Chapter Ten

T hough she had embraced her new duties as chatelaine of Lochlan, Raina sometimes found that she nearly resented how little time she had for escape, to be outdoors. Today, she happily volunteered to collect some herbs and plants needed by the kitchen—wild garlic, sea beet, and occasionally sea fennel, all of which could be found along the north side of the beach.

The slope there was more gradual than the cliff directly behind the keep, making the descent easier and less treacherous. She navigated a winding path that led her through a series of undulating sand dunes, their golden peaks dotted with tufts of hardy grasses swaying in the sea breeze. Sand shifted under her feet, sometimes causing her to stumble slightly, but she pressed on, enjoying the sensation of the soft grains beneath her leather boots. If the weather were less inclement—it appeared as if a storm considered brewing, the clouds overhead dark and suspect—she'd have removed her boots and hose and luxuriated in the feel of the sand between her toes. Wind rifled through her hair, pulling long strands from the blue ribbon. She tucked them behind her ears only to have them quickly and repeatedly disturbed, floating and swaying around her face so that she gave up trying to control her hair. There was some joy, some sense of unfettered freedom that came with this, allowing her hair to escape its confines, same as she had escaped hers .

There was something about being outdoors, surrounded by nature, her senses invigorated, that spoke to her soul. ?Twas rare that she embarked upon any such outing without recalling that she had often explored the woods and fields and beaches with her mother, learning about the various plants and their uses.

As she continued downward, the dunes gradually flattened out onto the beach proper, where scattered shells and bits of driftwood were half-buried in the sand. The wrack line, the furthest the tide had reached and had deposited bits of sea debris, curved along the flat sand of the shoreline.

She walked along, heading further north, far back upon the sand, where the wild-growing plants thrived, generally safe from the encroaching sea. The sea beet's vibrant green leaves, the pungent wild garlic, and the crisp, fleshy stems of sea fennel grew in abundance here, usually untouched by the salty spray of the waves. This secluded spot, shielded by the dunes now above her and a portion of rock and cliff that jutted out into the sea, obscuring the fishing industry on the beach further south, felt like a hidden sanctuary. She was glad to avoid the other beach where the fisherfolk were busy with their work. They had yet to warm up to her as the household staff gradually—very gradually—were. She was both soothed by the sound of the waves crashing in the distance and invigorated by the salty sea air as she made her way along the wild blooming plants, basket in hand.

Bending down, she carefully plucked at the leaves of the sea beet, their slightly salty taste a perfect addition to many recipes. Next, she moved on to the wild garlic, its pungent aroma filling the air as she gently tugged and twisted at the plants, ensuring she didn't damage the roots. The sea fennel was further ahead, the yellow-green flowers of the hardy perennial easy to spot, its salty citrus flavor making it perfect for pickling. She gathered several generous handfuls, knowing Cook would be pleased.

When her basket was nearly full, Raina took a moment to perch on a large, smooth rock, happy to sit idly and gaze out at the sea. The horizon stretched endlessly before her, the white-capped waves shimmering despite the overcast sky. The wind picked up slightly, rustling the dunes and carrying the scent of the sea to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the moment and her solitude. Until recently, as in the last week when she felt as if she'd made some headway in regard to developing respectful if not entirely friendly relationships with others, this was one of her few joys.

Nothing good ever lasts, she was reminded a few moments later as a fat raindrop pelted her cheek. Opening her eyes, she discovered that clouds that moments ago had been rolling slowly overhead now churned with alarming speed. The sky darkened ominously, and the wind's gentle rustle turned into a fierce howl, whipping her hair around her face and sending the dunes into a swirling frenzy of sand and reeling grasses. The sea was suddenly a roiling expanse of dark, menacing waves crashing violently against the shore.

Another raindrop hit her, followed by several more in quick succession. Within moments, the drizzle turned into a heavy downpour. The storm had come upon her with frightening swiftness, not uncharacteristic of the sea's temperament but still unexpected. Raina quickly gathered her basket and stood, ducking her face away from the hard onslaught of rain, her heart pounding with an urgency to return to the keep before the storm fully unleashed its fury, afraid this might not yet be it .

Her skirts were plastered against her bottom and between her legs, making each step a struggle as she was driven along by the strong gale. Turning her back to the water and heading up into the dunes, her skirts billowed out in front of her, her hair whipping wildly around her face. The basket she carried was jerked upward and then down by the wind, losing half its contents. Raina was shoved forward several times, forced to put her hand out to keep from stumbling as she climbed. Desperately clambering, already soaked by the rain, she knew that if she could just make it beyond the dunes, she could find shelter in the trees.

Her hair, though drenched, was not plastered flat against her but rather flapped heavily with water, slapping and stinging her eyes, cheeks, and neck. "Lord love a sinner," she grumbled, spitting strands of hair from her mouth.

