Dazzling orange light met Helena’s gaze when she woke. She jammed her eyes shut against the blinding light and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets. Fuzzy memories rose of unbearable cold permeating every fiber of her being. The smell of old musk and burning wood penetrated the fog in her brain. Helena poked her head from under the covers and blinked the light into focus. She lay on a large bed in the corner of a one room cottage. Two swords were mounted on the wall to her right. A short battleax hung over the hearth alongside another battleax—

Helena tensed. A large man slumped in a chair in the corner to the left of the hearth. She stared another instant before realizing he was sound asleep. Long brown hair hung to his shoulders. His broad shoulders and wide chest fit tight in his white tunic, and she spotted a dark patch of chest hair between the laces of his V-neck shirt.

Draped over his shoulders, he wore a long brown tabard like a cleric’s sash, but by the presence of weaponry that hung on the walls and leaned against the wall to the right of the hearth, she would wager he was no priest.

According to the warrior’s oath, she owed him a life debt, but it was a debt she couldn’t pay. Another already owned her life. Helena eased into a sitting position as she caught sight of her cloak—and dress, on the bench near the hearth. She yanked her gaze onto her bare arm where should have been her dress sleeve and drew a sharp breath. 

The man leapt to his feet and spun to face her.

Helena stared.

He stared back.

“Why the bloody hell did ye get remove my clothes?” she demanded.

He frowned, then his expression cleared. “You fell through the ice, lass. If I had of left them on, ye would have frozen to death.” His voice, smooth as honey, sent a strange ripple through her. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I was decent with you,” he added.

She hesitated. He was right, of course. Still, her cheeks warmed. “Please give me my clothes. I will dress and be on my way.”

“On your way?” he said in surprise. “It’s snowing like the devil out there. And you need rest. Ye have gone through a great ordeal.”

“How would ye know what I have been through?” she said.

“You almost died, lassie. I may no’ know a lot, but that is something.”

Helena considered. If he had discovered the lock pick set in the hidden pocket of her cloak he would be asking questions, not inviting her to stay. A terrifying thought struck. What if she’d lost the lock pick set when she’d fallen through the ice?

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Kaden.”

“I thank you, Kaden, for saving my life. My name is Helena.”

He angled his head. “Helena, I beg you, rest a day, at least. I am no’ the best cook by any means, but my vegetable stew is filling and will warm your belly.”

Helena considered. She was tired. And if it was still snowing as it had been yesterday… She shivered. A day’s rest would be wise. Could she spare the day? Did she have a choice?

“Thank you. I will stay.”

He smiled and her breath caught. The man was uncommonly handsome.

“Good.” He crossed to the chair and fetched her dress, then laid it across the foot of her bed. “I will give ye a few moments to dress.” He went to the door, pulled a fur from a hook, put it on, and went outside.

She waited until the door clicked shut behind him, then threw back the covers and pushed to her feet. The room spun. Helena clutched at thin air. Her knees buckled and she collapsed back onto the bed. Her stomach pitched. She groped for the dress. Through blurry eyes, she discerned the green fabric and pulled it to her. Blood pounding in her ears, she shoved her arms inside the long sleeves. Her stomach pitched again, but she managed to get the dress over her head, and down her body.

Helena collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. It seemed she had no choice. She would be staying at least a day, maybe longer. She hadn’t realized the effects of nearly drowning would take such a toll on her body. Nae, it had to be the cold water. This wasn’t the first time she’d nearly drowned. During her eighth summer, her father had taken her fishing for the first time. When they leaned over the side to gaze down at the fish, the boat tipped, and they tumbled into the rapid currents. But even then, she felt nothing like she did now. She grasped the front laces, but they fell apart in her fingers. She looked down and found them cut.

The door handle jiggled. Helena scooted back and yanked the covers up over her breasts as Kaden entered. 

“How are ye feeling?” he asked.

“Tired and a little dizzy,” she said, though loathe to admit it. “Have ye any laces?”

He frowned as he slipped off the fur. “Laces—ah, nae, lass. I am sorry. I couldnae undo the laces so—” he gave her a sheepish smile and her heart stuttered “—I cut them. I have needle and thread. Can you sew your bodice?”

She would have to. This was her only dress, and without laces, her breasts wouldn’t remain bound. Helena smiled. “I dinnae know what would have happened had ye no’ come along.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I am glad I was nearby.”

An awkward silence drew out between them. Helena wanted to ask who he was that he lived alone in the middle of nowhere. But to ask questions was to invite questions. She had no wish to explain why she traveled through the woods during a storm. She couldn’t admit that she was a Sister of the Sinister Order and that her destination was Castle Dunvegan where she intended to steal one of the most important MacLeod treasures in existence. The one question she had to know the answer to, however, was where they were.

“Are ye hungry?” he asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he crossed to a table in the corner were sat a large black pot. Helena watched as he placed it on a hook over the flames in the hearth. Her stomach growled. She glimpsed his smile as he removed the pot’s lid and stirred the contents. Mouthwatering aromas of onions, potatoes and turnips filled the small room. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. It had been a day since she’d eaten. No wonder she was dizzy.

He pulled a modest wood box from a cabinet and gave it to her. Inside, she found several needles and white and gray threads. Helena looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Kaden.”

He nodded and quickly turned away, but she glimpsed the pleasure in his eyes.

“After supper, I will give you some privacy to sew the dress,” he said as he returned to the stew.

By the time Kaden dished out two hearty bowls of stew and handed one to Helena, her stomach had begun to gnaw at her. Holding the bowl on her lap, she ate as Kaden sat at the table next to the hearth.

As they ate in silence, Helena studied her surroundings. His home was small, but clean. Two books sat on a shelf on the right-hand wall. He could read. Surprising. Many warriors read little more than their own names. Maybe he couldn’t read, but kept the books as some sort of memento. A dagger lay near the books, along with two pewter goblets.

Covertly, she turned her attention to him. He sat at the table, straight and proud, but Helena sensed loneliness. The croft was far from any village, and he didn’t appear to be accustomed to having guests. He didn’t even have the companionship of a dog. When Kaden spoke, he showed little emotion. Except his smile. That smile gave away a wealth of information. Kindness—though, that she’d deduced by the fact that he’d risked his life to save hers. He’d seemed glad she decided to stay. Was that due to loneliness or concern?

Helena abruptly remembered her satchel, and blurted, “I had a satchel. Where is it?”

He frowned. “I didnae see a satchel.”

Tears threatened. The only weapon she had was in that satchel. She dropped her gaze to her food and willed the tears back. “Are we still on Clan Donald’s land?” She held her breath, hoping to learn that she had crossed into MacLeod territory.

“Donald?” He shook his head. “Nae, lass, ye are far from the Donalds here. We are on the king’s land.”

She blinked. “What do ye mean?”

“This ridge is no’ owned by any clan. As the Donalds and MacLeods are feuding, the king proposed a neutral border between them.”

“If ye are from neither clan, where does your loyalty lie during times of war?”

“I am no longer a warrior.” Kaden ate another mouthful of stew.

She nodded and continued to eat. “But ye once were.”

He frowned, and she nodded toward the weapons hear the hearth.

“The weapons belonged to my family.” He pushed back his chair and rose. “We need more wood.” He crossed to the door and donned his fur. “I will be back soon.” Before she could reply, he left.

Helena stared at the closed door. What had she said to upset him? As she turned her head away from the door, her eyes caught sight of the large stack of wood already piled near the hearth.