Fallen: A Medieval Scottish Romance (The Sisters of Kilbride Book 3) by Jayne Castel

Author:Jayne Castel [Castel, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winter Mist Press
Published: 2020-05-28T04:00:00+00:00

18

Broken

COIRA FOLLOWED CRAEG into his tent, her heart hammering. Wiping damp palms on the skirts of her habit, she attempted to steady her nerves.

Calm down.

She hadn’t expected to be this anxious, but the thing she needed to ask Craeg made her feel as if she were climbing the steps to the gallows.

What if he denies me?

She hoped he wouldn’t, for her hopes rested upon his consent. If she never intended to return to Kilbride, she needed to carve another role for herself among these people.

It was a conversation that couldn’t wait.

Craeg’s tent was a lean-to built against the ravine wall. It was small and furnished only with a single fur on the floor and a brazier in the center, where a lump of peat glowed.

The outlaw leader turned to Coira, and suddenly the tent felt cramped and airless. His presence sucked the air out of the smoky interior. Craeg’s height and breadth made her feel tiny in comparison. Her thoughts suddenly scattered.

Concentrate, she chided herself. Ye must focus.

“What did ye want to speak to me of?” he asked with a slow smile. It was a purely masculine expression and a reminder that Craeg hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to her back in that moonlit glade.

Neither had Coira, but that wasn’t why she’d asked for a moment alone with him.

She swallowed. “I will get to that in a moment,” she replied. “First … let me take a look at yer side.”

Craeg hesitated, as he continued to watch her intently. He was probably wondering what was amiss with her. However, he didn’t argue. Not shifting his focus from her, he began to unlace his vest. He then shrugged it off.

The sight of his naked chest was distracting. She’d seen his nude torso before, yet this time it made Coira’s breathing grow shallow, an ache forming just under her breast bone.

Forcing herself to focus, she stepped toward him, set down her basket, and deftly unwrapped the light bandage he wore. Then, bending close, she examined the injury to his left flank.

It was healing beautifully—better than she’d expected. The scab that had formed was dry, and there was no unpleasant smell issuing from it.

“Ye are tough,” she admitted, drawing back from him. “Such a wound would have killed many men.”

Craeg’s mouth curved, his eyes gleaming. “Aye … so I’m healthy enough to swing a sword tomorrow?”

Coira nodded. His proximity was making it hard for her to keep her thoughts netted. The heat of his body was like a furnace, and the warm, spicy scent of his skin made a strange yearning rise within her belly. “Make sure ye bind the injury well first though … or ye risk splitting it open again.”

Reaching for a clean bandage, she wrapped it around his torso, and as she did so, she became increasingly aware of his nearness and the gentle whisper of both their breathing.

The words that he’d said that night returned to her, taunting her. She’d not remind him of that incident. Yet she knew he was watching her, waiting for her to speak.

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