She paused briefly halfway up the dunes to glance back at the sea, her eyes widening at how quickly the roaring waves were advancing up the beach. Resuming her climb, she prayed that none of the fishermen were out in their currachs at this moment.

As much as she dearly loved nature, she knew a growing sense of unease and a twinge of fear as the storm intensified around her, the raw power of it both awe-inspiring and intimidating. The wind howled with actual sound, and the rain stung her skin like icy needles. A bolt of lightning was followed swiftly by a loud crack of thunder.

She grabbed hold of the marram grass in the dunes, using it as an anchor to pull herself up the slope. The cold, wet blades slipped through her fingers, nearly causing her to tumble backward. Desperately, she launched herself sideways to avoid falling back down the slope, landing hard on her arm. Having fallen into a hollow between the gentle mounds of the sand dunes, Raina lay still for a moment. Though the rain continued to drench her, the recess provided some shelter from the harshest winds. More lightning flashed, followed by booming thunder.

Already her chest heaved from her exertion. But after adjusting her grip on the handle of the basket, she forced herself to her feet once more and with her head tucked against her chest, trudged on up the incline.

"Ye little fool!"

Raina lifted her gaze, squinting hard against the elements, surprised to see Torsten approaching from the crest of the slope. Though he seemed much less perturbed and manipulated by the storm, his teeth were bared, and muscles flexed in his neck and forearms as he pushed through the wild wind and heavy rain toward her.

With renewed vigor, Raina surged forward. When he was close, making quick, seemingly effortless work of the distance between them, Raina reached out her hand at the same time he did. He did not take her hand, though, but clamped his fingers around her upper arm and turned, marching her uphill. With his other hand, he took control of the basket.

At the crest of the slope, he guided her toward the cover of the birch and oak trees in the large, wooded vale, maneuvering her to stand with her back against the wide trunk of a relatively small hazel tree. He stood directly in front of her, close enough that his thighs brushed her legs, and she was served an untimely, wayward reminder of how he'd held her in his arms the other night. Both his hands gripped both her arms, presumably to keep her safe and in place .

But then he began hollering at her, having to shout to be heard above the bellowing wind and the deafening sound of the sea, and though she wasn't necessarily fearful of his wrath, she did shrink a bit in the fury of it, for being so close and unable to escape it.

"Are ye bluidy daft? What the hell were ye doing? Ye could've gotten yerself kilt! Did ye nae ken the storm was coming?"

"Did you ?" Raina asked, her frown as severe as his, as a response to being treated like a simpleton. "Did anyone? ?Twas naught but a harmless gray sky and light winds ten minutes ago."

"Ye've lived here all yer life, have ye nae? Dinna ye ken when a storm's brewing?"

"I have lived here most all my life," she acknowledged, "and I know more than you that the sea and sky can change in a heartbeat, cannot at all be counted upon to act as one might expect it will."

His scowl did not lessen. "Do ye have to argue and contradict and challenge every bluidy thing I say?"

"When you're wrong," she replied without hesitation, "I most certainly will."

His mouth twisted with displeasure, whether at her remark or for the audacity of challenging him. His entire face contorted with grim determination, eyes mirroring the stormy sea's ferocity, as he drew her forcefully against him. Raina collided with the muscled wall of his body with an 'oomph,' before he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to push him away, but he responded swiftly, releasing her upper arm and gripping her wrist, holding her hand to the side .

It needed only a second and the barest movement of his lips against her for Raina to understand that she was being kissed. Even as her lips were joined to his, though unmoving, unknowing, her brows lifted in wonder and confusion.

Her fingers curled into the linen of his tunic, any resistance quickly fading. Unbeknownst to her, her shoulders relaxed, her entire body seeming to melt against his.

His kiss was equal to the hardness and unyielding nature of the man himself, his mouth initially brutal and punishing—until Raina tentatively responded. Uncertain of her own actions, she had only a fleeting moment of his dominance to guide her, yet a frantic, swirling sensation in her belly urged her to kiss him back. She tugged at his tunic, mimicking his movements with her mouth and lips. Torsten emitted a guttural sound of approval, which began deep in his chest and rumbled up his throat. He parted his lips, and Raina reciprocated, which seemed to serve as an invitation, beckoning his tongue. He brushed his tongue against her lips before delving deeper, meeting her tongue with his own. She gasped in response, feeling her heart race, pounding in her ears.

Slanting his head, Torsten molded his body against her, pressing her further against the tree. His lips were warm and firm, his tongue probing and delightful. Raina exhaled a breathy sigh into the kiss, wanting it to go on and on and on.

