Maiden from the Mist (Guardians of the Stone Book 5) by Tanya Anne Crosby

Author:Tanya Anne Crosby [Crosby, Tanya Anne]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781942820796
Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books
Published: 2017-07-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Just when he feared the worst—that she was gone, Sorcha burst in as Caden was loitering in his bath, waiting for Moira to return—a good long time. So long, in fact, that while he sat unattended, he realized how accustomed he was to his household’s attentions. How much time had they wasted caring for him? How much of their care had he taken for granted? In his abject misery, Caden had thought to save his people from themselves, but who would save them from him? The last thing anyone needed was to placate his tempers or cater to his needs. He was a man grown, far more capable than most—far more capable than any who lay six feet below.

Far more capable than Davie.

He realized he had been behaving like a spoilt child, one who had the luxury to sulk, when, in fact, none of his people had any luxuries at all.

“So, it seems I am summoned to help ye,” she announced, haughty as you please.

Startled from his reverie, Caden yelped like a boy, splashing water into his face, and, for the first time in his life, he felt a moment’s chagrin. For land’s sake, he could have been doing anything in here. Anything! Didn’t she ken how to knock? He cursed his lack of sight that he could see naught beyond his thoughts—his ears as well, for they clearly had failed him. What, in God’s name, might she have done if she’d walked in to find him strangling his goose? He covered his chagrin with exasperation. “Unless ye ha’e the power to raise the dead,” he advised her, “ye canna help me.”

Or rather, she could help him, but Caden was not a man given to lechery, and nevertheless, his libido had returned with a vengeance for, even now, he found himself sporting wood. Sinking further into the tub, vexed by the woman’s intrusion, he was nevertheless relieved she had returned. And yet, in truth, she behaved more as though she were his minny, and he’d lived twenty years without a mother. It was too late to adopt one now.

“Dinna pity yoursel’, Caden Mac Swein. Ye’ve two good legs, and two good hands, and ye ought to be more thankful!”

It was no more than Caden had already come to terms with himself, but put so precisely—by an audacious wench—an outlander at that—his sense of guilt intensified and his self-pity was reprehensible.

Then, again, had she lost a brother by her own hand? Could she bear to see herself as others saw her? A burden and a strain—undesirable and unforgivable?

Oblivious to his self-recrimination, the girl marched over to wiggle her fingers in Caden’s water, and then stood by his side, and Caden felt more than saw her. To be sure, he realized how much his senses had improved, because he could sense her shape beside him, long and lean.

But how could he know a thing like this?

“Your water is mucky,” she said. “’Tis aboot time ye thought to bathe. Where are your

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