THE SNOW FELL for another two days, turning the world into a white, silent land.
It took Tad nearly the entire time to mend the roof.
Erea did her best to assist him, accompanying the warrior while he went out to chop down trees for new beams. She worked hard at his side once the small pines had been felled, hacking off the branches with an axe. They then tied ropes to the trunks and dragged them back to the hovel.
And all the while the snow fluttered down. It numbed Erea’s fingers and toes and soaked into her clothing, but she found she didn’t really mind.
Instead, she discovered that she enjoyed Tadhg mac Fortrenn’s company very much.
She almost forgot who his father was, or the things he had said about her mother. It was hard to focus on those things when Tad laughed with her, teased her, and talked to her.
She learned that he was The Stag chief’s only child—Tad’s younger sister had died in infancy, of a fever.
She learned that he enjoyed having freedom and independence, that he sometimes found his father’s broch stifling.
She learned that he loved telling stories. In the evenings, after supper, Erea enjoyed pulling a fur around her shoulders and sitting next to the hearth while he told her tales of their people.
Some she had heard—from her mother—but others, like the one about the female brownie who saved the life of a man before falling in love with him, were new to her.
“That’s a tragic tale.” She said when Tad finished it. “Why was he so cruel to her?”
Across the fire, Tad smiled. He looked roguishly handsome every time he did that, and Erea felt a strong pull of attraction toward him—a sensation oddly like falling.
“He was a fool,” he replied. “And not worthy of her love.”
Erea frowned. “Then why did she throw her life away for him?”
Tad shrugged, his gaze turning thoughtful. “I don’t know … I never really thought about it.” He paused, thinking upon her question a moment. “I suppose she never saw him as he really was … she fell in love with a dream.”
Erea considered his words, her gaze shifting to the guttering flames in the hearth. It was drafty in the hovel tonight—Tad had almost finished the roof and had lain a tarpaulin over the gap he would mend the following day.
“What is it?” Tad asked as the silence between them lengthened. “It’s just a story, Erea … I didn’t mean for it to upset you.”
She glanced up, shaking her head. “It didn’t. I was just thinking, that’s all. I wonder if that’s what happened to my mother.” Erea picked up a log and placed it on the fire, leaning back as a shower of sparks erupted from it. “I think the man who fathered me must have hurt her very much.”
“Who is he?” Tad asked. “A warrior from Dun Grianan?”
“I don’t know,” Erea replied, avoiding his sharp gaze. She was lying—her mother had told her that he was from Dun Grianan, but little else. All Erea knew was that he had been a big man with blue eyes, a scarred face, and a serpent tattoo on his right arm. Her mother had never given her more than those scant physical details, and when she had revealed those, Erea had seen the raw pain on Olwen’s face.
Even years later, her mother had still grieved for him.
Erea had warmed to Tad, but that did not mean she trusted him. She did not want to give him any details about her father—for it was likely he could identify the man from her description. Dun Grianan could not be all that large after all.
Erea decided that she did not want to know of her father. It was best he remained a mysterious figure. She had no desire to learn about the man who had clearly broken her mother’s heart.
“She told you nothing of him?” Tad sounded incredulous.
“I think she felt betrayed by my father,” Erea murmured, avoiding his eye. “She couldn’t bring herself to speak of him.”
Tad awoke to find that it had stopped snowing. After breaking his fast with bread and broth, he climbed up onto the roof to finish mending it.
The job was much easier today. The wind had died, and a clear blue sky stretched overhead. The sun warmed his back as he worked, slowly melting the blanket of pristine white that still covered the valley.
It was much more pleasant to work in the sun, but Tad found himself feeling uncharacteristically subdued. With the snow ending, his time here with Erea would come to an end.
Tad heaved the last clump of sod into place and surveyed the mended roof. It had been a difficult job, but he had managed it in the end. At least Erea would be able to stay warm and dry.
Erea …
Tad paused a moment before descending the rickety ladder to the ground.
I don’t want to leave her.
He had enjoyed the past few days: having Erea at his side, sharing meals with her, laughing and talking together.
He would miss the soft lilt of her voice, the way her mouth curved when she smiled. She was not the first woman he had liked—being the chief’s son he never had difficulty finding a girl to warm his furs—but Erea got under his skin like no other had.
Climbing down from the roof, he carried the ladder round to the lean-to and checked on Caorainn. The pony looked bored.
