Page 54 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
With a sigh, he turned the horse around, slipping and sliding as they trotted back down the path. It was an interminable time later that he saw the shadow of a mound. Lightning lit up the sky, showing the crofter’s cottage in all its decaying glory.
He turned the horse towards it, calling out in case it was occupied, but with the thundering rain, it was doubtful that anyone would have heard him anyway. Coming to a stop at the door, he reached up for Freya, helping her off the horse. She stood there shivering, staring at him, and he took off his coat and handed it to her.
He pulled her close, gesturing for her to take shelter inside the cottage before taking the horse’s bridle and pulling it inside the cottage as well. He looked around, noting that the area that had fallen in was not as large as he had feared. It was just a round hole the size of a trough.
He spotted the fireplace on the opposite wall from the one that was damaged and heaved a sigh of relief. If he could get some wood burning, they could get warm and perhaps escape the dangers of fever.
Letting the bridle trail to the floor, he went back outside in search of wood. Walking around the cottage, he exclaimed in joy as he found a stack of cut wood neatly stacked against the north corner of the house and protected from most of the rain by an overhang.
Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he bent down and got to work transferring the wood indoors.
* * *
Freya huddled miserably in Eric’s coat, her teeth chattering. She listened for his footsteps fearfully, wondering just where he’d gone when he appeared in the doorway, clutching a bundle of firewood. Bosom heaving, she stared as he marched into the cottage and dropped his load next to the fireplace.
His wet shirt clung to his back, outlining his form in clear loving detail. His muscles rippled as he moved the logs, throwing two of them into the fire before heading to the door again.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To find kindling,” he replied without turning back.
She frowned. “How will you find any kindling out there in the wet?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, but I cannot tell you until I’ve tried,” he said without turning around.
Freya looked around the room. “Can we not use some of the fallen thatch? It’s a deluge outside, and every time you go out you just get wetter.”
He turned around, white teeth gleaming as he grinned. “I think at this point I’ve gotten as wet as I possibly can. What’s a little more water?”
She marched towards him and grabbed his arm. “If you go out there again, I shall follow you.” She clenched her jaw with determination.
He blinked at her, seeming nonplussed. “Well…we cannot have that, can we?”
Letting go of him, she reached down and pulled up the skirt of her gown. “My inner petticoats are still fairly dry. You can use that.” She immediately began to try and tear the sturdy cotton material.
With a sigh, Eric bent down and took hold of the petticoat, tearing it along the seam before reaching into his boot and emerging with a small knife. “I never leave home without it,” he murmured. “One never knows when one might need one.”
He cut off a rectangular piece of her petticoat before getting to his feet. Freya found that she was quite breathless and not from the cold. He got to his feet and walked over to the fireplace.
He exclaimed in excitement, making her jump before rushing over to see what the fuss was about.
“Someone left us a flint and steel,” he said with glee and immediately began to try and light it. Soon, he had a flame, and he lit the piece of cotton on fire before throwing it gently over the few pieces of kindling he’d fashioned from the wood bark. He fanned the flames frantically as Freya prayed.
To her relief, the wood caught and began to burn, first slowly, but soon, there was a roaring fire in the grate. Eric grinned at her as she stood, warming herself. “Better?” he asked softly.
She nodded, looking back at him.
Their gazes held for an interminable moment before he jerked and turned towards the door, “I should get some more wood.”
“Don’t get too wet,” she called.
“If I do, at least there’s a fire to dry off in front of.”
Freya smiled, rolling one of the logs towards her, so she could sit on it. She looked around the cottage. There wasn’t much left in it — a table missing half its legs and a jar of something over on one of the shelves. Whatever it was, Freya doubted it was edible. She had a moment’s regret that she’d not had some tea before they left the castle or thought to carry any food with her. The rain showed no signs of slowing down or stopping. They were in a strange place, and it was getting dark.
Dare we even try to get back to Digby Castle tonight?
She did not think that would be a good idea. She tried humming to keep her mind away from how empty her stomach felt, but she could not help thinking about what a miserable night they were about to have.
