, and for the first time since arriving, Cole felt the chill of vulnerability, as if he and Tank might actually be in danger here at Torr Cinnteag. Still, he met Tavis’s gaze head on, refusing to show vulnerability or to appear guilty of whatever Tavis might suspect of him.
Possibly, Ailsa caught wind of the wordless exchange. She sat back as well, creating a barrier between Cole and her brother. She spoke for a few minutes to her brother before turning and giving her attention to Cole.
“Ye are uneasy suddenly,” Ailsa said quietly, her voice just loud enough to reach him over the din.
He gave her a sidelong look, hesitating before responding. “Is it that obvious?”
She smiled faintly, a flicker of warmth lighting her eyes. “Aye. Ye shift like a man expecting an ambush.”
That hit closer to the mark than she might have guessed. Cole looked out over the crowded hall and again found plenty of people staring at him. The Red Wedding episode fromGame of Thronescrept into his mind. His jaw tightened.
Ailsa tilted her head, studying him. “What is it?” she asked, her blue eyes alive with concern.
Cole decided to ask outright. He leaned closer to her, keeping his voice low. “Is this some kind of trick? This... supper? To gain our confidence, put us at ease, and then—” He hesitated, but pushed on, “—kill us?” He didn’t know why, but he knew she wouldn’t lie to him. Ailsa would tell him the truth. At the very least, he would see it in her eyes, he was certain.
Ailsa blinked at him, clearly taken aback. For a moment, she seemed stunned into silence. Then, her expression shifted. Shock turned to confusion, confusion to offense, and then to something colder. The veins in her neck pulsed as her jaw tightened.
“We do nae practice deceit, sir,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. “If my brother wanted ye dead, ye would be so. Certainly, he would nae be breaking bread with ye.”
Cole winced at the whispered hiss of her tone, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. “I didn’t mean—”
But Ailsa didn’t let him finish. She straightened her back, her expression unreadable. Whatever warmth she’d shown before was gone, replaced by a cool detachment. She turned her attention to her plate, and though she responded when spoken to, it was only in clipped, polite phrases.
He wanted desperately to take back his question, even as in his mind, it felt justified. His entire world was upside-down, nothing was as it should be, and he honestly didn’t know who or what to trust.
One last quip of, “Ailsa, I am sorry. It’s only my second day in this century,” fell on deaf ears as well.
By the time Father Gilbert arrived to escort him and Tank back to the rectory, Cole felt like an idiot. He replayed the conversation with Ailsa in his head, cringing at his own words.
Chapter Ten
Frost clung to the ground in delicate white patterns as Cole and Tank exited the rectory the next morning, and their breath fogged the air as they scanned their surroundings. It was busier than Cole had expected at this early hour, the enclosed yard crowded with several dozen men and just as many horses.
Tank stretched, letting out a low groan. “Felt good to sleep in a real bed,” he said, rubbing his neck. “But damn, I wonder if I’ll ever be warm again.”
“The no-heat, no-plumbing thing is a definite strike against the fourteenth century,” Cole agreed.
“You got that right,” Tank said, giving a good shudder as he burrowed into the collar and hood of his coat.
Cole smirked. “At least Father Gilbert had another room to share, or you and I’d have been sharing one of those too-small beds.”
Tank chuckled. “I was profuse in my thanks to the good priest for just that reason. He’s intense, right? But a good guy overall.”
They hadn’t gone far when Ailsa stepped outside at the door to the castle, a woven, cloth-covered basket hanging from her arm. Her hood was down, and the morning light caught the loose strands of her dark hair. With her was Anwen, the plump, smiling maid with the bad temper. Cole thought Ailsa might just now be trying to make Anwen laugh or promote a good mood. Ailsa wore a mischievous grin, saying something to Anwen as she playfully nudged her shoulder into Anwen’s arm. Her eyes twinkled with playful warmth even as Anwen huffed in mock annoyance as Ailsa whispered something and lightly bumped her arm again.
Cole couldn’t hear what Ailsa was saying, but the animated way her lips moved and the teasing tilt of her head suggested she was fully committed to her task. Anwen finally gave in, a short, sharp laugh escaping her, though she quickly masked it with a roll of her eyes and a muttered comment that made Ailsa grin even wider.
Then Ailsa looked up as she crossed the yard and caught sight of Cole and her smile faded.
For that he was deeply sorry.
Rather than only waving across the short distance, Cole stepped in her path.
