THE WARRIOR STARED back at Erea, as if she had just struck him across the face.
There he sat, warming himself in front of her fire, and blithely insulting the only person Erea had ever loved. His very presence here was an insult to her mother’s memory.
I should have left him to freeze outside in the snow.
After the words he had just spoken, she wished she had.
“You’re the witch’s daughter?” he asked finally, incredulous.
Erea dragged in a deep breath. “My mother wasn’t a witch,” she ground out. “She was a good woman, a healer who only ever tried to help others. Folk at Dun Grianan grew jealous of her skills and plotted against her. They turned your father and his warriors against her—made them believe she was responsible for things she wasn’t.”
Tadhg mac Fortrenn folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Five bairns died that winter, each after she tended them. She killed them with a dark spell.”
Erea took a step toward him, her right hand itching to reach for her boning knife.
“It’s all lies,” she hissed. “Ma told me there was a sickness in the broch that winter. One that had nothing to do with my mother.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “I can see she has one person at least who believes her.”
Erea stared back at him, momentarily stunned by this man’s conceit and rudeness.
Foolish, soft-hearted wench, she berated herself. This will teach you to open the door to strangers.
Her mother had warned her of men like this—arrogant warriors who strode around as if the world was theirs to command. Recovering, and finding her tongue once more, Erea folded her arms across her breasts, mirroring his earlier gesture.
“You insult both me and my mother,” she ground out the words, forcing down her temper. “Leave now.”
Tad realized he had gone too far the moment those last words had left his lips.
He was not sorry for them—for clearly this girl was deluded about her mother—but it dawned upon him that as a guest it would have been wise to hold his tongue.
“Do you have cloth in your ears?” she growled, taking a step closer to the hearth. “I just told you to go.”
Tad raised his hands, as if placating a nervous pony. “Let’s not be hasty. I meant no offence.”
She drew a blade from her belt; this knife was longer and thinner than the one she had been using to carve the meat. “Then you are an even bigger fool than I took you for. Get out of my house!”
Tad eyed that blade.
He was much stronger than her, and was likely better at handling weapons, yet he noted that the girl gripped the bone hilt of the knife with a cool confidence. She might have appeared young and sheltered, but Erea had just revealed a will of iron.
“I’ll die outside tonight,” he replied softly, hoping to appeal to her compassion.
“Good.” she countered. “I hope The Reaper takes you slow, and that you suffer through every moment of it.”
She stepped closer, brandishing her knife at him. “Get up.”
Tad’s smile faded. Slowly he rose to his feet.
“Arrogant dog.” She spat the insult at him. Her green eyes had deepened to a dark jade with anger. Her face was pale and taut. “My mother was a decent, honest woman,” she continued, her voice quivering from the force of her rage, “but you have attempted to blacken my memories of her. I will never forgive you for that.”
He glimpsed then the grief that shadowed her eyes, and remorse swamped him. Tad was not used to minding his tongue, or holding himself back for fear of giving offence. He had grown up in a crowded, noisy broch, full of dominant men. His mother was gentle and softly spoken, and had forever lived in his father’s shadow.
Tad had never met a woman as fierce as this one.
A long pause followed, before he answered her. “I’m sorry … I should not have said those things.”
“No.” Her knife blade remained steady, while her gaze narrowed. “You should not.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continued, his voice low. “I take it all back.”
Her lip curled. “You can’t. The words have already been spoken. You seemed sure enough of yourself when they danced off your tongue.”
“They were thoughtless,” he replied.
The Hag preserve him, this female was unflinching. A pretty face and lush body hid a mind as sharp as a whetted blade.
Father always warned me of such women.
“I was merely telling the stories I’ve heard since I was a bairn,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t stop to think.”
She snorted. “I doubt you ever do.”
Tad found his face warming at that. Had she just insulted him? However, the rage on her face had ebbed slightly, and she had started to lower the blade. He would not risk angering her again.
He bowed his head. “You’re right.”
Tad glanced up to see she was watching him, her face hard. He took a step back then, sure she would not relent. The thought of going back into that ferocious cold made a weight settle upon his shoulders. However, he would not force his presence on this woman if she truly wanted him gone.
With a sigh, Erea lowered her knife.
“Sit back down … the meat is getting cold.”
He paused. “I can stay?”
“Aye—till dawn.” She turned abruptly, her voluminous plaid skirt swishing, and returned to the table where the haunch of venison sat cooling. “But then I want you gone.”
Erea sliced a chunk of meat off the bone and placed it on a platter next to a small loaf of coarse oaten and barley bread. She then held it out to Tadhg mac Fortrenn. “Here.”
