Page 11 of A Highland Healer Captured
For a long, taut moment he only studied her, the fire light painting his features sharp as steel. Then his mouth curved into that infuriating smirk again.
“Good,” he said, voice low and teasing. “I do hope ye try. I’ve nae had such fine sport in years.”
The words stole her breath more than his grip ever had and her stomach flipped traitorously. She jerked back, stumbling, flustered beyond measure. He only chuckled, deep and dark, then guided her toward the far wall. Through a doorway, where a second, more private fire was lit, and makeshift bedding lie on the floor.
Her head spun with fury and shame, but also, traitorously, with heat. His body radiated warmth where their shoulders brushed, his presence overwhelming.
“I’ll nae sleep with ye in herealone!”
“Ye’ll have privacy here with me — if ye wish to dry out yer —”
“If ye have a shred of hope to see daylight again, ye’ll nae finish that sentence.”
Zander laughed and shrugged, his grey eyes glinting in the low light. “Just tryin’ to help ye stop all that… tremblin’.”
Skylar opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it again. Failing to come up with a response. Memories flashed across her vision. His arms gripping her tightly. The intoxicating heat and musk enveloping her while they rode. His chest vibrating when he laughed, even at her expense. She was all of the sudden grateful for the darkness, knowing that her skin was alight with an ever-revealing blush.
“It’s dark enough in here, should ye choose to dry yer soiled clothes, ye’ll be safe and intact. I’ve set out a tunic of mine over there in the corner. Either way, ye’ll need yer strength… ye have another attempt to escape ahead, to be sure,” he said with a smile lilting his voice.
And for an infuriating second, her thoughts ran wild with images of what his smile might look like under his beard?—
“I’ll never rest beside a brute like ye,” she snapped.
His gaze slid to her, hungry amusement sparking in his eyes still. “Then stay awake and plot. Either way, I’ll have ye where I can see ye.”
Skylar ground her teeth, fists clenched tight in her lap.I will escape, nay matter what it takes.
And beside her, even in the darkness she could see Zander smirking, knowing that her vow was the very thing he wanted.
4
Heat still clung to the stones when Skylar woke, aching, warm, and confused. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling above her was a tangle of blackened rafters and ivy, not the familiar beams of her room at MacLennan Keep. The scent of peat was replaced by damp moss and smoke.
“Hello?” she tried, her throat like barbs, reminding her of her incessant talking the night before.
Someone,blast him,had draped a heavy cloak over her while she slept. The wool smelled faintly of leather and rain and a spice she wasn’t familiar with. Beneath it, a sleeping mat cushioned her hip bones.
Close by, the fire still burned steady, banked but hot, with a wooden bucket brimming beside it as if inviting her to douse it when she pleased. On a makeshift line above the flames, her gown and shift hung dry, neatly arranged, the steam long since fled.
There were also three small pieces of bannock waiting on a flat stone. Skylar stared at them a beat, affronted and ravenous at once. She meant to scorn the offering, then demolished all three in short order.
The ruined chamber was empty. So was the doorway beyond. The murmur of masculine voices was missing, replaced by wind humming in the fractured arrow slits and the distant caw of crows.
Must still be asleep…
She sat up, every muscle complaining, and reached for the line. Her clothes were indeed dry, warm from the last of the fire. It felt indecent to accept the care of a captor. Still, she tugged on stockings that someone else had hung for her, and buttoned up a bodice that a brute stranger had thought to place within arm’s reach.
She changed quickly, turned her back to the door out of habit, and scrubbed her face in the cold water from the bucket. The shock woke her fully, scouring the grit of fear from behind her eyes. She braided her hair tight and quick and knotted the end with a frayed thread she pulled from her sleeve.
Then she took stock of everything like the healer she was.
Cloak: Serviceable, if far too big.
Mat: Rollable.
Satchel: Where I’d stashed it. Nay vials missing.
Fire: Alive but obedient, ready to be darkened.