As suddenly as he'd kissed her, he abruptly halted. He pulled back, almost jerking away from her. His breath was heavy, and his gaze bore into her as though she had forced the kiss upon him, rather than the other way around. Anger flashed in his eyes as he wiped rain and, she presumed, the taste of her kiss from his mouth .

The storm had not subsided, yet neither was conscious now of its fury, consumed instead by the intensity of their own emotions.

Having dealt for years with men who blamed her for their own shortcomings—most especially her father and at times her brother—men who visited anger upon her for their failings, Raina sensed that Torsten's anger was a reflection of his own internal struggle. It was a defensive reaction, she was certain, though the particulars of it escaped her at the moment.

He was gorgeous despite his fury, his lashes spiky with rainwater, his blue eyes sharp and bright, alive with fervor. His cheekbones were pronounced, the hollows beneath shadowed with a day's growth of black and silver whiskers. His lips were closed, thinned, while his nostrils flared with his sharp breaths.

Calmly, though her heart raced yet, Raina responded to his unrest. "You kissed me, Torsten," she said with resolve, having to raise her voice to be heard. "And I kissed you back as, I suspect, a... a wife might do."

She didn't ask, but wondered, What is he afraid of?

It came to her suddenly.

Ah, the loss of control, that was it. She'd wager Lochlan's last coin he despised having lost control.

"That was ill-advised. I dinna intend..." was all he said, his statement unfinished.

Boldly—as bold as she'd ever been—Raina stated with conviction, "I rather liked it."

This caused his jaw to tighten even more, raising a vein in the rugged column of his neck.

Torsten bent and scooped up the basket he'd dropped at some point .

"Take yer damn basket," he said, shoving the nearly empty willow vessel at her. "Let's get back to Lochlan."

When it was in her hand, he turned and continued on, toward the keep.

If he had stalked ahead of her, unconcerned whether she followed or not, she'd have been a wee bit troubled.

But he took her hand, her safety still a priority to him, stomping through the trees, pulling her along.

Raina bit back a decidedly feminine, very pleased smile.

Though she'd never been afraid of storms, she understood that this one was brutal, the wind and rain destructive. Going forward though, it was unlikely that she would equate violent storms with anything other than Torsten's scorching kiss.

THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN time allowed, Raina nervously related to Peigi that Torsten had kissed her.

"It was, well, unexpected, but I cannot say—"

"Saints awaiting, lass," Peigi gasped and scowled, "but he only just now kissed ye? Yesterday?" She paused, standing inside the enclosure of the kitchen garden, one hand filled with the sage she'd collected. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she used it again. "Och, this is going to take longer than I imagined. Here's hoping ye're still in yer child-bearing years by the time ye and him finally get around to making them bairns." Shaking her head, she moved on to the marjoram, her fingers deftly plucking at the leaves of the plants.

A wee bit embarrassed, feeling as if she had failed in some regard, Raina moved her toe and her gaze along the bottom of the wattle-and-daub fencing that surrounded the sizeable garden. Swallowing, she pushed onward. "But Peigi, what's next? Torsten kissed me but...but no more than that. He did not come to bed last night until after I was asleep and thus I did not have an opportunity to...um, seek another kiss."

With a heavy sigh, Peigi straightened and considered Raina, her expression weary in the manner of one who cannot believe they have to give instruction about something that should already be known.

Raina's cheeks filled with heat, a larger humiliation suffusing her. Waving her hands dismissively, she rushed out, "Sorry. Forget it. I shouldn't have—I mean, of course it's not for you—"

"Now hang on a minute, milady," Peigi cut her off. She motioned with her hand, the one that held the sage, repeatedly pushing it downward as if to ask for calm. "Gimme a moment, will ye? I'm still trying to comprehend how ye could have reached this age and nae ken what goes on between a man and woman—what are ye, anyway? Two and twenty? More?"

Clearing her throat, Raina answered, "Four and twenty."

Peigi's eyes widened. "Mary's tears, but how can ye...?" She waved her hand again. "Never ye mind. Done is done and here we are. Ye dinna ken, but ye want to." Planting her hands on her hips, twisting her mouth, she said, "All right, let me hunt inside my brain a moment."

Raina bit her lip, watching the process. Peigi's eyes narrowed as she seemed to gaze at some invisible spot in the air before her. Her lips pursed, then twisted, then pursed again. One hand came up to tap her chin thoughtfully, the sage leaves scraping her face and neck. She muttered to herself, a barely audible string of words that included "that'll ne'er do" and "by the holy rood." Her brows furrowed deeply, and she scratched her head in a manner that suggested she was sifting through a particularly tangled thicket of thoughts.

Thinking that she should add—and wincing as she did so—Raina said, "He ah, that is, he didn't seem very happy about having kissed me. But I'm not sure—well, I have an idea that he does not like the unexpected, and that he was angry with himself for having given in to... I guess it would be... desire ?"

