Wintra clamped her lips shut tightly. She knew that Torr spoke the truth. Her brother would kill Owen if she led him to believe that they had been intimate. It would be up to Owen to convince her brother how much he loved her and that he would be a good husband and treat her fairly. Surely, Cree would listen and give his consent.
“What is meant to be will be,” Torr said, as if ending the conversation.
His words tolled in her head. Her mother had said those very words to her once.
What is meant to be will be.
But she felt that that was resigning one’s self to fate, and so far fate had not been kind to her. She would much prefer to make her own choices, live her life her way.
She hadn’t realized it was snowing until she noticed her cloak was dusted with white flakes. She looked up at the sky consumed with snow and shivered.
“We need to find shelter,” Torr said. “I recall there being a croft not far from here. The sooner we reach it the better, since the snow is falling heavier by the minute.”
He was right. Even with pine branches beneath her blanket, the cold from the snow-packed ground had crept up to sting her last night and still lingered in her bones. But the further they traveled in the falling snow, the more difficult it would be for Owen to find her. And she was certain that by now he was frantically searching for her, fearing the worse, and blaming himself for not being there to protect her.
If she could escape and retrace her steps before the snow got bad, she was certain she would meet up with Owen along the way. And even if Torr found them, it would be better for Owen and her to face Cree together.
But how to get away from Torr?
Torr remembered the cottage being near a stream and so he kept his eyes focused on their surroundings. When he finally spotted the water, he guided his horse passed the trees to follow alongside the edge of an embankment.
“I need to stop,” she said, assuming he would give her privacy to see to her needs.
“Can it not wait?”
“No, you rushed me off this morning before I had a chance to see to my needs. I cannot wait any longer.”
Torr grumbled beneath his breath as he brought his horse to a halt, slid off, and reached up to help her down.
Wintra turned to hurry off when he grabbed her arm.
“I will be going with you.”
Her eyes turned wide. “You cannot mean that. I need privacy.”
“I will turn my back.”
That would not do. He would hear her hurry off and be on her in no time.
“Hurry, the snow worsens by the minute.”
He was right. It was now or not at all. If she gave him a good shove, there was a chance he’d lose his footing and fall and tumble down the embankment. And if she was lucky, he would roll into the stream. Then he would have to seek shelter immediately and get dry before he could do anything, giving her time to make her escape.
Feeling her plan would work perfectly, she pretended to turn, though dug her boots into the snow as she whipped around and gave him a hard shove.
He stumbled, his arms flailing in the air as he fought to regain his balance, and she turned to take off. Suddenly his hand latched onto her shoulder and the movement must have caused him to lose his balance completely, since he went tumbling back, and she was propelled right along with him.
They tumbled down over snow, Wintra trying to push him away as their bodies became entangled. And then they hit the ice cold water.
Torr got to his feet fast once in the stream, wiping the water from his eyes to look for Wintra. She was a few feet away and he hurried over to her and grabbed her by the arm, hoisting her to her feet. She spit and spurted water, having suffered a worse dunking than he had. And it served to anger her even more.
She struggled against his hold, and his cold, wet hand had trouble keeping hold of her. She slipped out of his grasp and when she did, she turned to run, slipped and went down again. Only this time her head hit a rock, knocking her out cold.
Torr muttered several oaths when he saw that she wasn’t moving, and he was at her side in an instant. The water around her head was turning red and he hurried to turn her over. Blood ran down the side of her face from what looked to be a head wound. He gave it a closer look and saw that the blood came from a gash at the edge of her scalp. It didn’t look too bad, though he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure about was that he had to get her out of the water and out of her wet garments and warm or she’d freeze to death in no time.
He shuddered, an icy cold chill running through him. He was wet as well and could just as likely freeze to death if he didn’t do something soon. He lifted her, his arms already beginning to feel stiff and draped her over the horse, took the reins, and began walking.
The snow blinded his vision. He had to squint to see a few feet in front of him. He sniffed the air, hoping to smell the scent of chimney smoke, but there was nothing. If he hadn’t walked into the broken down lean-to, he would have passed by the cottage.
