Quinn: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 2) by Lily Baldwin Page A

the cave entrance.
    She screamed and bolted back. Her heart lodged in her throat. She could still hear its drumming beat even after she realized she knew the intruder’s face.
    Quinn dropped his game and rushed to where Catarina stood with wide eyes, her breaths coming short and quick. He took hold of her hands.  “Hush, my lady. Ye’ve naught to fear. I only jumped from above. I’ll be sure to walk around the next time.”
    Jerking her hands free to cover her face, she sputtered. “I have every reason to fear.”
    He looked about the cave, confused. Where was the unseen danger?
    “I am alone,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands. “I am alone and cold and so very hungry.” Her stomach growled to punctuate her words.
    He rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to make sense of her outburst. “If ye were hungry, why did ye not make some bannock. Ye know we’ve still oat flour and water.”
    She dropped her hands from her face. Her chin trembled. “I do not know how.”
    He shook his head, silently cursing his short-sightedness. He squared his shoulders. “Well, that is something we will have to remedy.” He motioned for her to join him near the center of the cave. “To start, let me show ye how to light a fire so that ye’ll know how to keep out the cold. I’ll be right back.” He left the cave and gathered drift wood and dried brush. Then he returned and dropped everything in a pile on the ground.
    “What’s this,” he said, noticing her arrangement of seashells and stones. Then he scanned the cave, taking in the grasses lining the floor and the scattered flowers.
    “You told me to ready camp,” she said, lamely gesturing around. “I did as you asked, the only way I knew how.”
    He smiled and cupped her cheek. “’Tis wonderful.”
    “It is ridiculous,” she returned. “Although it did not seem so at the time.”
    “We cannot know that which we’ve yet to learn. Be gentle with yerself, my lady. Ye’ve left one world for another. ‘Tis like sailing to another land. Ye cannot expect to know what it means to be Sicilian in a day.”
    She smiled, and soon her smile turned to laughter. “I decorated the cave.”
    His laughter mingled with hers. “A finer cave, I’ve never seen,” he said, and her laughter rang out all the louder.

Chapter Fourteen
    The next day, when the gloaming hour was upon them, it was Catarina who struck the steel and flint onto the awaiting tinder. She pursed her lips and blew a slight stream of air on the orange embers until flames licked the dried bracken. She smiled with satisfaction as Quinn added dry wood.
    “Now for the bannock,” she said. With confidence, she reached for the sack of flour and scooped a heaping handful into Freya’s wooden bowl. Then she shaped her hand into a ladle and scooped fresh water on top.
    She smiled up at Quinn. “Now, I shall work the flour and water together with my fingers.”
    “Precisely,” he said. “Yer doing very well.”
    She stuck her fingertips into the mix and began to poke it around.
    Quinn’s soft chuckle made her look up. “At that pace, we won’t have bannock until tomorrow’s supper. Ye can’t be afraid to get yer hands dirty.”
    Catarina narrowed her eyes on the mixture like an enemy she was riding out to meet in battle. Her hands plunged into the bowl. Working her fingertips into a frenzy, she made a simple dough in no time at all. With a pleased smile, she showed Quinn her achievement.
    “Well done,” he said, smiling.
    “I hope they taste alright,” she said.
    “Let’s see.” He reached out, taking hold of her sticky hand.
    A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I am a mess.”
    “Ye’re perfect,” he said before drawing one of her fingers into his mouth. Her breath hitched. Heat shot through her as he sucked the mixture away.
    “Tastes good,” he said softly. Leaning back against the cave wall, he continued to stare at her.
    Her mouth was too dry to speak, not that she knew what to say.