I stumbled over brush and stone. Rain had made the peat-covered stones slippery but it hadn't softened their assault on my legs as I staggered blindly forward. My kirtle's hem was tattered, torn by the numerous falls I had all ready taken. I doubted it had managed to retain its emerald hue. My legs were bruised and beginning to grow leaden.
Rain pounded against my face. I hugged myself, shivering from the cold, pain gnawing at my stomach. A wave of dizziness crashed over me and I slipped again, this time, hearing the crack of bone.
Pain seared through my ankle and I let out an unwilling shriek. I attempted to regain my footing several times, but sharp jabs of pain repeatedly forced me to my knees. Nauseated with pain and hunger, I sobbed, retching in hard dry-heaves.
I don't know how long I laid there. The rain and cold had started to numb my legs and I felt myself falling asleep. I fought to stay awake, knowing that sleep would bring death, but I no longer had the strength or the will to live.
I did not hear the soft thud of hooves against peat. I did not see the man climb down and approach me. I regained a vague consciousness at the touch of a strong arm slipping under my shoulders and lifting me into a reclined position.
I could feel myself being held tight against a strong chest. My own heart fluttered at the sound of his steady heartbeat. A rough hand made an attempt to wipe the rain soaked tendrils of hair from my face.
Wrapping a course wool cloak around me, he kissed my eyelids and finally my forehead. I was startled to hear a low moan deep in my throat. My skin seemed to burn at his touch. Something stirred in my belly that wasn't related to the hunger.
I cried out when he lifted me. Every inch ached. He murmured soothing words I could not understand and set me upon a tall steed. The horse nickered softly, but didn't move. Climbing astride behind me, the stranger cradled me in his arms, nudging the horse forward with a squeeze of his thighs. Strong thighs that brushed my arse with heat each time they manipulated the horse's course.
I don't remember the ride, or being carried from the stables to the security of stone castle walls. I was roused to consciousness by the smell of bread.
Fresh bread being pressed to my mouth. My stomach growled in anticipation and I parted my lips. The taste was exquisite, but no more than half a dozen bites had me ready to heave. Just as I started to retch, the sweet taste of mulled wine rolled across my tongue. I gulped eagerly at the warmed fluid, greatly frustrated when the cup was pulled from my lips.
"Nay lass," said a woman's voice, elderly and cracked. "Too much will make ye sick."
"You s-ssp-peak... " I stuttered.
"Aye," came a blunt reply. "I havna the time ta speak with ye. Me Lard Fáel, the Wolf, willna be gone long. He's ordered that none shall come near ye. Be grateful lass, that I convinced him ye needed nourishment. He hurried down ta the kitchens with special orders."
She paused. I could hear heavy footsteps on stone coming closer.
"Swiftly lass," she demanded. "Yer name."
“Rose,” I muttered. My voice was dry in my throat.
She moved away. Her brittle voice bantered with a deep, smooth voice. Footsteps came closer.
"An' lass," she said, now much farther away. "Me Lard Fáel hasna hurt a wench when caught in the depths o' raging lust and it isna lust in his eyes when he looks upon ye."
A deep-throated growl of annoyance came from my side and was replied with the squeaking hinges of a closing door.
I flinched as strong, rough, fingers traced my facial features. They brushed my skin with fire. My pulse quickened, a knot forming in my stomach. I gulped air into my tightening chest. I was excited, and afraid.
I needed to see my surroundings, as well as this Lord Fáel. My eyes burned when I tried to open them. I blinked away the tears that streamed down my face, trying to wash the pain from my eyes.
His deep voice soothed. Gentle fingers slid across my wet cheeks and his palm cradled my face. His course thumb caressed my lips. I could taste the salt on it.
His arm reached under me and I was lifted. My head swam in a sea of murk, then everything went black.
*****
Warmth surrounded me. So much like the cruel sea, yet quiet and calm. Death had claimed my family in the sea. The storm battered ship had sank, taking with it the lives of everyone I knew. Washed up on a rocky shore, with few options, I walked. I had staggered forward for so long. Had death finally come to claim me, too?
A soft cloth scrubbed at my face and my eyes flew open. The firelight burned my eyes, but this time, I managed to keep them open.
I was in a deep stone tub. The water was warm, like fresh milk. It felt wonderful against my bare flesh but it had turned brown from dirt. The sensations of the water and being scrubbed were far more powerful than the shock of awaking nude.
He, Fáel, was focused on washing my tender skin, trying to scrub away the mud that had caked to it. Clean-shaven, his jaw line was squared and firm. His dark hair was cut short, with the slightest of curls neatly trimmed at his neckline. No man wore his hair so short, nor his face free of hair.
My eyes lowered to his chest. Hardly a hair on it, his nipples were hard, like small brown pebbles. I wanted to reach out and run my hand down that firm chest, lightly caressing each nipple, feeling them grow even harder under my touch. I licked my lips, with desire.
"Rós." He exhaled my name with a slight hiss.
Looking up, I met his gaze. His eyes seemed to flicker between amber and hazel. Intensity, looking right into my soul. He knew what I was feeling. What I was longing for. And, he understood.
