Chapter Fifteen

I n consideration of Torsten's confounding about-face, how, seemingly overnight, he'd gone from a cold and autocratic stranger to a sometimes engaging man who appeared to desire her company and conversation, Raina remained puzzled and wary. She began to wonder if she'd only been so damnably pathetic after the kidnapping attempt that his behavior now was simply rooted in pity. This idea was discarded nearly as soon as it was imagined; she hadn't remained abed for days and days, wallowing in fright, inciting sympathy. She'd gotten right back to work, had shown herself in the kitchens the next morning, returned to her new duties. And the notion was more easily rejected by her conviction that Torsten de Graham was incapable of either pity or sympathy.

With no explanation for his behavior, Raina simply waited for his mood to shift once more, as she knew it could.

She didn't have long to wait.

Though the door to Lochlan had always been closed, in fair weather and foul, since the arrival of the de Grahams it was mostly kept open, so that as she crossed the great hall one day she became aware of a disturbance in the courtyard, voices raised in anger.

She quickened her pace and stepped out onto the cobblestone bailey, her eyes scanning the crowded scene. The courtyard inside the nearly-completed wooden palisade was filled with dozens of de Graham soldiers, a few of them mounted, uniformly wearing fierce expressions, more than one having drawn his sword. A few peasants milled about at the edges, observing the commotion with apprehension.

Torsten stood at the center of the courtyard, his formidable figure and wide-legged stance commanding authority. Raina saw only the back of his head as he confronted a man atop a horse who was gesticulating wildly as he hollered. Raina gasped, recognizing Lochlan's bailiff, Ronald.

"Ye put my boy—a bairn!—in the dungeon! What kind of man—"

"The lad was part of a scheme to kidnap my wife," Torsten interjected, his tone sharp and commanding. "Nae quite a bairn, old enough to engage in treachery, and thus auld enough to be punished for it. "

Raina's heart skipped a beat, her hand flying to her chest. Without thinking she rushed forward, pushing through the throng of soldiers while Ronald continued to argue for his son.

"And what? How long will he rot down there?" Ronald wanted to know. "Or are ye a monster as I've heard? Nae mercy, and ye'll hang my lad?"

Raina reached Torsten's side, tugging at his arm. He glanced down at her, his mien ferocious, unyielding.

"Torsten—"

"Yer lad," Torsten said, ignoring the fingers dug into his arm and the pleading of Raina's expression as he faced Ronald atop the steed, "was thrown into the dungeon to provoke yer return. Where was this concern when ye abandoned him, departing Lochlan to—"

"Torsten!" Raina tried again to gain his attention. "Please tell me this is false. You didn't really put a child—"

He turned on her, his scowl vicious now. "Cease!" He ordered harshly. "Dinna insert yerself into matters that do nae—"

"This does concern me!" She argued heatedly, appalled by what he'd done to a boy so young.

Pivoting toward her, Torsten snarled as he peeled her fingers away from his forearm. "Enough, woman," he gritted through his teeth. "Take her inside," he ordered and two de Graham soldiers appeared at her side, taking hold of her arms.

"You are a monster," she breathed, so stunned by this truth that she allowed herself to be dragged away. When she was turned around and made to walk toward the keep, she shook off her captors, showing the one on her left her own savage snarl, before stomping into the keep.

She paused just inside, standing in the long rectangle of light made by the open door, the shadows on the floor in front of her advising that the two de Graham soldiers remained in the doorway. Straightening her spine, she walked stiffly, regally toward the far door, stepping into the passageway that led to the kitchens. But rather than retreat to the kitchens, Raina took the narrow corridor off to the side, where the air grew cooler and the light dimmer with each step.

The stone walls closed in around her, their surfaces damp and rough beneath her fingertips. Torches mounted at intervals in the main passageway flickered weakly here, casting a feeble glow that barely pushed back the encroaching darkness. The smell of earth and mustiness grew stronger, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of old fires and the tang of iron from the metal sconces and chains .

Raina briefly retraced her steps, confiscating one of the torches from its wall ring before treading further.

Her footsteps echoed hollowly as she descended the spiral staircase, the stone steps worn smooth by centuries of use. The further down she went, the more the temperature dropped, the air becoming thicker, almost oppressive. The faint drip of water somewhere in the distance added to the sense of foreboding.

As she reached the bottom, she stepped into a low-ceilinged corridor lined with heavy wooden doors. The smell here was more pungent, foul but unrecognizable.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she pressed on, her expression grim. Though the damp stone ceiling was not particularly low, she hunched her shoulders as she moved, hoping to avoid the eerie veil of cobwebs. She walked past the cellar doors, where the smell of aging wine and stored provisions briefly masked the more unpleasant odors. The crypts lay further ahead, their shadows deep and impenetrable, but she steered clear of those, moving forward.

Finally, she arrived at the dungeon, its heavy iron-bound door looming before her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pulled the door open and stepped inside. The dim light from her torch revealed the rows of cells, each one a dark, forbidding space behind iron bars. Dread engulfed her, imagining the small boy trapped down here in this vile darkness.

"Geoffrey?" she called softly.

Silence answered her. She peered into each cell, expecting to find the young lad huddled in one of the dark corners, but every cell was empty. Confusion warred with dubious relief in her chest as she moved from one barred cage to the next, confirming that the dungeon was indeed unoccupied .

