“Would you put this on the chair for me?” she asked.
He only half turned and took it from her and took extra time in draping the garment over the chair.
“Hurry to bed, or I will get cold,” she said as she slipped between the blankets.
He could not turn around. He could not let himself. If he did, he might not be able to restrain himself. “In a minute,” he called out.
“Hurry, I need you,” she said in a drowsy voice.
Torr did not answer, her remark much too tempting. He knew that she would soon be asleep and only when she was deep in sleep would he join her. And even then he feared it would be too difficult to keep his hands off her.
He shook his head. He could not touch her. He could not.
Not unless she wanted him to.
Chapter Nine
Wintra woke the next morning with a bit of a chill. She did not have to open her eyes to know she was alone in bed. She had woken once in the middle of the night to find herself wrapped snugly in Torr’s powerful arms. She had nestled her cheek against his warm, solid chest and had gone back to sleep, feeling safer than she had in a while.
She opened her eyes as she stretched her arms above her head, expecting to see Torr somewhere in the one-room cottage, but she was not just alone in bed, but the cottage as well. She sat up and looked around again, the fire had been stoked, the room remaining toasty warm, and his cloak was gone.
Food. No doubt he went to find them food.
She swung her feet off the bed and pulled on her boots and wrapping one of the blankets firmly around her, she walked over near the hearth. She shook her head at the sudden thought that she missed the abbey. She had wanted to leave that place since the day Cree had left her there and here she was wishing she was back there, at least for breakfast. Hot porridge sounded good right now.
She scooped her torn dress off the chair and sat. Today she would repair the garment as best she could. The nuns had told her to travel light that her brother would have all she needed when she arrived home. But she had wanted to take certain things with her and having known the nuns would chide her if she appeared weighted down with bundles, she had sewn a few things into the hem of her cloak. Her favorite herbs being one and her stitching needles being another.
Her wool dress was soft to the touch and, though the drab gray color reminded her of the nuns’ simple dress, she had always favored it, perhaps because Cree had given it to her on one of his visits. She had been shocked when Torr had ripped it down the middle to get it off her, but not nearly as shocked as to how she felt when his hands had begun to warm her body.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. She warned herself too late. Images and memories rushed over her along with those wicked tingles. Would they never go away? They pursued her like feverish little bugs nipping at her flesh, though if she was honest with herself it felt more like feverish little bugs tantalizing her flesh.
The door opened then and Torr walked in, fresh snow coating his cloak.
“Snow again?”
“Not heavy, but slow and steady.” He deposited his cloak on the peg and set the bucket he carried in front of the hearth. He placed a large, cleaned fish on the hearth stone and turned to look at Wintra and smiled. “I cleaned it outside.”
She returned his smile. “As I will remind you, blame my overly cleanliness on the nuns.”
“What else should I blame on them?” he asked, and though he meant it teasingly, the way she scrunched her face apparently had her taking his question seriously.
“My curiosity.”
He laughed. “I have a feeling you were always curious.”
“My mum would have agreed with you. She had told me that I asked more than my share of questions. But the nuns rarely if ever answered any of my questions and the few they did answer made no sense. So naturally—”
“Your curiosity grew,” he finished.
“How could it not?”
“I will not stifle your curiosity, so ask any question you wish.”
He made it sound so easy, but it wasn’t. She could not discuss just anything with him, especially when it came to intimacy. He wasn’t her husband. He was still very much a stranger, though perhaps not as much as before—not nearly as much as before.
She searched for a question that would be permissible to ask, though recalling the shocked reactions of the nuns when she had asked most any question, she had gotten the impression that none of her questions were appropriate.