“It’s what he called himself,” Torkel grinned.
Ella returned his grin, appreciating the pun. “Did he also claim to be a bastard?”
“No, but that’s what he is and what he’ll remain.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, he moved most of the items from the table to the bed, then opened the fifth leather bag and unloaded it onto the table.
He must have seen her curiosity because he began telling her what each bag held as he set it down. By the time he finished, he had a large supply of seeds for the vegetable and herb gardens as well as plenty of “bare root stock” for blackberry, strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry plants. A thick pamphlet with lots of illustrations and some writing had been included. Again, the writing was foreign to her but apparently not to Torkel. He read part of the first page and smiled, then twisted around and laid the manual on the small table next to the fireside chair he obviously used.
The other large chair was unused as a pile of books and what appeared to be junk and rags covered it. She’d have to clear it off if she wanted to sit closer to the fire which she absolutely did. Looking around, she wondered where she could pile it. The cottage was crowded with the two of them and his belongings. “This is a lot of stuff, Torkel, and you’ve only opened half of the bags.”
He nodded. “The rest probably hold more of the same things for my men.”
Surprised, Ella asked, “Your men? Here in the glen?”
“Aye, in the village.”
“Really? I’d like to go to the village and meet them,” Ella said, wondering if they were like Torkel. Men of few words. “Do they have wives? Children? What’s in the village? A school? A grocery store? A pharmacy?” she asked the last one, knowing she was going to need a few things from it in another week or so. Especially if Aileen didn’t find and send her bags to her.
“We have to cross the river to get to the village.”
“You should build a bridge over it.”
“Then I’d never have any peace and quiet.”
She understood the need for that. Smiling, she asked, “Well, can we go when the water goes down?”
“Aye, if you’re still here, but I warn you. They’ve spent the winter in the tavern drinking Old Angus’s heather ale.” He stood and began gathering items.
Avoiding answering the rest of my questions, she thought, as he went through four more bags. They held enough cooking items, spices, and sewing items to stock several homes, she thought as Torkel opened the last bag and looked inside, then closed it and set it aside.
“What’s in that one?” she asked.
“Personal items.”
Realizing his tone clearly indicated he wouldn’t appreciate more questions about the village or that bag, she decided to ask another question. “Why didn’t Aileen or Himself deliver the bags to the house rather than leaving them on the island?”
“They’re not allowed to step foot on my land,” Torkel said, and added, “I don’t own the island.” Standing, he grabbed one of the crates he’d packed and carried it to the door that led into the corridor. Setting it down, he opened the door and scooted the crate onto the landing before he returned for most of the bags.
Bennie got up, ran through the door, and disappeared down the stairs.
Torkel appeared to hesitate, then glanced at her and said, “I’ve things to do in the barn.”
“Then, Maggie and I’ll see you later.”
“Aye,” he nodded and closed the door behind him.
Alone, she scolded herself for missing the chance to talk to him about what had happened on the island. Their lovemaking hadn’t exactly been wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, but it had come close, and he’d seemed relieved the storm had forced them to leave in a hurry. She was pretty sure he’d find a way to avoid a discussion about it later as well. He seemed to have that in common with most of the men she knew. Having sex was one thing. Talking about where it was going was another. And she wanted to know where it was going because she had a feeling she was already in too deep.
Closing her eyes, she ran through the sequence of events on the island. The trap had hung up on something as she pulled it toward the shore. She’d done what he’d told her to and undressed and gone in after it. When she jerked on it, the trap came loose, and she’d gone under and come back up, sputtering and cursing. Shivering with her teeth chattering, she’d dragged it to shore, removed the fish, and tossed the trap back in the water, then stood in the sun to let it dry her.
He’d snuck up behind her and whispered against her neck. What he’d said reminded her of something, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the memory but it slipped away from her. The entire episode almost felt like a dream. As if it hadn’t really happened, but the sense of well-being she felt told her it was real.
Picking at a loose string on the cloth that had covered the bread, she realized he’d taken it and the mysterious tenth bag with him. Bored, she sighed, planted her chin on her palm, and looked around. She wasn’t used to being idle. Her day usually began before the sun came up and ended long after it had set again. Deciding she could expend some energy cleaning a little or snooping around, she laughed, made her choice, and pushed herself away from the table.
There wasn’t much to get into, but she kept one eye on the door anyway. Torkel was big, but he moved so silently that unless she kept her eyes on him, she never knew where he’d pop up, and he rarely talked. When he did, most of what he said didn’t make sense. At least not to her, she thought, as she ran her fingers over the spines of the books on the shelves. Touching an old bone, then a rock, she realized that everything had a layer of dust on it.
Moving to the table by the bed she picked up a candle holder. It was heavy and made of a dull metal. Setting it down, she spotted something hanging from a peg embedded in the wall above the window. Reaching up, she grasped it, felt the smoothness of its surface, and turned it over. It was a rock with a hole worn through it, and a small strip of material strung through it. Releasing it, she moved on and found similar objects hanging above the entry door and the other window. Her first thought at seeing the first one had been it was something he’d found interesting. Now, she wondered if they served a purpose of some kind even though Torkel didn’t strike her as the superstitious kind.
