“Are we even talking about the same woman? Elesyria’s young. And beautiful. There’s not a gray hair anywhere on her.”
Malcolm nodded thoughtfully, his fingers absently stroking his chin. “That’s what you see when you look at her, is it? All the more proof that is of her Faerie blood, as if I still needed proof. Which I do not. It would appear she wears a spell for our benefit. But is it a spell that canna fool you, or one that canna fool us? Interesting, that is. I wonder why it’s so?”
A spell? “So . . . you mean to tell me that you actually see her as old?” And if he did, why didn’t she?
He shrugged and pushed up to stand. “It’s the way of the Elves.” Catching himself, he held up a hand to forestall her correction. “Yer pardon, my lady. Faeries. All the legends speak of it. The Magical Folk can appear to mortals in any way they choose.”
Which still didn’t answer why she didn’t see Elesyria the same way he did. That question, along with any others she might have, was left on hold when he stepped outside, dropping the skin down to cover the opening behind him. Moments later, when he returned leading their horses through the opening, any questions Dani might have thought up completely fled her mind.
“What are you doing?”
She’d earlier considered the interior of the hut close quarters for perhaps five or six men. The thought of how many horses might fit inside would never have been on her list of size comparisons.
Middle Ages,she reminded herself, scooting to the far side of the fireplace.
“These lads have fed and watered—directly from the stream,” he turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “And without the need for boiling. They’d fare little better overnight in the cold snow than yerself, my lady. And, to our advantage, having them inside with us will only add to the heat of the room.”
Could be. She was pretty sure their being inside was going to add to the fragrance of the room, too. And not in a pleasant way.
“Okay, then. In that case, I guess I won’t have to share my freshly boiled, pretty much germ-free water with them. Wait.” His whole comment penetrated at last. “Overnight? We’re staying here?”
“That we are, my lady. With the time we spent at the circle and our stop here, we’ve lost the light. There’s no even a sliver of moon showing out there and I’ve no taste for forcing you on in both snow and dark.”
So it was because of her they stopped for the night.
Dani briefly considered pointing out that she could continue on if he could. Very briefly. The short time he’d had that flap open had confirmed that it was much warmer in here than it was out there. Besides, the rest would do them both more good than harm.
He settled the horses where they’d entered, directly between them and the door.
Glancing first to the fireplace and then to the lack of an easy exit, Dani felt it was no more than her duty to point out the obvious hazard.
“You know, if we have a fire or an emergency or something, getting out of here in a hurry is going to be really difficult with the doorway blocked.”
“Aye, you’ve a point there, lass.” He tossed his pile of woolens and furs to ground at his feet, an equal distance between the horses and her, and then dropped down to sit on them. “On the other hand, if it’s difficult for us to get out, it’s equally difficult for anyone else to get in, aye?”
He was right. Apparently she needed to start thinking more medieval.
He leaned across to the fire, pulling and pushing bits about until the flames burned low, and then, with a muttered “Sleep well,” he rolled into his plaid and grew silent.
Dani fussed with her own pile of woolens and furs, finally getting as comfortable as possible, her back to Malcolm and the horses.
He lay two and half, maybe three feet from her, at most. If she rolled to her side and stretched out her arm, she could touch him.
Not that she would.
Still, the knowledge was unsettling. Almost as unsettling as the vision that danced through her mind of him on her first night in this world: his dark hair falling loose at his shoulders, his skin gleaming bronze in the firelight, that mark over his heart that had captured her attention, highlighting what she’d admit was one very impressive chest.
She’d been mere inches away from him then. Close enough she could have traced that mark with a fingertip. Traced it over skin she had no doubt would be warm and solid and—
Stop it!Right now, before she started to breathe heavier than the damn horses.
She tried to fill her mind with the stone circle and, when that failed, with the faces of all the people she’d met at MacGahan Castle.
Each try failed, fading back into that flickering room and the expanse of decorated muscle that even now lay within easy reach.
“What’s that mark on your chest mean? That round tattoo thing?” She blurted out the question, desperate to distract her thoughts from the path they were on.
“A family mark,” he said after a moment, his voice deep and rumbly. “Protection for the House of Odin. Now go to sleep. We’ll need to be up and on our way at first light.”