The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine

chain of events that had tied his life to hers. He felt a ripple of admiration that she’d fought so valiantly, with such injuries. There was a strength there he’d seen in few, man or woman.
    With his heart stirring in the most uncomfortable manner, he moved to take advantage of the still-warm bath water, reminding himself once again that he was finished with women. Aye, what decent woman would want him, anyway?

Chapter 07: The Lass is Daft!

    Bree burrowed deeper into the softness with a smile. She must have fallen asleep on Aislin’s bed. The woman would be far from pleased, but she savored the moment with guilty pleasure. A sudden image of Aislin’s pale face with the priest praying over her unleashed a host of memories.
    No. Aislin was dead.
    Groggily, she forced her heavy lids to open.
    She recognized only that she was not in Thurston Hall. The grey light of morning revealed a small hearth, a chest, and a wooden tub wedged between it and the bed. Puzzled, she slowly sat up, strangely sore.
    It was then that she saw him.
    A man sprawled half across the foot of the bed, half on the floor.
    She screamed.
    He leapt to his feet, dazed, reaching instinctively for his sword but bumping against the wooden tub. Losing his balance, he fell heavily. A cold wave of water rose to deluge the bed, and its iciness jolted her memory.
    Ruan.
    Yes, the man struggling to his feet, shaking his wet shoulder length hair, the man with the scowling brows and dark, angry eyes focused solely on her was her husband. Her father had simply delivered her to him. Her husband .
    Her scream abruptly shifted into a squeak.
    She ducked her head, frantically searching the clutter of memories returning all at once. The priest had been standing in front of her, blessing her with hands unwashed for months. She’d tried to escape several times. Her nose had been broken.
    Gingerly, she felt the swollen tip.
    She’d slipped into a boat and then wandered on the moors. The howling wind had been so bitterly cold it had almost burned. She’d lost sensation in her toes and finger.
    She shuddered.
    The thought of dying had been much easier when not faced with it.
    At present, she was willing to do anything rather than be wet and cold again. Almost anything, she amended quickly, anything that didn’t have to do with the man glaring down at her. There was no need to fret. He’d be so furious that she wouldn’t survive the day.
    Heart pounding loudly, she waited, trying in vain not to think. The minutes passed. The silence lengthened. Finally, unable to bear the suspense a moment longer, she opened an eye.
    She was alone.
    She scanned the room, half expecting him to jump from the shadows, but the chamber was small and there was no place for a man of his size to hide.
    Then, she saw the open door.
    He had gone.
    Bree expelled a long breath, not knowing whether to be relieved or worried. She was exhausted and she ached. She didn’t have the strength or desire to attempt another escape. Yet, neither did she want to be there when Ruan returned.
    A fine shift and gown lay on the wooden chest next to the bed. Shivering, she glanced down and caught her breath in horror. She was unclothed. Flushing hotly, she reached for the clothing and dressed quickly, making her mind up all at once. She had to find her father. He had created this chaos, and it was his duty, his obligation, to mend it. She’d demand he take her away from Dunvegan.
    Wanting to avoid Ruan at all costs, she forced her weary bones to carry her out of the chamber and down the stairs. The passageway at the bottom appeared empty, but she’d scarcely left the safety of the tower before the sound of advancing feet sent her scurrying to the nearest door. A quick peek revealed a dimly lit but empty chamber, and she slipped in.
    Her relief was short-lived.
    As her vision adjusted to the darkness, she saw that it was not empty after all. In the corner stood a man, the cold one who had remained seated during