Tad stroked his furry neck before ruffling his forelock. “Worry not, lad,” he murmured. “We’ll be off soon.”
“Tomorrow morning if the snow continues to melt at this rate.”
Tad turned to see Erea behind him—a steaming cup of broth in her hands.
“Here.” She held it out to him. “Something to warm you up.”
Tad took the cup, favoring her with a lop-sided smile. “Keen to rid yourself of me, wench?”
She shrugged, although the slight flush that pinkened her cheeks gave her away. “Aye … you’re always getting under my feet.”
He laughed and took a sip of the rich broth. “Is that the gratitude I get for mending the roof?”
Her mouth curved, and Tad found himself staring at it. He wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked. “I am grateful, Tad.” She said after a moment. “You certainly have your uses.”
He grinned back, although a strange restlessness churned within him. He wanted to be more than merely useful to this woman—he wanted her to need him.
The snow continued to melt, and the next morning Tad readied his pony to ride out. He was in a dour mood this morning, oddly out of sorts, and had barely spoken to Erea since waking. She approached him now, a cloth-wrapped parcel in her hands.
“I’ve packed you some food,” she said with a smile, passing the parcel to him.
He took it, although he did not return the smile “Are you sure you can spare it?”
“Aye … I can’t have you going hungry on the journey, can I?”
Her voice was teasing. However, Tad saw her gaze was shadowed this morning.
He went still. Was she finding this as hard as he was?
Tad stepped close to Erea, staring down at her.
“I don’t like the thought of leaving you out here alone,” he said gently. “It’s not safe.”
She held his gaze, but did not brush off or make light of his comment as she had on earlier occasions.
“I’m used to this life, Tad … you don’t need to worry about me.”
He watched her—there really was not a shred of doubt in her eyes. Erea knew no other life besides this one. She was not afraid of living out here in the wilderness.
Erea followed Tad away from the hovel. The snow was melting rapidly now and had turned to slush underfoot.
Tad led Caorainn ahead. The beast swished its tail impatiently and tossed its head, eager to be off.
A few yards on, Tad drew his pony up, tightened the girth to its saddle, and checked his belongings were tightly secured. He wore his bow and quiver strapped across his back, as he had on the evening he arrived at her door.
Tad turned to her then, his face serious. He had been withdrawn all morning, his teasing smile and light hearted conversation absent.
He gazed at her with such intensity that Erea started to feel hot, a blush spreading across her chest.
He was not making this easy. She would miss him, she realized with a jolt. Despite their rocky start, Tadhg mac Fortrenn had somehow grown on her. She did not want to see him go, and yet she knew it was inevitable.
“So this is goodbye?” Her voice sounded forced and brittle, despite her attempts to appear composed.
He nodded and stepped close, towering over her. Erea gazed up at him, resisting the urge to reach up and trace her fingers along his bearded jaw. His curly hair was unbound this morning, covering his shoulders. She wondered if it was soft to touch.
Stop it.
Thoughts like these would not help.
“I’ll never forget these days,” he said, his voice husky. “Thank you, Erea.”
Her mouth went dry, and she tried to smile, but failed. “Thank you, Tad.”
He went to turn away then, to move back to his pony, but stopped mid-movement.
To Erea’s surprise, he swung back round to her, caught her around the waist, and pulled her into his arms.
Erea gasped, opening her mouth to protest. However, his mouth silenced her.
She had never been kissed—had never been close enough to another man for him to try. It was a shock to feel his lips on hers, but after a moment she decided she liked it.
His lips were soft and warm, and she inhaled the delicious male musk of his skin.
A heartbeat later, his tongue parted her lips and he deepened the kiss, pulling her hard against him.
Erea’s head swam. Her hands, which she had placed on his chest initially—with the intention of pushing him away—clenched. Her body melted against his. The kiss consumed her, made a wild hunger rise up from her core.
The sensation was both exciting and frightening—yet she did not pull back from him.
It was Tad who ended the kiss.
Breathing hard, he drew back from her. His eyes had deepened to a midnight blue, and his face had gone taut. He looked pained.
“Goodbye, fair Erea,” he rasped.
Erea did not reply, did not utter a word.
Instead, she stepped back and watched him mount his gelding.
Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she felt out of breath. Drawing her cloak around her, she looked up at Tad, and their gazes fused once more.
A long, tense moment—full of things unsaid—drew out.
And then Tad reined his pony around and headed northeast, toward the line of spruce on the edge of the clearing.
He did not look back.