The lean-to had barely enough room to shelter his horse, but at least it was something. He took his bedroll and flung it over his shoulder, and then lifted Wintra off the horse, hoisting her over his other shoulder and followed the edge of the house to the front door. He pushed at it with his shoulder, since it was partially open and walked in.
The place was empty and had been for some time. There was no one to greet them. No one to help them. No fire to get them warm. He kicked the door shut, placed Wintra on the narrow rope bed with a sparsely stuffed mattress and went to work setting a fire in the cold fireplace. He snapped pieces off already broken furniture, the shards making perfect kindling. Soon, he had a roaring fire going.
He hurried out of his clothes, leaving them at the fire’s edge so that they would dry as quickly as possible. He then went over to Wintra and grabbed the two ends of the bottom of the narrow bed and dragged it in front of the fireplace.
The heat of the fire licked at his cold flesh and he didn’t care if he got scorched, he wanted to get as close as possible, though he knew the warmth was only surface deep. He and Wintra needed deeper warmth.
He reached out and began to undress her.
It was the bitter cold that managed to snap her out of the darkness. It had seeped so deeply into her that she didn’t think she would ever be warm again. And oh how her head ached. What had happened? Where was she?
It all came flooding back in an instant and the memories flashed through her mind of her failed escape, landing in the cold stream, the struggle with Torr, and the hit to her head.
She suddenly felt hands at her garments. Someone was tugging at them. What was he doing? What did he want? Panic rose and she fought madly to open her eyes and escape the darkness, only to face what?
Fear crept over her like icy fingers pinching her skin and her eyes sprung open. She grabbed the hand before it could touch her again. Her eyes quickly followed the hand up along a naked arm, over a naked chest, to a familiar face. Torr sat completely naked on the bed beside her.
Her panic soared, almost choking her.
Torr yanked his hand free of her pitiful grasp and seeing the fear in her eyes sought to assure her. “We need to get warm. That means getting you out of those wet garments.”
It took Wintra a moment to understand what he was saying. Her hesitation made her realize that her mind was not as sharp as it should be, and she also realized that she was barely able to feel her legs. She knew all too well what could happen if one was caught in the cold too long. It had happened to a traveler who stumbled upon the abbey during a winter storm. Several limbs had turned black and he had eventually died.
But the consequences of being naked and alone with Torr also weighed heavily upon her. Owen could refuse to wed her. And she didn’t want to think of what her brother would do. Death actually might be more preferable.
She pushed his hands away. “The fire will warm me and dry my garments.”
“Not likely. You need to rid yourself of them and get warm.” He stood and held out his hand. “Let me help you get out of those clothes.”
She bit at her lip that was beginning to quiver uncontrollably and couldn’t help but stare at his naked body only inches away from her, though she properly kept her eyes above his waist. He was all muscle, not an ounce of fat. The men who had stopped at the abbey through the years were never sculpted as he was. Every cut and curve defined his muscles as did the light from the flickering fire. She tried to avoid looking at his private parts. The nuns at the abbey had warned her that the only naked man she was permitted to look upon was her husband and that was only when he bid her to do so.
When ill travelers had stopped at the abbey seeking help, she had been forbidden to help tend or even see them until they were well, out of bed, and walking about. Of course watching the animals had given her some indication of how a man was built, but she had always been curious and with Torr sculpted so magnificently she couldn’t resist—she had to take a peek.
The peek turned into a glaring stare so shocked was she by the size of him. It protruded from between his legs thick, large and hard. How could something that large fit in… Heat rushed to stain her cheeks.
“Keep staring at it with that hungry look and you’ll find it inside you fast enough,” he warned.
Her head snapped up, her eyes turning wide.
“I am an honorable man, but that doesn’t mean my body doesn’t react to the sight of a beautiful woman.”
Beautiful.
