Two candles had been left burning in the room. The glow of warm, yellow light drew her attention. Cora looked at the tiny flames, convinced she could feel the heat from them.
Ye are too cold.
She realized how dire her circumstances were but still fought to overcome her modesty.
“I am Faolan McKay,” the man introduced himself. “Ye do nae have the time to tempt Fate by worrying about propriety. If I do nae warm ye quickly, Mistress, ye will no’ see the dawn.”
He was correct.
Cora was struggling to keep her eyes from closing. A wave of blackness was rising up, threatening to wash over her and sweep her into a dark void. It was tempting, for there would be no pain there.
“Do nae sleep.” Faolan reached out and gripped her face.
Cora gasped.
“Forgive me. But yer wet clothing must go,” Faolan uttered before he was reaching for her.
Whether or not she wanted to protest didn’t matter. Her flesh hurt from how cold it was. She felt brittle, her fingers like icicles that would sooner snap than perform any function.
“Do nae be frightened of me, woman.”
Cora raised her head, locking gazes with him. Most men labeled her a lass. “I am not scared.”
One side of his mouth twitched. It was just a momentary change in the hard expression his face seemed to be permanently set in. He had caramel-colored eyes. They struck her as a hint of softness deep inside him shone, far beneath the hardened exterior he presented.
“I…am not…frightened.” She repeated. Her teeth still chattered. Cora drew in a breath and turned around. “I would…be grateful…for assistance.”
Her overdress closed down the front with a lace. The skirt was attached to the bodice, so once the lace was free, it would all drop down her body and leave her in the undergarment.
She wouldn’t be naked.
The thought was only small comfort as she felt him pull the knot loose and pull it free.
Small comfort because her underskirt would have to go as well.
Keep yer back straight.
Cora tried to rub her palms together to generate heat. She needed to keep her thoughts on what was important. She was no different beneath her clothing than any other woman. And Faolan didn’t look like a man who hadn’t had a woman.
A tiny flicker of heat teased her cheeks. Cora felt her eyes widen.
She did not blush!
More than one person had lectured her on her lack of feminine responses. Her brother’s Head-of-House had often mumbled about it when Cora proceeded to spend time in the company of her brother’s Retainers without so much as a moment of hesitation over the lack of female companionship.
Her overdress slumped to the floor.
“Sit,” Faolan instructed her. “Yer boots are caked with mud. Best to remove them here and no’ track it abovestairs.”
Cora lowered herself onto a bench, the idea of more comfortable accommodations making her eager to finish. The thick walls of the tower cut the wind effectively, and the candles flickering in their holders on the opposite side of the room were very welcoming. The floor was strewn with straw and clods of dirt. The furnishings were limited to rough but sturdy-looking benches.
Still to her chilled flesh, it was a haven.
Her savior was a huge man. His voice was deep and edged with authority. Clearly, she was in his domain. She might have shivered from that idea if she wasn’t already shaking from the cold. She simply didn’t have any strength to devote to anything other than surviving.
Several long poles were leaned up against the stone walls. Their purpose became clear when Faolan plucked her overdress up and laid it over the top of one. The garment hung limply. Water started to drip from the ends of it, promising it would at least be drier when she returned for it.
Faolan turned back toward her. Cora cringed as she imagined what he saw. A little shaking female, so helpless she hadn’t even tried to take off her boots.
Cora forced herself to move. Her determination paid off, at least in the short term. She managed to get hold of her right bootlace and give it a tug. The knot held.
Faolan grunted and lowered himself to a knee. In his hand, the lace gave immediately. He made fast work of stripping her boots from her, going so far as to unknot her garters and pull her stockings down her legs as well.
No man had seen so much of her skin.
Cora bit her lip, ordering herself to be practical.
“Let’s get ye abovestairs,” Faolan said. He pushed off his knee and pulled her right over his shoulder in the same movement.
“Wait…” Cora pressed her hands against his wide back.
“Ye’ll be dead soon if I wait,” Faolan declared while climbing a set of stairs, which had been hidden in the shadows along the far side of the room.
She was hanging over his shoulder. Her cheeks heated as she felt his arm clasped across the back of her thighs to keep her in place.
Logical.
Wise.
Practical.
The words didn’t help a bit. She was mortified but far worse was a growing realization that she was so very helpless. She was still gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering. The chill was deep in her bones, making it impossible to deny just how true his words were.
If she didn’t get warm, she’d die.
He was her savior. Rough edges and all.
The heat in her cheeks intensified. She was in no position to judge him. She was shamed by her own reaction to him. He continued on though, climbing two more flights of stairs before he pushed a door open and ducked down to enter a chamber.
He placed her on her feet in the middle of the room.
“Get out of the rest of yer clothing,” he ordered.
Cora was struggling to see anything in the chamber, but he disappeared into a dark corner, returning with a shirt.
“Are ye too frozen, Mistress?”
Cora heard the note of resignation in his tone. He contemplated the lace holding her stays in place.
He had integrity.
There would be no one, including herself, who might reproach him for stripping her bare under the circumstances. But he held back, answering to his own code of ethics.
“Nae.” She forced her tongue to work. “I will …manage…”
He nodded and laid the shirt on the back of a chair. “I will be back soon.” He turned and left.
Outside, the wind was howling. Cora struggled to release the knot holding her stays closed as the window shutters rattled and rain hit them so hard it sounded like gravel being hurled at them. The stone of the tower was bitterly cold, but it was solid. She took solace in the security the stone afforded her. Her stays opened at last. She laid them on the chair and ordered herself to pull her smock up and over her head.
Left bare, she reached for the shirt and struggled into it. Her skin was still wet, making it a fight to get the dry cloth down her body. She shivered violently, her entire body shaking. Cold hurt. It wasn’t her first encounter with the fact, but it was the most extreme.
Faolan rapped on the door before it opened, and he came back into the room. He grunted approval at her before he came close.
“We need to get the water out of yer hair, Mistress.”
A long length of fabric was in his hands. He reached out and began to rub it on her head. He worked it for several long moments before nodding his head in satisfaction.
“Now, into bed with ye, Mistress, this is a simple place. The only hearth is in the kitchen, and me men are there. So best to keep ye here.”