The warrior took it with a boyish, charming grin. He had a dimple on his cheek when he smiled.
Erea frowned. The man might be attractive, but he had a tongue that could not be trusted. She was angry at herself for relenting—only, the contrite look on his face, the soulful expression in those blue eyes, had penetrated the red haze of her anger.
Even enraged, she could not send him out to die in that blizzard.
Nonetheless, she hated having him here. His smile might have been a thing of beauty, but it was insincere.
Helping herself to some supper, Erea sat on the opposite side of the fire. She had been hungry earlier, yet her stomach had now closed. On edge, she picked at her meal, while she kept one eye upon her unwelcome guest.
Even if he had not told her that he was a chieftain’s son, she would have guessed. Not only did he carry himself with unconscious arrogance, but his clothing was exquisitely made. He dressed in form-fitting doe-skin breeches and thick fur-lined boots that reached mid-calf. Across his broad chest he wore a dark vest, laced down the front.
Her own attire felt shabby in comparison, with her faded plaid skirt and worn vest that had been patched in places.
She stole another glance at him, and his gaze snapped up, ensnaring hers.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Tad was not smiling now, although she wished he was. His look was penetrating, as if he could see into her, read her thoughts.
Erea ripped her gaze from his. Gods, I hope not.
Tad stirred, awaking to the sound of the wind whistling against the walls. Even huddled under a heavy fur, he could feel the drafts pushing in through the cracks around the door and shutters.
A noise behind him made Tad twist round. He propped himself up onto one elbow to see Erea mixing something in a wooden bowl at the table. Her back was to him, and he silently admired her form. A wide leather belt highlighted a narrow waist, whereas the flare of her plaid skirts beneath accentuated her curves.
“Morning,” he greeted her with a yawn.
She turned, viewing him under hooded lids and with an inscrutable expression. “I was wondering when you’d wake up.”
He smiled. “Why? Have I overslept?”
“Aye, the sun rose a long while ago.”
Tad sat up, pushed his hair out of his face, and stretched. “Is it still snowing?”
“Aye.” She did not sound pleased about that. “Take a look yourself.”
Tad pushed aside the fur and rose to his feet. He moved over to the door, lifted the bar, and pulled it open.
A wall of snow greeted him. A flurry of snow gusted in, dusting him from head to foot in freezing white powder.
A peal of female laughter made Tad turn. Brushing the snow off, he saw Erea smiling for the first time. She was trying not to, but mirth twinkled in her eyes, and her shoulders were shaking. The smile brought her face to life.
Tad raised an eyebrow, blinking snowflakes off his eyelashes. “You knew that would happen, didn’t you?”
She shrugged, her mouth still twitching.
Tad glanced back outside. The sky was white with swirling snow. However, he could not see beyond the door. The white wall in front of him was nearly six foot high.
“I don’t know why you’re so cheerful,” he said, closing the door to the gelid wind and fluttering snow. “I won’t be going anywhere in this weather.”
When he glanced her way once more, Tad saw his comment had wiped the good humor off her face. “Aye … but it was still worth it,” she replied, before she turned back to the bowl.
Tad brushed the remaining snow off himself and moved over to the hearth, warming his hands over the crackling flames.
“What are you making?” he asked. It seemed a long while since supper the night before, and his belly felt hollow.
“Oatcakes … I suppose you’d like some?”
“I would.”
She glanced over her shoulder, a frown marring her brow. “I hope this snow doesn’t last much longer. I have barely enough supplies to feed myself.” Her gaze raked over him, assessing him from head to toe. “A man your size will clear out my stores in no time.”
Tad held her gaze a moment before snorting. “I’ll go hungry, if that’ll make you happy.” His gaze met hers. “I know you don’t want me here … and we didn’t get off to a good start last night. However, I’d rather we weren’t enemies.”
“We’re not,” she replied stiffly, her gaze suddenly uncertain. “I’m sorry if I come across as prickly … I’m not used to folk.” She broke off here and looked away from him. “This is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with anyone besides my mother.”
Watching her, Tad tried to imagine what it would be like to grow up in utter isolation as she had. It was nearly impossible for him to fathom, for he had rarely spent time alone. There had been times in the broch when he had longed for some privacy. In fact, he had set off on this hunting trip to get some peace from his father and uncle’s nagging.
“I’ll not be a burden to you,” he said softly. “I’ll earn my keep while I’m here.”
She watched him for a heartbeat longer, and then a smile crept over her face. “I … could do with some help.”
After an awkward pause, Tad cleared his throat. “What do you need help with?”
Her tentative smile widened. “You can start by clearing a path through the snow, so we can get outside.” She then turned back to her mixing bowl. “However, you can eat first.”