A word she had grown tired of hearing. No one had paid her heed when she was young, but as she showed signs of becoming a woman everything had changed. The nuns had warned her that men would seek her for her beauty and women would hate her because of it. The only compliment about her beauty she ever cherished was from her brother. He had returned to the abbey after not seeing her for three years and when he laid eyes on her, he had stared and said nothing for several moments. Then he had taken her hand and told her that she was as beautiful as their mother had been. He had brought tears to her eyes, for the three of them had been such a loving family, and she missed them so badly.
Even Owen’s thoughtful expressions of her beauty had not meant much to her and had made her wonder if a man would ever see more than only her beauty.
“Though your stubborn nature does mar your beauty at times,” Torr said.
That had her slapping his hands away when they reached out to help her as she struggled to get to her feet. “I am not stubborn.”
“So say you as you prove my point.”
“You are insufferable,” she argued, while continuing to struggle to her feet.
“You will wear yourself out if you don’t let me help you,” he warned, “and then I’ll be left to undress you on my own.”
“You will do no such thing. I will dry my clothes, while they remain on me, in front of the fire.” She had finally gotten to her feet and the icy chill that shot through her made her shudder. She took an unsteady step, her arms stretched out in front of her, her palms up as if warding someone off, and took two more cautious steps to the hearth.
She pulled her hands back, the heat so hot it felt as if it scorched. She crossed her arms and squeezed them tight to get some warmth and water gushed from her soaked garments.
“They need to come off,” Torr said, stepping up beside her, though not laying a hand on her. He turned his bare backside to the flames and smiled. “Naked and getting warmer by the minute.”
The truth of his words hit her hard, and she hated him at that moment. Her garments were much to wet to expect them to dry quickly, which meant she would remain chilled much too long. If she wanted to survive, she had no choice but to strip them off and get dry and warm.
“Turn around and do not look,” she demanded.
“You bark orders like your brother.”
“Then obey me as you would him.”
“Get those clothes off fast or I will,” he said with a growl and turned.
Wintra didn’t doubt for a moment that he would do as he said, so she got busy. She discarded her cloak to the ground in front of the fire. Then she sat on the chair braced against the end of the stone fireplace and tugged off her leather shoes. Once finished, she hurried to stand and struggled out of her tunic, the wet linen stubborn, not wanting to let go of her. After finally getting it off, she draped it over the chair and realized that her chill had grown worse. It seemed that with each garment she removed, she grew colder.
Her hands trembled as she attempted to undo the ties at her chest, the wet wool tight and unbending. She held out her hands to the fire for a moment, and then tried again. No matter how she struggled, the obstinate ties refused to budge.
She grew colder and more frustrated.
“That’s it,” Torr said turning around.
“You cannot—”
“Cree’s sister or not, you don’t give me orders, Princess.” He slapped her hands away from the tenacious ties.
“I am not a princess.”
“Then quit acting like one,” he snapped and went to work on the wet ties. It didn’t take him long to realize that the wet and cold had fused them together and until they dried they would be staying as they were. And there was no point in trying to slip the garment over her head, since it clung to her body as persistently as the ties. There was only one way to get it off her.
Torr grabbed hold of the neck and yanked. It took a couple of good tugs to split it far enough down where he could strip the rest of it off her.
She stood shivering, and threw her arms across her breasts, her green eyes bright with anger. “That is the only garment I have with me,” she said, her teeth beginning to chatter as she spoke.
He muttered several foul oaths and grabbed her around the waist to turn her around to face the fire. He planted her back against his front, then he shoved her hands away from her chest and began to massage her body as the heat from the roaring flames began to lick her chilled flesh.
The shock of his large hands on her naked body stunned her, and it took a moment before she could find her voice. By then, she realized heat was beginning to spread through every part of her, chasing the chill.
Between her beauty and her stubbornness, Torr didn’t know how he would keep his sanity. Then there was her body. Damn if it wasn’t perfect. Her firm breasts spilled over in his hands, her waist narrowed to curve over generous hips and her firm bottom begged to be squeezed. Before he had turned her around, he had gotten a good glimpse of the thatch of honey- colored hair between her legs. It sparkled from the fire’s light, as if beckoning him to enter and explore.