Who knew what he believed? Just because she felt like she knew him didn’t mean she did—even though they’d made love or had sex, however he thought of it which led her back to wondering what he thought about it. Sighing, she leaned against the window frame, then screeched with shock when a gust of wind slammed into the house and a fine mist of freezing cold rain splashed her.
Jumping back, she wiped the front of her dress and decided she’d seen everything there was to see in the room. Moving to the other door she found another stone above it, shrugged, and opened it. The landing remained silent and dark. She lit a candle, held the bottom of her dress up to keep from tripping on it, and tiptoed down the steps. Shielding the flame, she crept down the hallway, passed the door to the outhouse and moved on until she found another door. Opening it, she took one step inside and held the candle up, hoping to find the tenth bag and see what was in it.
The small room was cool and dry, and like the corridor, it had been carved out of the rock. On the far wall, several bins held a few onions and garlic. A row of large crocks with lids sat lined up along another wall. She lifted a lid and found some of the bags of flour. The only other thing in the room was a wooden bench with a small keg sitting on it. Probably beer or wine.
Backing out, she closed the door and followed the corridor to another door. Peeking in, she shivered. The room was as cool as the other one, but it felt slightly damp. Shielding her candle, she stepped inside. Wooden bins with a few shriveled potatoes and carrots stored inside them took up one wall, and there was another door on the far wall. Opening it, she shivered, glanced around, and decided it wasn’t worth getting that cold again to find out w
hat was in it.
Back in the hallway, she found another door and opened it, hoping to find the bag. The stench of cabbage hit her, and she slammed the door. No way was she stepping foot in there. Not even for the bag.
Moving on she reached a door at the end of the hallway. It opened into a small landing with several barrels filled with apples and another set of steps. She climbed the steps and eased the door open. The sounds and smells of a working barn greeted her. Hay, cattle, chickens, and sheep she decided after a moment and began to enter the barn, then remembered where she was and blew out the candle. Fire and barns didn’t go together.
Setting the candle down, she heard Torkel’s voice and moved toward it.
“Aye, she’s a bonnie lass and would be nice to mount,” Torkel said. “Strong, wide hips made for birthing.” He patted the bull’s flank, raising a small cloud of dust just as Ella stepped into view. He smiled, but her words wiped his humor away.
“There’s not going to be any “mounting,” Mr. MacAsgaill.” Ella planted her hands on her hips and glared. “I’ll have you know my hips are the perfect, absolutely perfect size for my body type.”
Torkel grinned. Riled, she was a sight to behold. Her cheeks blazed with rosy-red color, and her blue eyes held silver glints of indignation. Her hair bristled and reminded him of an angry vixen he’d once seen. The tops of her breasts rose and fell with every insulted breath. Aye, she was a sight. A tempting one.
“You’re a bonnie lass, but I don’t think my bull would be as interested in you as he is in my cow.” Laughing, he pulled her into his arms. She struggled for a moment, then giggled and snuggled up to him, he suspected more for warmth than arousal.
“I want to talk about what happened on the island,” she said.
He patted her shoulder. “It’s not your fault there were only four fish in the trap, Lass.”
“Very funny, Torkel, but you know what I mean. I want to talk about the, uh, sex.”
“I want to do it again,” he said, using her own words against her. Before she could stop him, he kissed her, softly, enjoying the softness of her lips beneath his. He licked his tongue over her bottom lip, and she sighed and opened her mouth as she rested her weight against him. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue over hers, exploring her mouth. She tasted sweet like the honey the bees made from the wildflowers in the glen. He couldn’t get enough of her. Would never have enough of her, he thought and tightened his arms around her. He found the knot at her nape and tugged on it. Her gown fell as he braced her back against a large column and tore off his plaid.
“Oh, yes,” she said and wrapped her arms around him.
“Are you sure, Ella?”
“More sure than I’ve ever been of anything in my life.”
He slid a finger through her soft folds. She was wet, ready. Looking into her dark blue eyes, he slid into her.
“Torkel,” his name was a soft sigh. “You feel like a dream. Like someone I’ve waited for all my life.”
“I’m real, Ella. As real as the sun in the sky and the rain that falls in the glen,” he said and kissed her as he began thrusting. He made love to her slowly, gently even though she urged him to hurry. Begged him to thrust harder, deeper, but he set the rhythm to prolong their pleasure. Needing to be inside her. One with her.
She tightened around his shaft. He drew in a deep breath and tried to fight the need to come as he felt her come, but her cry of pleasure defeated him. Groaning, he gave in, then braced his hand on the column until he caught his breath. Legs shaking, he moved to a large barrel and sat down. Ella straddled his lap. Pressed against his chest, she felt warm in the cold air of the barn. He glanced at their clothes and wished he’d grabbed them.
