Page 22 of A Wolf's Bargain

It occurred to Cora that their conversation might be easier if they were both clothed, so she scanned the floor for her dress. When it failed to materialize, she asked, “Where are my clothes, Master Fane?”

Fane snorted. “First off, there’ll be no more of that ‘Master Fane’ shite. We’re married, lass. I’ve seen your bare arse and a fair sight more than that. You’ll call me by my given name, aye?”

She wondered how long she could blush without it becoming permanent. “There’s no need to be vulgar, M—Cillian,” she said.

Cillian stalked toward her with a predatory smile. Cora scooted backwards, clutching the blanket to her chest. He followed her until her back hit the tent. She glanced around nervously, realizing there was nowhere else to go. Cillian leaned over her, pressing closer and closer until their noses touched. Cora held her breath, fear and anticipation warring for dominance in her heart.

“What if I like being vulgar with you?” he whispered.

She resisted the urge to shudder at the way his lips brushed hers when he spoke. “What if I’d likeyouto be vulgar withme?”

The cool morning suddenly felt too warm. She was sure she must be red down to her toes. “I—” she stuttered, words failing her. “I don’t—”

Cillian sighed and stepped back. He adjusted the front of his trousers, fixing her with a look she couldn’t interpret. He glanced away and grabbed a shirt, tugging it over his head. When it became clear he didn’t intend to continue, she bent to search the floor beneath the large table.

Nothing.

When she looked up again, she found Cillian staring at her. “I meant what I said, you know.”

When she didn’t reply, he continued. “Last night. I won’t hurt you. Have no intention of forcing a woman into my bed.”

Cora nodded but stayed silent. Cillian opened his mouth as if to continue, then shook his head and crossed the room without a word. He lifted a bag from a large basket, and Cora’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized it as her mother’s. Only one person in the world would have sent it to her.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

Cillian shrugged dismissively as he handed it to her. “Some old hag who said she was close to you in the castle. Said she’d packed you a bag so you’d have something to start with.”

Cora opened it carefully, as though one wrong breath might send all of her possessions flying away.

Paper and quills, fresh and ready for use.

A dried bouquet of her favorite wildflowers to remind her of home.

An extra pair of shoes.

And last but not least,clothes. Her own clothes!

Cora wasn’t sure if God heard prayers to bless people for things like this, but it couldn’t hurt to try. It felt silly to cry over bits of fabric and paper, but she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

Cillian was quiet for a long moment. Then a smile spread on his face, and he announced, “Get dressed, then. We’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?” she asked. She’d known her duties as the lord’s daughter. She knew them so well that she could have done them fast asleep. She had no idea what Cillian might expect from her.

Other women of her station would go into their marriage prepared to oversee a household or some sort of charitable work. Cillian and his men didn’t seem the types to bother with dusting the fixtures or polishing the sconces.

Cillian adjusted the gold pin securing the wolf skin on his shoulders and cinched his sword belt tighter around his waist. “Time for you to meet the lads, for starters. After that, we’d best find something to keep you busy here. My father always said a woman without a purpose would make it her purpose to be a pain in the arse. So, in following his wisdom, I suggest we find you a task.”

Every time she thought she might like him, he went and opened his mouth and ruined it.

“I’m assuming your father had a terrible marriage, then. Or a very patient wife?” she asked, turning away from him to dress.

“Oh, my mother was a saint, to be sure. I’ve never met a more fearless woman—and handy with a weapon to boot! My father thought the world of her. Worshiped the ground beneath her feet, he did.”

Cora lifted her head at his tone. “Did she die?”

Cillian shook his head. “No, she’s still alive and well. She still lives with my father’s clan. A hunt went bad a few winters back, and he caught the wrong end of a big buck. Bastard all but skewered him.”

“I—I’m sorry. My mother died of sickness when I was young.” She wasn’t sure why she told him. Camaraderie, perhaps? Evidence that they had at least one thing in common?