He had to force himself to concentrate on what needed to be done—get them warm, though if he didn’t control his salacious thoughts and desires he would have them both scorching hot in no time.
Torr kept his hands moving up and down the front of her, massaging every ounce of flesh and lingering where she was coldest to the touch. Her nipples were as hard as stones, and he had to fight not to give them a squeeze and fight even harder not to turn her around and suckle them. The thought did have merit. It certainly would warm her blood, since the thought of it was warming his.
He had to do something to distract his thoughts that were anything but honorable, so he turned her around to press her breasts against his chest, foolishly thinking that if he couldn’t touch them his ache just might ease. After all, what damage could be down by simply massaging heat down along her back and bottom?
More fool he, since every time he ran his hand over her soft, chilled bottom he had to fight not to cup it and push her up against his growing arousal. What the hell was he thinking? He was far past an arousal. He was hard as a rock and aching so badly that he was getting dangerously close to pushing her down on the bed and laying claim to her. The thought of the bed broke his wicked musings, and he grasped at the chance to step away from her.
His hasty departure startled her, and she lost her balance. He reached out and steadied her with a hand to her arm until she gained firm footing.
“Can you stand a moment while I see to the bed?” he asked.
She nodded, though wasn’t sure if she could stand without his help or was it that she was disappointed that she had lost his heat? Or was it his heat she missed? She made herself stand firmly on her own and refused to allow herself to think about his touch. Whatever was the matter with her? She barely knew this man, and her mind and body had turned completely weak and submissive to his touch? Was she absolutely insane? She shivered at the thought rather than the cold.
Torr mumbled a few choice oaths when he saw her shiver. He hurried and flipped the lumpy mattress over to a dyer side, unrolled his blankets, arranged them on the bed, and then turned, scooped her up, laid her gently on the bed, and climbed in beside her, pulling the blanket up over them.
Wintra warned herself to keep her distance, but Torr had no such thought in mind. He grabbed her, resting her back against him so that their bodies could share the heat. He also draped his leg over hers, tucking them between his two.
She tensed when his arousal poked her backside, and she tried to wiggle away from it.
He gave her body a yank and warned, “Lie still or suffer the consequences.”
He needn’t tell her twice, she immediately stilled, not moving the slightest bit.
Torr would have loved to massage the cold spots that lingered on her body, but that wouldn’t be a wise move. He would let their bodies’ heat finish the chore of warming them.
It wasn’t long before warmth began to take hold, linger, and spread. With the cold easing and her body beginning to relax, Wintra noticed that her head hurt. She raised her hand to touch where it pained her, but Torr grabbed her wrist before it could reach her face.
“Do not touch there,” he warned. “You have a wound at the edge of your scalp and the frigid air stopped the bleeding. If you touch it now, you may start it up again.”
Wintra lowered her hand once Torr released it, tucking it back beneath the blanket.
“After we’re sufficiently warm, I’ll see to the wound for you.”
“I can see to the wound myself.”
“As you say.”
“Why did my brother send you?” Wintra asked, needing to get her mind off the fact that she was lying in bed naked in the arms of a stranger. Besides, she was curious as to why out of all his men, Cree chose Torr for the chore.
“I am the best looking,” Torr said.
“Cree would have sent Sloan if looks mattered. No, your scar tells me that you are a seasoned warrior with more than fine skills. My brother evidently respects and trusts you with the chore of returning me to him safely and untarnished.”
She was not only tenacious; she was perceptive as well. And she reminded him that he should not take advantage of their present situation.
“But then my brother is greatly feared, and there are few—if any—who would dare challenge him.”
“That makes me wonder why that fool Owen would even think to try,” Torr said. “Cree would never let you wed such a man.”
“Owen loves me. He rescued me from my abductors and has seen to my safety. He has been nothing but honorable.”
“Spending the night alone in the woods with you is not honorable.”
“And you being naked in bed with me is?”
“Now there’s a question to ask yourself. What will Cree do when he discovers that you spent a night alone with Owen and the next day naked in bed with me?”