Page 50 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
“Ethan?”
He snapped out of his musing, “Oh, o’course.”
It took a little wiggling and tugging but the shutters were removed and the window open. The cabin looked marginally better, but it was still bare. He still needed to get water for them, so he went to search the cupboards and found some buckets. While he looked, Violet found two strike irons from a shelf and smiled.
“At least we won’t be cold,” she said.
“Or hungry,” he added. “I’ll get some water for us, and will be back soon. Ye did carry Shadow with ye, aye, use it without remorse if anyone but me comes in.”
“Aye,” her lips twitched.
Grabbing the buckets, he headed off to the river. With any luck, this asylum would be only temporary, Mister O’Cain and his father would find this man themselves and have him drawn and quartered. He would go back home, ask Mister O’Cain if Violet could stay a while longer and then…
Then what? What if she doesnae take to life up here at all?
Huffing out a breath, he placed the filled bucket on the riverbank and filled the other. There was not much assurance how his connection—relationship—with Violet was going to progress, but he knew he was not ready to give her up. With both buckets in hand, he went up the slope and rested them on the small porch to knock.
When she allowed him in, he rested the buckets near the far end where they would not be in the way of being tripped over. Violet went to a seat she had placed by the window and looked out with a solemn moue. “What’s on yer mind?”
“Probably the same thing that’s on yers,” she replied, slowly turning her head to him. “If they found out who is behind all this upset yet.”
“And what if they havenae,” he sagged on the nearest wall. “We might be in hiding for weeks, if nay months.”
Snickering, Violet slanted an amused look to him, “Is staying with me for all that time going to be so much of a hardship?”
Besides himself, he felt his lips twitch too. “Nay, I suppose it won’t.”
Casting a look out the window, he saw the bright haze of the afternoon begin to dim. Evening was soon coming and with that, they needed to eat and then figure out where to sleep. Shuffling to get the bag holding their food, he called over his shoulder, “What are ye in for?”
“Something warm,” she said. “Did we bring the skins of milk? I’d like to warm some.”
Fishing into the sack, he pulled out one of the skins and handed it to her, then went to find a pot so she could heat the contents in. Kneeling, he searched a trunk and pulled out a copper pot. His appetite was gone but Violet needed to eat after nearly two hours of continuous riding. Rinsing the pot out he handed it over but she bypassed it to rest a hand on his shoulder, tipped up and kissed his cheek.
His hand slipped around her back and kissed her, slow and sweet, once, a mere meeting of the lips, twice with a soft suck on her tongue and then, a deep, thorough kiss that earned him a dazed look and a tiny stumble from her when he pulled away.
“Let’s get ye that milk,” he said.
* * *
He did not know the hour but his best guess was that it was past midnight. Laying on his makeshift bed, with both hands tucked behind his head he stared blankly at the ceiling.
He couldn’t sleep, because raw worry was gnawing at his gut. His father…his brother…Mister O’Cain…the murderer. Had they found the man yet? Had the killer made the mistake of following the two decoys and was now captured? Or, had he stayed away and they were going to be here for a longer time?
With no word from his father, he felt his gut twist. Rubbing his face hard, he swore that he could not wait for this isolation to be over. Exhaling loudly, he shifted on his side to see Violet, her back turned to him as she slept.
At least she can rest.
There was just too much on his mind for him to sleep, or eat despite his burning eyes or protesting stomach. Turning back, a wry thought ran through his mind and he had to snort quietly. This place was so quiet that he realized that he missed the little, familiar noises of the castle.
The almost inaudible tread of a guard passing by his door, of the sounds of the pots and pans banging from the kitchens. The only constant thing from there to here, was the clear moonlight streaming through the windows and the shadows they evoked over the ceiling.
Dawn might find him there still worrying about what might or might not happen but he could not afford to show his worry to Violet. He had to be strong enough for both of them, even though he felt like he was in the middle of the bog, sinking slowly.
What if his father did die? Would he be launched into the Lairdship and have to flounder his way through it? No matter how his father told him that he had the affinity for it, he knew he needed his father’s decade-old years of wisdom to bolster him.
Forcing his eyes to close just in case he would slip off to the sleep he needed, he still ruminated over the upsetting issues. Unwittingly, fatigue dragged him into sleep, and he woke up with strong sunlight skimming over the back of his neck as he was laying on his stomach.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes and shifted to see Violet’s pallet empty and her sheets folded atop it. Then, his nose was filled was the smell of beef but sweeter. Sitting up, and rubbing his eyes, he saw Violet stirring something over the firepit with a placid look on her face.
