Page 7 of Lost with a Scot
“Anna what?”
A sudden fear rose in her so swiftly that her chest squeezed all the breath from her lungs.
“I don’t know,” she said with a gasp, then buried her face in her hands and wept. She felt out of control—she didn’t know who she was or where she was. It wasterrifying.
“There now, lass. Dinna cry.” The man’s hand touched her shoulder, and his warm palm felt good on her bare skin. Bare skin? She lowered her hands from her face to see that her upper body was naked, but mostly concealed by sheets.
“Why am I naked?” she asked in a whisper.
The bedclothes covering her were warm but scratchier than she was used to, and she felt too warm and the air in this small room too stifling. She thought she remembered gentle fingers sliding cold, wet clothes from her skin. Had that been him? Had this man touched her? She should have been terrified, but somehow seeing his face, the kindness mixed with desire, made her blood stir in a way she didn’t fully understand.
“Yer clothes were soaked with seawater, and ye were freezing to death.” The man removed his hand from her shoulder and stepped back to hold up a nightgown. It was a plain cotton one, but it looked very comfortable.
“Is that for me?” she asked. She should have been afraid of this man. He was impossibly tall, his shoulders broad, and the outline of his muscled physique was clear in the way his waistcoat hugged his waist and the trousers he wore clung to his powerful thighs. But she felt no fear, only confusion.
The man’s face reddened. “Aye. Do ye want to put it on now?”
“Yes.” She accepted the nightgown, and he turned his back while she stepped out of bed, wobbling a little as her legs felt too weak to hold her up. She had only a moment to pull it over her head and let it slip down her body before a wave of dizziness swamped her.
Strong arms caught her and lowered her onto the bed. His deep, subtle scent reminded her of old forests with trees so ancient they had seen more centuries than men had on earth. She buried her head against the man’s throat, wanting to take in more of it. It was a scent that felt familiar, comforting in all the strangeness around her.
“You’re so warm,” she whispered. If she hadn’t been so dizzy and hurting she would have questioned his motives, but right then she took the comfort that she needed from him.
A rich chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“The room is still cold. I’ll add more logs to the fire.” He tucked her beneath the covers, then turned away to tend to the crackling fire. She had a moment to admire the lean, muscular form of him. He was trulybeautiful. He wore dark-brown trousers and a simple waistcoat with no fine embroidery, yet he carried himself with a quiet confidence that spoke of a noble spirit. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, except to say that she felt oddly in tune with this stranger.
A delicious fire burned in her belly as he crouched in front of the flames. He reached for two logs and placed them with care on the fire, whereas other men would have tossed them in carelessly. That was something she had noticed about him. Everything the man did was careful and controlled. It made her feel safe somehow, though she couldn’t say why.
She cuddled deeper beneath the warm bedding. “Who are you to me?” she asked.
“I dinna ken,” he replied, and his words only added to her confusion. Wouldn’t he know if he knew her? She tried a different question.
“Do you have a name?”
“Aye, lass,” he replied, still with his back to her as he used a poker to nudge the logs.
“Will you tell me what it is?” She waited expectantly for the man to answer.
He straightened, placed the poker back in the metal stand, and faced her. Dark hair fell into his stormy blue-gray eyes. They reminded her of the sea. Full of mysteries that would never be solved.
“Aiden Kincade.” He made a courtly bow that prompted her to smile.
“And how did we meet, Aiden Kincade?” She remembered him mentioning she’d been found freezing to death in seawater-drenched clothing.
“I found ye drifting toward the beach on the waves. Ye washed up from a shipwreck.”
“Shipwreck?” She mouthed the word, baffled.
“Aye, lass. Whatever poor souls sailed with ye must have perished. I didna see anyone else among the wreckage as ye washed in.”
A shipwreck and no memories and... She touched the back of her head and winced again.
“Careful.” He moved toward her but halted inches from touching her, as if remembering they were strangers and he shouldn’t touch her. Something about that filled her with tenderness, that he cared about her enough to breach whatever rules of society he followed here in his land.
“The doctor said ye must’ve struck yer head on something. Ye have bruises too. Ye canna remember anything that happened?”
She closed her eyes, trying to remember. She thought she remembered the ocean... and fighting for air. But perhaps that was her imagination trying to fill in the blank spaces. All she truly remembered was his face... both through a dark pool of water and again in the pale sea as he rescued her.
