Tempest Heart - Paula Quinn Page 0,8
to argue?
Being so close to her, he hadn’t been able to help but notice the slight curve of her nose and the fullness of her dry peach lips.
She closed her eyes and he closed his. No sense in thinking the sight and the sound of her was pleasing to him. He wasn’t sticking around.
“You will not leave me, will you?” she asked over the crackling flames. “My uncle left me and I…I do not know my way.”
Tristan opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Who is yer uncle? He deserves my sword.”
“I just want to go home.”
This just kept getting worse.
“Verra well,” he promised with a curse under his breath. “If ye make it, I will take ye home. Where d’ye live.”
“Dumfries,” she told him softly.
“Ye are fortunate,” he said, turning over. “I am headin’ there.”
Chapter Three
Rose dreamed of flames. They were everywhere. They covered her, licking and searing her flesh. She screamed and screamed but no help came. She smacked the flames on her skirts, trying to put out the fire.
And then he was there, pulling her away, speaking to her.
“Lass, ye’re dreamin’. Wake up.” He gave her a little shake.
She opened her eyes and sat up. Her arms were free from the Highland plaid and she stopped slapping at her legs and turned to cling to him just before dawn began to break. Her heart raced. Would she ever breathe normally again? She never thought she would be as afraid as she had been when she was eight. But yesterday, or the day before that—she wasn’t sure how many days had passed, she was. This time, she was older and she knew what to expect. She hadn’t had enough strength to move to save herself.
She had never felt so hopeless.
Oh, but then his voice rang out. Cease!
He’d saved her life, her sanity. He’d tossed her over his shoulder, snatching her from the jaws of torture and death. He wasn’t afraid of the Black Death. He was mad in his gloriously handsome head.
“Yer fever has broken, lass. ’Tis good news.”
His voice was like heavy silk across the back of her head. Her hood had come down when she sat up. He spoke into her hair.
“Does that mean I’m not going to die?”
“Aye, I believe so.”
She looked up at him but she couldn’t see too much in the dim light. No matter, his face was emblazoned on her soul. His eyes most especially, not because of their vivid green color, but mostly because of the shadows the flare of his dark brows cast over them. His hair was black with thick, glossy curls he tried to keep out of his eyes by raking his fingers through it. When he’d held the apple slices to her mouth, she’d found her gaze constantly on his lips. They were full and pouty and surrounded by a dark shadow of facial hair.
He was a scowler. Emma told her about scowlers. They enjoyed being angry. Usually, they weren’t pleasant to be around.
But he was.
She realized he hadn’t told her his name before. Was it because he killed men for coin? She didn’t care what he did for coin. She owed him her life. “What are you called?”
“Ye look better,” he said as soft as the breeze.
“You cannot see me,” she teased with a smile.
“I’m lookin’ straight at ye,” he insisted and as if to prove it, brushed away the lock of hair that had fallen over her eye.
As he did, the sun began to make its lazy ascent. It cast him in soft, golden light and made her smile. It was nice to see first thing in the morning.
“I’m Rose.”
She felt his breath in her hair but then he moved away. “Rose, I’m not sure ’tis wise to—”
“Because you kill men?”
“It sounds worse when ye say it.”
Though the sound of his voice was extraordinarily pleasant, she disagreed. “No, it sounds worse when you say it. You are the one doing it.”
He looked about to defend himself but then stopped and quirked his decadent mouth at her. “Ye are clever.”
“Does that displease you?”
“Nae. Not at all.” He rose and headed for the nearest tree. “’Tis a good trait to possess.”
She had to relieve herself, too. She felt stronger, but not strong enough to rise up and stand on her own. When he returned, she asked him for help.
He supported her against the hard side of his body. She’d never felt a body so hard. Her head reached just under his shoulder. When they reached a thicker