Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 106398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Once Torr had the fire going, Wintra pulled the shutters closed, securing the latch that kept them locked. Torr then got to work on bringing in a sufficient bundle of wood and stacked it to the side of the fireplace.
Wintra stood by the table out of his way, not sure what to do or if there was anything she could do. She glanced around and realized what close quarters they would be in, and she quickly asked, “How long?”
“The place will be heated in no time.”
“No. How long before we can leave here?”
“Three to four weeks should do it. Owen will probably have gone to your brother by then and, no doubt, will have started digging his own grave.” He watched her pull her cloak more tightly around her, as if attempting to shield herself. Something more had gone on when Owen had been alone with her, and he intended to find out just what it was. “We will know each other well by the time we leave here,” he said.
“How well?” she asked.
He walked over to her and took her hand in his. “That is up to you, Princess. Now go warm yourself by the fire. Your hands are still ice cold.”
How could a simple touch quiver her body and turn her speechless? She mindlessly nodded her head and did as told.
He walked to the door and stopped before opening it. “I am going to see if I can find us some supper.”
Wintra found herself staring at the door after he closed it behind him. Why had she agreed to come here with him? Why had she not taken the chance and gone directly home? She was beginning to think that this situation she was in—alone here with Torr—was far more dangerous than crossing paths with Owen and his men.
And she did not want to think of what he meant when he said it was up to her. What was up to her? If she wanted him to kiss her again, would he? If she wanted him to touch her naked flesh, would he? And why was she having such wicked thoughts?
She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about him.
Pure thoughts. Pure thoughts. She reminded herself just as the nuns so often had reminded her.
She decided that the best thing to do was busy herself. When she kept herself busy, her thoughts did not drift—at least not too much—and for a while she was free of the constant musings that filled her head. She slipped out of her cloak, hanging it on one of the three pegs in the wall next to the door. She set about gathering the scattered baskets and seeing if any were useable and arranged those near the door. And soon she was busy with work and for a while, a quiet mind.
Torr’s mind would not still and he laughed to himself, thinking that Wintra’s deep thoughts were contagious. But any humor quickly faded when his thoughts lingered on his decision to bring her here. He could not say it was truly necessary, but he felt it was a wise choice, and only time would tell if he was right. He was not sure what would happen here between them, but it would give them time to get to know each other, and he felt that was important.
He stomped his feet to rid his boots and leg coverings of snow, then opened the door to the cottage and entered. Once inside, the door closed, he gave two glances around the room while sniffing the air, surprised to see short, portly candles sitting about the room.
“I cleaned some and found several candles, someone thought beyond use, disposed of in a basket,” Wintra said, standing near the hearth. “And what you smell is a pleasant brew.”
He titled his head in question.
“I had stitched some bundles of my favorite dried herbs in my cloak, and when I found a usable crock I cleaned it, filled it with clean snow, and set it in the hearth. When the snow melted and the water was hot, I added a bundle of herbs so that we would at least have a nice brew to keep us warm.”
Torr smiled and held up a sizeable fish. “And I have us a meal.” He went to put it on the table, she had moved in front of the fireplace, to clean when she gave a shout.
“No!” She scrunched her nose. “I just scrubbed that with snow. Please, clean it on the hearth stone.”
“Fussy where a fish is cleaned?” he asked, but did as she requested after hanging his cloak on the peg beside hers.
“Blame it on the nuns. To keep me busy, they had me scrubbing everything over and over and now I find it a habit to keep things cleaner than most others.”