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“His lordship’s bedchamber.”

Flora rushed to the stairs and raced up them.

Torin looked to Anwen after a quick glance showed his wife was nowhere to be seen.

“Your bedchamber, my lord,” Anwen said and hastily glanced at the door.

“You can leave, Anwen,” he said, seeing the fear in her eyes and hurried to the stairs to catch up with his wife. She was nowhere on the curve of the steps, and he marveled at her speed.

He found her standing in the middle of his bedchamber gazing about. A chill swept through the room from one of the two windows whose shutters had been removed for repair. A trail of ashes went from the partially cleaned hearth to the door and furniture lay in disarray.

His wife went to the hearth, bending over low enough to look up the stone chimney. Before he could reach her, her head and shoulders disappeared up it.

“Flora!” he called out when her arms shot up also disappearing up the chimney. The woman was foolishly fearless. “Come out of there right now,” he ordered and shook his head frustrated when he got no response and was about to bend down to cast a glance up the chimney to see what she was about when she suddenly stooped down.

Soot marred her brow and one cheek, and her usual shiny dark hair was sprinkled with it, and yet she wore a smile.

“The wind. Can’t you feel it?” She raised her hands, dusted with soot, and nodded at the floor. “The wind no doubt came barreling down the chimney, blew out soot along with the ashes as you can see by the trail along the floor and created a moaning sound.”

Torin looked along the floor and spotted patches of soot.

“Did you notice by chance if the ghost made himself known on strong windy days?” she asked.

“I do not recall,” he said, thinking she might just be right.

“We must note this windy day and see what follows with his next visit. I will explain to the servants what caused the moan and have them return to the keep, though unless I return with them, they might not trust my word, but I do not want to delay talking with Hadwin.” Her wide eyes sparkled as she resolved the issue. “I will have them take a repast until I return.”

Torin grabbed her arm when she went to walk past him. “You have soot on your face, in your hair, and on your hands. You will refresh yourself at the cottage after instructing the servants, then we will go see Hadwin.”

He did not give her a chance to argue or disagree, he hurried her out of the room and out of the keep. The servants and many clan members mulled around outside, curious and frightened.

Torin yanked his wife tight beside him when she went to speak and he called out in a commanding tone, “It was no ghost. The wind rushed down the chimney spewing the ashes and soot. “You may take a repast and when Lady Flora returns to the keep, you will as well to continue with your chores.”

Whispers and mumbles spread through the crowd but not a single protest was heard. Torin had not expected any. Everyone knew he would never send his wife into harm’s way and so they trusted his word.

Torin summoned Anwen with a shout and a wave and the woman hurried to him. He yanked off his wife’s cloak and handed it to Anwen. “Fetch a fresh cloak for Lady Flora.” He quickly spread his fur-lined cloak out like the wing of a large bird and wrapped her in it as he hugged her against his side.

Flora wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the way he instinctively shielded her that sent a shiver through her, and she relaxed against him as they walked to the cottage. Once inside, she reluctantly stepped away from him, wondering why his small gesture of thoughtfulness had left her feeling… strange, a simmering linger that traveled deep down inside her. A feeling she wanted to explore. A feeling she enjoyed and did not want to vanish. How could she feel all that from his one simple gesture?

Torin discarded his cloak to a chair and went to the bucket of water kept by the hearth and moved it to the table. He snatched a scrap of cloth kept along with the towels that had been left for them and dropped it into the water. He concentrated on the task at hand, trying to ignore how badly he wanted to take his wife in his arms and keep her there, let his hand linger at the curve of her waist as he kept her hugged tight so that he could feel her breasts pressed against his chest.

The sudden distinct odor of soot caught at his nose and brought him out of his reverie. He rinsed the cloth and when Flora held out her hand for it, he shoved it away, took gentle hold of her chin and tenderly wiped at the smudges on her face.

“You are foolishly fearless, wife,” he scolded, her dark inquisitive eyes casting their usual spell over him. A few days home and he could not get his mind off his wife. She would sneak into almost his every thought. He could not escape her. She lingered there, refusing to leave him.

It took her a moment to respond, his touch, the simple kind act of cleaning her face, leaving the pleasant simmer that lingered in her to intensify.

“Not so,” she said, fighting to concentrate, something she never had difficulty doing. She had to think a moment, her thought almost slipping away before she grabbed onto it. “I realized that you would not be far behind me and that you would keep me from harm, if necessary, just as you had during the attack traveling here.”

Torin heard not an ounce of doubt in her words. She was sure of his ability to keep her safe even from a ghost and that delighted him more than he expected.

Flora found herself far too interested in his lips, recalling how they felt when he kissed her and thinking how she would not mind if he kissed her again. The unusual thought struck some sense back into her. This was not the time to desire a kiss.

Desire.

Was it desire and not curiosity that had brought the thought to mind? Had his kiss sparked her dormant desire and left her longing for him?

Whatever was the matter with her? She had far more important things on her mind than a kiss. Why then did it refuse to leave her thoughts?


Tags: Donna Fletcher Historical