Aidan lowered his cup, his eyes fixed on her. She was unearthly beautiful, like a medieval Druid from the distant past. Her face was ancient Briton, her chin a tiny point, her eyes wide, heavily fringed with black lashes, and as gray as a storm cloud. She had prominent cheekbones, high and touched with the faintest blush, over milk-white skin. Her mouth, small and expressive, possessed a slight, secretive curve.
And her hair. Aidan had never seen hair quite so black, and streaked with a mark of pure white that ran through the long, wavy spill of it, like lightning slicing across a midnight sky.
“Who are you?” he asked again, and this time his voice did not fail him.
“Olwyn Gawain,” she answered. “And you?”
So he was a stranger to her, Aidan realized, or at least she would claim him as such.
And because he felt as if he’d been stripped, literally and figuratively, of everything he knew, he did not give her his real name.
“Lóchrann,” he told her, thinking of his brother. Did Padraig have any idea what had become of him? Aidan could only wonder what series of events had landed him in this woman’s care. “Have you been caring for me?”
Her eyes dipped down to his bare chest before darting away. He followed her gaze and saw he had a wound, a straight, deep slice over his breastbone.
Looking back up to her, Aidan noticed her blush had deepened. “Who cut me?” he asked.
Olwyn glanced to the fire, and rose to tend to it. “You need to stay warm,” she said as she added a square of peat to the blaze. “Are you hungry?”
“Aye, very,” Aidan answered, and he was, ravenously so.
He spied a tray with a cup, dropper, and medicines. It also bore tea, honey, and a cup of water. So she’d been caring for him like a babe. Bemused, he touched the cut on his chest. It was coated in a thick medicinal salve.
Olwyn put together a plate of dense speckled bread and poured a puddle of amber honey beside it. She handed it to him, instructing, “Dip the bread in the honey. For strength.”
He met her eyes, and this time she blushed and looked away. Aidan was suddenly aware of his nudity.
“I’ll make you fresh tea,” she murmured, moving to the fire.
He started for a second as he felt the soft, silky fur drape over his shoulders and back. Looking up to the beautiful stranger, he saw that she had her gaze averted as she covered his skin.
“You need to stay warm,” she whispered in explanation. “You’ve been very ill.”
The gesture was wifely, her words were caring. And Aidan felt a shameful punch of guilt and lust combined. He tried to ignore it. Turning his attention to the food, he ate everything she’d given him.
She watched, her face reflecting relief and satisfaction, wariness and fear.
His hunger momentarily sated and his curiosity stirred afresh, he asked, “Where am I, and how did I get here?”
Olwyn didn’t answer him for a long while, as if she did not know the answer, or chose to not reveal it.
Once again, Aidan had the feeling that he’d traveled through time. There was nothing familiar, save the earth beneath him, fire burning in the hearth, water in his cup, and food on his plate. And like a touchstone, the timeless attraction to a beautiful woman.
“Tell me,” he pressed, hoping she would understand how completely unsettling it was to not know what had happened and how he’d gotten there. “I can only recall dying.”
Olwyn stopped her tea preparations and sighed. She did not turn to face him, however, and Aidan began to wonder what she was hiding.
“I fear the truth would upset you,” Olwyn finally said. “You do not have your strength back.”
Aidan felt his temper begin to build. “I’ve a right to know what’s become of me, aye? You’ll tell me the truth. Now.”
He watched her stiffen, as if he’d slapped her with his words.
Olwyn swung around, her gray eyes piercing even in the dimness of the tiny stone hut. She smiled, a witchy curve of mouth that turned her into a Druid priestess about to cut his heart straight from his chest. “That’s a fancy notion, of your having rights, as you sit here naked, defenseless, and weak as a lamb. Settle back, stranger. I’ll make you tea, I’ll feed you, and when you’re well I’ll set you free, but in the meantime, I’ll not take orders from you.”
Chapter Six
Olwyn’s hands trembled, but she held them flat against her thighs lest he see and know her nervousness.
“What do you mean, you’ll set me free? Am I your prisoner, Olwyn?” Lóchrann asked. He used her given name with a mocking familiarity, as if he tried to bait a further outburst from her.
“My meaning is quite clear. Yes, I saved your life, and when you’re well enough you’ll be on your way, and I’ll be on mine,” Olwyn replied with what she hoped sounded like a flat decree. In reality, she was completely shaken to her core. She turned back to preparing his tea, unable to continue looking at him.
Lord, he was magnificent, she thought, a tawny male animal alive with sexuality. The firelight illuminated his hair in shades of gold and amber. Unbound, it hung around his face in soft waves that were streaked with the sun. Its tousled, touchable softness contrasted the hard angles of his face, which had lost every vestige of what she’d perceived as boyish charm whilst he slept. He bore the stubble of several days’ growth on his cheeks, and as she’d spoken to him, he’d rubbed a big hand across his stubbly jaw.
No boy, he. And no prince, either, if that meant a man accustomed to being cosseted. This was a man, virile, tall, tightly muscled, and self-possessed.
As for his eyes, she’d seen their color briefly in the dungeon, but he clearly had not been fully awake. She had not noticed then the sensuality found in the dark fringed beauty of Prussian blue so deep and dark they could only be likened to a fathomless lake.
Olwyn had never been alone with a man, but Rhys had spoken often enough of their animal nature. Hadn’t she spent the past years locking her door against Drystan’s drunken lust?
Now she’d gone and made herself completely alone with a stranger, and a large one, at that. And though he was physically weak, the look in his eyes was anything but.
When Lóchrann got strength back, he would be formidable. He could ravish her. Kill her, even, leave her for dead where no one would ever know where to look for her. She had no idea who he was or where he’d come from, and she berated herself for her foolishness, a mix of maternal instinct for a helpless person, coupled with silly notions of love and affection for a handsome sleeping man.
The water boiled. Her hands trembled as she poured.
Suddenly being closeted in the dim, stony shelter seemed unwise. Olwyn set the tea down beside him without meeting his eyes. “I need something. I’ll be back.”
She hurried to her feet, lifted her skirts, and all but ran outside. Nixie raised her head and looked placidly at her crazed owner, blinking as if curious to her mood.
Olwyn leaned her back against the wagon, breathing heavily, looking to the sky as if for answers.
What had she done?
There wasn’t time to gather her composure. Lóchrann appeared in the tiny doorway, nearly filling it with his broad shoulders and tall frame. He leaned against the doorframe, obviously weak, but just as obviously determined to get an answer from her. Still nude, he clutched a fur around his hips.
And Olwyn’s eyes widened at the sight.
His legs were long and muscled, his belly