"By the bones of Saint Andrew," Peigi breathed, "but ye really are... ignorant of...shite, everything. Ne'er been kissed? Ne'er been groped? Haven't seen that look that comes in their eyes, like he's a starving ploughman and ye're a worthy feast?"

Raina shook her head, but then recalled the ravenous look that had darkened Torsten's countenance yesterday. "Maybe that's what I saw yesterday. He stared at my mouth for quite a moment, as if..." she didn't know what to compare it to.

Peigi did. "As if he wanted to be attached to it?" She asked, snorting out a chuckle.

"I...I suppose."

Eyes now bright with determination, Peigi announced, "All right, lass. I've sorted it out. Ye've got to be bold, but subtle. Ye need to—och, how to say it—make him want to kiss ye again, despite his internal objections, whatever those're about. So, aye, a man likes to see a bit of flesh, can hardly resist it when it's close. Ye'll set yer bath up in the chamber and time it so that ye're bare as the day ye were born inside the tub when he comes up at night."

"And have him discover me naked?" The very idea reddened her cheeks even more.

Peigi rolled her eyes. "Ye ken there'll have to be some degree of bareness to get the deed done, do you nae? "

"Quite frankly, that is not—I cannot imagine myself being so bold as to—"

"Sure and there's yer problem," Peigi announced.

Raina nodded, conceding some truth there. "Very well, but I—do I have to go to such drastic lengths? Isn't there something I can simply say ?"

"While we women hear and feel, men see and crave touch. Mere words simply winna do." She paused and narrowed her eyes at Raina, measuring her. "Least any words that would entice him are unlikely to be uttered by ye. That would need more boldness than ye possess. We dinna ken why he dinna want to bed ye or hasna yet, so ye make yerself irresistible and that'll take care of itself."

Raina blinked, half-amused and half-terrified by Peigi's intensity. "Irresistible?"

"Aye, irresistible. Ye've got the looks, milady, and a nice young body. Ye just need to use them. Smile at him, touch his arm when ye speak—och, dinna be afraid to let yer breast rub against his arm. Let him see ye're interested, but dinna throw yerself at him like a desperate maid. Men like to do the chasing, ye ken."

Raina nodded slowly, absorbing Peigi's advice, internally dismissing half of it. Good gracious, rub her breast against his arm! "And if he doesn't respond?" She pressed.

Peigi snorted. "Oh, he'll respond, lass. A man can only resist for so long. Trust me on that." She lifted the sage-crowded hand again, pointing her forefinger toward the heavens, seemingly struck by inspiration. "Ye could always take a wee tumble, milady. That's a fully-clothed idea," she said, her eyes twinkling.

Raina blinked. "A tumble? "

"Aye. Pretend ye've sprained yer ankle. Make it look convincing. He'll have to carry ye, winna he? And a man carrying a woman, well, it's improbable that he winna feel something . Put yer arms around him, lean yer head on him like he's yer savior—again, dinna overdo it. But aye, proximity can work a few miracles."

Raina laughed nervously. "You're serious?"

"As serious as yesterday's storm," Peigi replied, her grin widening. "Sometimes, lass, ye need to give fate a little nudge. Mind ye, though, dinna actually hurt yerself in a tumble if ye decide to try it." Her face softened a bit, a sweetness entering her gaze. "Picture yerself holding yer bairns, lass, one after another, year after year. That'll help ye set aside any unease about using bold methods."

Nodding, Raina thanked Peigi for her wisdom, over which she would mull for several hours she was sure.

She left the housekeeper in the garden, and though she wasn't ready yet to seek out her husband and put either of Peigi's wild ideas to the test, Raina did give considerable thought to Peigi's parting words.

Picture yerself holding bairns .

The thought of having a baby had always been a tender, cherished dream. It was the one thing that had made her agreeable to the less-than-ideal matches proposed to her before. In those previous instances, the idea of a child to love and be loved by was all that had kept her sane and willing to entertain those unsuitable suitors.

With Torsten, the idea took on a new, more vivid dimension. She imagined a child with his strong features, perhaps his determined eyes and his unyielding spirit. Frankly, she wouldn't mind a son who one day grew into the image of his father—in every manner save for the cold, dark side of him. And the prospect of being a mother, of holding a small life she had created, and nurturing it with all the love she had but had so rarely been used, filled her with a warmth and longing that was impossible to ignore.

She envisioned the tiny fingers grasping hers, soft coos and wee giggles, the first steps, and the joy of seeing her child—many bairns perhaps—grow and thrive. This vision of love and connection was what she yearned for, something that did not necessarily require any input from Torsten once the making of the bairns was done.

Maybe Peigi was right. Maybe she did need to give fate a little nudge to have what she wanted, the chance to hold her own bairn in her arms.