Highlander's Captive (11 page)

Wintra could not remember how many days they had been traveling. She thought it had been five, though it could be six. And how Torr knew where he was going she would never know. The snow made everything look the same to her. Thank heaven it hadn’t snowed anymore, a few flurries, but nothing more. Her legs ached beyond belief from the constant trudging in the snow. Some areas were not bad while others Torr had to make a path using the strength of his legs so that she could get through to follow him.

Food had been anything but plentiful and it had not been for lack of trying. Last night, or was it the night before—she could not remember—she had fallen asleep before the small fish Torr had managed to catch had finished cooking. He had woken her and made her eat. Not that he had to force her, she had been starving. And she was cold, so very cold that she did not think that she would ever get warm again.

She had not, however, complained about anything to Torr. She had been the one who had wanted to go home, and he had obliged her.

She had been so busy in her thoughts that she did not notice that he had stopped and walked right into his back. He turned, his hand taking hold of her arm and his finger tapping at his mouth, cautioning silence.

She froze, an easy task since she was so cold, and stared at him.

His eyes darted about, and then his hand went to the hilt of his dagger at his waist.

Her heart began to beat rapidly. Had he heard something that had alarmed him? She got her answer when he shoved her behind him.

Could Owen have found them? If not, who approached? Robbers or thugs who would attack innocent travelers? Many such victims had been forced to stop at the abbey for help, some having suffered serious wounds. Her mind went wild with possibilities of what they were about to face one way or another.

She wished the ground was not covered with snow. She could have found a rock or stick, anything that would serve as a weapon. Cree had taught her to use anything she could as a weapon to defend herself. Another reason why she wished she could have remained with him, he would have taught her how to use various weapons to protect herself. She did not like feeling vulnerable, and she intended to do something about it once she was home—if she made it home.

A single rider finally came into view, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief. Torr could easily handle one man. Then all of a sudden men on horses and some on foot poured out of the woods, and her heart sank.

“It is about time you found us,” Torr said.

Wintra almost collapsed with relief.

“You hid your trail well.”

Wintra stepped around Torr, and took his hand as she stared at Sloan.

“You are well, Wintra?” Sloan asked.

She did not know Sloan well. He had come to the abbey with Cree on only two occasions and they had barely exchanged a few words. “I am well,” she confirmed with a nod, “though hungry and cold.”

“We are setting up camp not far from here. Come and I will see that you get warm and have food.” He went to dismount, but Torr’s sharp words stopped him.

“I will see to her care.”

Sloan looked from one to the other, nodded, and then signaled to one of the warriors who after being gone for only a few moments returned with Torr’s horse.

Torr took the reins, rubbed the mare’s face, pressed his face to hers, and then whispered something to her.

Wintra watched how his hands moved over the mare, as if reassuring her and welcoming her back and all she could think was that she missed that touch of his. As shocking as it had been when he had touched her to get her warm, it had also felt incredibly wonderful.

Love.

A reminder of why she felt as she did about Torr?

A loving man. A good man. A trustworthy man.

“You’re exhausted and hungry. You need food and sleep, and I am going to see that you get both,” Torr said and scooped her up and planted her on the horse. He mounted behind her, and she collapsed back against him, turning into the crook of his arm and laid her head upon his chest. She loved being in his arms, the only problem being that when she was those sinful tingles would attack her and sometimes viciously. Then all she could think of was the both of them naked and touching each other. She definitely was going to hell.

The campsite was a short ride away and as soon as they dismounted a young lad hurried to see to Torr’s horse. Torr in turn saw to Wintra. He took her to one of the three fires and saw that she was seated comfortably on a blanket, then wrapped another blanket around her, tucking it in a fold at her breasts.

She sighed when his fingers brushed her already hard nipples.

Torr leaned down to whisper, “Be careful, your heated passion shows clearly in your eyes and if we were alone I would be hard-pressed not to ignite it some more.” He quickly handed her a hot brew, not trusting himself not to kiss her, which was what he ached to do, regardless that Sloan and Cree’s warriors where present.

He reached around him and snatched up the bread and cheese he had brought for her and placed it in her lap. “Meat will be brought to you as soon as it is ready. I must go and speak with Sloan.”

“And you?” she asked just as concerned for him as he was for her and while she would have preferred him to stay with her, it was wiser that he left. She needed this relentless ache for him to ease, and it would not have a chance of doing that with him so close to her.

“I will join you soon as I finish with Sloan.”

“You intend to speak with him about Owen?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You will tell me if there is anything I should know?”

“I will,” he said agreeably.

Wintra watched him walk off and wondered if a time would ever come that she would not be racked with tingles when she gazed upon him or he touched her. So why not wed him and be done with it?

Why not?
The question echoed in her head and it was one time she wished that she did not think so much. She wished that she would simply accept her love for Torr and accept his marriage proposal without reservation. But that small inkling of doubt continued to nag at her. What if she had misjudged Torr as badly as she had Owen?

She tried to convince herself that there was no rush in making a decision that she would be home soon and…

She sighed, cupping the tankard tighter in her hands. What if Cree did not approve of Torr? What then?

If she was not so hungry, she would have ignored the food, but her empty stomach would not allow that, and it was a good thing. It got her mind off her musings and she finally ate with more gusto than she felt. She also enjoyed the meat a young lad had brought her. Two more tankards of the warm brew and her insides had warmed considerably. Her feet however were still chilled, and she decided she would take her boots off and let the fire dry them while warming her toes. First, however, she needed to seek the privacy of the woods.

She managed to make it to her feet without a groan, though one rumbled in her chest. She did not want to show how much she ached. She was Cree’s sister and would show no weakness in front of his men. Cree never showed weakness or had she ever seen him cry, not even when their mum had died or when he had dug her grave and laid her to rest, though he had held her when she cried.