He thought she was dozing until he felt her tighten around his shaft. He held his breath, waiting. Would she do it again? A zing of pleasure filled him when she did, then loosened, and tightened again. He wasn’t cold anymore, in fact, he was burning up. The flexing of her muscles around him had him lengthening and thickening inside her. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on what she was doing and knew this wasn’t sex. It was making love. Thinking the word, something he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel, much less have a chance to have, he grew harder, hotter. An orgasm began in his sacs and moved through his shaft.
“Ella, my lo—”
His shout of pleasure rattled the rafters and disturbed the animals. They sent up a cacophony of sound as a blast of wind hit the barn door and blew it open. A rush of cold air swept over them, and they clung to each other for several seconds, shivering.
Ella leaned back in his arms and laughed, then shivered again. He placed a quick kiss on her lips, then set her down and picked up their clothes. Separating them, he handed the linen to her then watched, amazed, as she wrapped it around herself and tied it. “I’ve never before seen a gown like that one.”
“Really? Women wear them all the time in California. At the beach, shopping, everywhere.” She searched through the hay on the floor and found the socks that had fallen from her feet and tugged them on.
A cold draft chilled him and Torkel quickly wrapped his plaid around himself.
Bennie came out of the shadows, ran past him, and bumped against Ella. She patted him and scratched his ears. “Hello, Bennie. Why are you wet?”
“He’s been out in the rain,” Torkel said, grasping her arm and leading her to the door.
“I don’t know how either one of you stands it out here,” Ella said, her teeth chattering. “I’m freezing my ass off.”
He laughed, swatted her bottom, and lifted her into his arms. Stepping through the door onto the landing he stopped. “Light a candle.”
She lit one from the covered lamp on the table, then held it up, lighting the way as he carried her back to the house. As soon as they entered, he set her in his large fireside chair and stepped over Bennie where he’d settled next to Maggie. He grabbed a briquette of peat and glanced at Ella. She was bent over, fiddling with her socks, trying to make them stay up.
“Ella?”
“Yes?” She looked at him.
“You must keep the fire going. When the flames begin to die down, place more peat on them. Don’t throw it or you’ll get a face-full of soot and smoke.” Standing, he brushed his hands off. “I’ve a few things left to do, but I want you to stay here where it’s warm.”
“I can help you.”
He chuckled. “Can you milk a cow, or gather eggs?
“As a matter of fact, I can. I grew up on a farm.”
He didn’t know if she was teasing or not, but he accepted her at her word. “In the morning, you can feed the chickens and gather the eggs while I milk the cows, but today, you need to stay warm by the fire.” He moved to her, dropped to a knee, and expertly rolled and tucked her socks. Then standing, he felt her forehead. She wasn’t hot to the touch, so maybe the rosy color on her cheeks was from their lovemaking.
She caught his hand and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palms. “You have the hands of a farmer.”
“Aye.”
She turned his hand over and touched the scars on his knuckles. “What caused these?”
“Fighting.”
“Really?” she asked and touched a scar that stretched from one side of the back of his hand to the other. “And this?”
He ran a blunt-tipped finger over the wide scar, remembering his first battle and how naïve he’d been. Frowning, he pulled his hand free and mumbled, “‘My body is covered with honorable scars, every one received in front.’”
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice sounding puzzled.
He wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize the quote. He’d already discovered she couldn’t read when they’d unloaded the bags. It had disappointed him as he’d hoped that the world had progressed beyond denying women an education. If she decided to stay, he’d teach her to read and to write. Smiling at his plans for the future, he said, “It’s a quote from Marcus Servilius.”
Ella la
ughed. “My university classes covered American History and one class in World History, but if I remember correctly, he was a Roman historian.”
Pleased and intrigued, he nodded as a list of questions concerning her education formed in his mind. She’d attended a university. She’d studied some history, but what about classical literature? Philosophy? Astrology? If she had, then why couldn’t she read? Maybe she read Greek or another language. Did she know how to write? He started to ask her, but a gust of wind rattled the windows and sent a cold draft through the room and into the fireplace. The flames flickered, and a puff of smoke filled the air.
Ella shivered, coughed, fanned the smoke away with her hand, and lifted her feet to the footstool. “Brrr,” she said and giggled. “I mean that as in it’s colder than Hades in here, not as in brr-ead.”
He chuckled. “I removed the covers from the windows and door too soon.”
“You cover them? Why would you do that when they provide the only natural light in the room?”
“It’s the only way to stop the drafts.”
“I have a better idea.” Pushing herself from the chair, she went to the bed, gathered a roll of leather strapping, a box of tacks, and the small hammer. “This is going to be cold, and we’ll probably both end up wet, but it’s going to be worth it.”
She beckoned to him, and he joined her at the window nearest to the bed, curious to see what she would do.
“Okay, here’s the plan. We open the window, hold the leather strap up against the frame to measure how long it needs to be and then cut it off.” She smiled and looked around. “We need a knife.”
Torkel pulled a short, but deadly looking knife from the top of his right sock.
“That will work. You cut the leather, then one of us will hold it in place and the other will hammer tacks through it. The leather is soft enough that it will smash when we close the window and block the wind and rain.”
Torkel smiled, pleased that she was clever. He took the roll from her, let it unroll, and opened the window. He held the top, and she held the bottom.
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