Wintra chased the sad memories away as she walked through the camp to the woods. One of the warriors, guarding the outer edges of camp, stepped in front of her, stopping her.

“I require a moment of privacy,” she said.

He nodded and signaled with his hand and in seconds two warriors flanked her.

She was about to argue, but recalling the dead man and his lifeless eyes the last time she had ventured into the woods for the same reason, she decided that she did not mind the two warriors following along. She did not have to ask them to turn away when she stopped. They did so of their own accord, of which she was grateful. Though just to make sure, she retreated a few more steps into the darkness.

With her needs seen to, she was looking forward to returning to camp and getting her feet warm and her boots dry. She took a few steps in the direction she had come—at least she thought she did—but when she did not spot the two warriors, she wondered if she had reared off course. A few more steps and she nearly moaned with frustration.

How could she have gotten herself lost? She could have sworn she had turned back—she shook her head. She had not turned completely around when she had finished. Her only choice, though embarrassing, was to call out so they could hear her and hopefully they would have no difficulty finding her.

“Wintra! Wintra, where are you.”

She sighed with relief hearing Torr’s urgent shout. She took a few steps forward, following his voice and was about to call out to him, when her foot caught on something and she went tumbling down the hill that she had not realized she had been standing on.

Snow completely engulfed her as she continued to tumble until she finally slammed into something. She rolled onto her back, spitting snow from her mouth, wiping it from her eyes, and taking a breath to calm herself.

“Wintra, answer me!”

She heard the worry in Torr’s voice, and she turned with a wince to get to her feet and do as he demanded and found herself staring at the wide open eyes of another frozen dead man. She let out a scream that echoed off the trees like a tolling bell. And she continued screaming as she scrambled to get to her feet. She slipped several times as she did, anxious to get away from the cold, stiff body.

As she finally found firm footing, she was grabbed around the waist and slammed into a hard chest. She did not need to see who it was; she knew it was Torr.

He hugged her tight for a moment, then shoved her at arm’s length and, as he kept firm hold of her arms, he looked her up and down and asked, “Are you hurt?”

“No, but he is dead,” she informed Torr as she peered past his shoulder.

Torr turned, his hands slipping off her and quickly grabbing one of her hands to hold tightly.

Wintra figured he was not taking any chance of losing her and that was just fine with her, since his strong grip always made her feel safe. She also appreciated the presence of the many warriors who circled them, Sloan included.

“What have we here?” Sloan asked, dropping down on his haunches to take a closer look.

“Another dead man,” Torr said and drew Wintra close against his side.

“How did you come across him?” Sloan asked.

“I tumbled down the hill,” she admittedly reluctantly, feeling foolish for her misstep.

“You sustained no wounds?” Sloan asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured him even though she felt a bit lightheaded and looked to Torr. “He seems to have the same type wound as the other dead man, and yet he is far from where we found the other body. Do you think someone is tracking and killing these warriors?”

“There is no need for you to worry about this,” Sloan said standing straight. “Cree will see to it.”

She turned to Sloan, the lightheadedness growing. “It concerns me and, therefore, I will worry about it whether you tell me to or not and as far as my brother—” A wave of nausea hit her so hard that it stole her breath, and she barely called out Torr’s name before everything went dark.

Torr felt his heart slam into his chest when he heard his name spill with such urgency and fright from her lips. Then when her body went limp and she was about to collapse, he scooped her up in his arms.

“There will be holy hell to pay if anything happens to her,” Sloan said as he hurried with Torr back to camp.

Sloan was right about that, but it would not be only Cree who would be raising hell. Right now, however, it was Wintra that Torr was more concerned with. He had seen people take a tumble, get up, and think nothing of it only to slip into sleep and never wake.

He placed her gently on the blanket near the fire and saw then just how pale she was and fear tightened his gut. He hurried to scoop up a handful of snow and rub it over her face.

“Come on, Wintra, come back to me. You will not leave me now.”

Sloan watched surprised by the way Torr spoke to Wintra. It was as if— No, it could not be. God help him if— He shook his head. The Almighty himself could not help Torr if he had foolishly fallen in love with Wintra.

“Damn it,
Princess
, come back to me,” he shouted tapping her cheeks, trying to revive her.

Princess?
Sloan shook his head again.
Torr and Wintra?
There definitely was going to be holy hell to pay when they got home. Sloan recalled how Cree would voice his thoughts after visiting with his sister. He had plans to arrange a good, solid marriage for her. Cree would not be happy about this.

Torr kept rubbing her face with snow and demanding she wake as all eyes turned on him.

Her eyes finally fluttered open and with some effort she raised her hand to press against his cheek. “You need not shout. I can hear you. I merely,” —she paused trying to clear her jumbled thoughts— “fainted?” She was surprised at her own conclusion. “I have never fainted.”

“You rolled down a hill and into a dead body,” Torr reminded, relieved to see color returning to her face. “You had a good reason to faint.”

Wintra dropped her hand to rest on his chest. “My face is chilled.”

“Torr covered it with snow to get you to wake,” Sloan said.

She turned her head to glance at him. “I forgot my brother’s warriors were here.”

Was that disappointment Sloan heard? And Wintra touched Torr with such ease and familiarity. Could she possibly feel as he did for her? How had this happened so fast? Sloan had to smile. The same had happened to Cree, so why not his sister?

“We will see you safely home,” Sloan assured her and stood.

“You will post more guards?” Torr asked, though it sounded more like a command.

“I intend to see to that now.” With a nod to Torr, he walked off.

Torr took hold of Wintra’s hand that rested against his chest. “Are you in any pain?”