Sighing and lowering the torch a bit, Raina spun around, her brow crinkling. She paused only a moment with her puzzlement before exiting the dungeon, eager to escape the dank bleakness. She scurried now, the torchlight casting swiftly dancing shadows along her path. She squeaked as a critter crossed her path, her fingers clutching at the fabric covering her chest, and scooted to the right as what she hoped was only a mouse ran along the edge of the wall to her left. This brought her into contact with a drapery of cobwebs. Startled, she frantically brushed her hands over her hair and face, shivering at the sensation of the fine, sticky threads clinging to her skin.

She moaned aloud, shuddering with revulsion, and marched on, but was again startled when she realized a presence looming ahead in her path, standing just inside the archway that separated the crypts from the storage area.

Though cast in black shadow, Torsten's form was instantly recognizable.

"Where is Geoffrey?" She demanded at once, as he stepped forward into the light.

His eyes blazed yet with fury, glinting like shards of ice in the shadowy cellar.

"Dinna ever challenge my authority in so public a manner," he began, his voice dripping with annoyance. "I will nae tolerate—"

"I will challenge you," she claimed, fisting her hand at her side, "when you behave so shamefully as to...to—" she couldn't go on; obviously, he had not imprisoned the boy in the dungeon. "Where is Geoffrey?"

"Did ye come to release him? "

"Yes, I did," she hollered at him, "and why won't you answer me? What have you done to the child?"

"He's in the gaol inside the barracks," Torsten answered tightly. "Nae alone and shivering, but warmed by blankets, surrounded by soldiers, given the same meal as what comes to the hall."

Reduced by shame, and embarrassingly so, Raina's body went soft. "But why did Ronald think—?"

"Because that was the rumor I wanted spread. If I'd sent the lad home with a slap on the wrist, the bailiff might nae have shown himself. I dinna ken what kind of man he is, but I was assured a father would nae allow his son to reside inside a dungeon for too long."

"You...you let it be known—believed—that Geoffrey was imprisoned most awfully to provoke Ronald to surrender himself?" When he nodded, she felt most particularly foolish, and more than only a little poorly for having accused him of grander evil, for having called him a monster. "I am... I apologize for having imagined the worst." — of you , she added silently. Lifting her chin, she said, "In my defense, however, I was not made aware of your scheme."

"Even had it been true, Raina," he said, his tone less menacing though still tense, "ye canna dispute my decisions in front of others. Raise yer concerns privately, by all means, but dinna undermine my leadership. I apologize for my harshness in the courtyard, but it could nae be allowed to stand, yer defiance."

The entire episode only baffled her more.

She had assumed him capable of such ruthlessness, and for that she was remorseful.

But he...this now: Torsten de Graham had just apologized to her.

Nearly warm and engaging of late and today returned to his ruthless demeanor, and now inviting her to voice concerns to him, and... apologizing?

Staggered by his variability, she murmured, "I...I don't even know who you are anymore." Not that she ever had.

"I am your husband," he reminded her.

AN INTERROGATION OF Ronald took place but Raina was not allowed to attend. Torsten told her quietly that night at supper that it yielded scarcely more than what they already knew or surmised.

"The lad was alone when approached by the brigands," Torsten informed her. "His father dinna ken of his son's part in it until after the fact. He did try to hide his son and then himself, he admitted, but claims ?twas nae a large sum paid for the boy's part, and already spent, first bribing others to say they dinna ken where either the boy or his father had gone, and then used to secure a room at the inn in Montrose, where Ronald concealed himself for two nights."

The lad was released to his father, Ronald relieved of his duties as bailiff, and Torsten was forced to confess he still had no idea who the perpetrators might have been or what lay comprised their motive.

The days continued in much the same manner as they had before the disruption of Ronald's return. Raina was pleased that the kitchen had finally met the challenge of feeding so large a populace. Admittedly, they had help from the de Grahams themselves. Twice weekly a unit of soldiers went hunting, often returning with two or more red deer, and less frequently a boar and smaller game, grouse and quail included. And to her surprise, another twenty men of the de Graham army had begun to construct their own currach, or something similar to it. Torsten explained he didn't want to subtract from Lochlan's fishing revenue, but having his men fish as well would mean they could contribute to the feeding of so many.

More pertinently, and though Raina had assured Torsten that the ground was not suitable for crops—as her father had always claimed— Torsten instructed that the area just beyond the army's camp of tents was ploughed for planting. "Ye say it's nae arable, but ye admit it's nae been attempted in more than a decade. ?Twill cost little but the labor of my men and seeds from the market to try."

Torsten intended to plant winter barley in another month or so, allowing the seeds to establish roots before the onset of winter. "Lochlan is rich in many ways," Torsten had argued effectively, "but she can and should be more self-sustaining."

Torsten's courtesy toward Raina, and what she deemed an attempt to reconcile their marriage to one of polite civility, continued.

He accompanied her to the beach on the following Monday as he had the week before. Once he'd set the table firmly into the sand, he leaned over it and announced to Raina, "Ye canna continue this indefinitely. Come the winter, or sooner, ye'll manage this inside the hall."

There was no reason to argue with him since she'd essentially thought the same thing. She adored the beach and the sea but wasn't willing to brave lashing winds and ice to sit here miserably. Giving a noncommittal shrug, she smiled at Samuel, thanking him for carrying down the chair she used. While she set up her supplies, little concerned by today's uncommonly light breeze, she watched as Torsten strode toward the water, speaking with some of the fishermen. He stood casually, hands on his hips and his weight on his left hip, seemingly unconcerned that the small waves lapped over the foot and ankle of his boots. He pointed toward the sea at one point, his finger skimming along the horizon where the water met the sky and then turned his hand over, as if asking a question. Artair, one of the oldest fisherman, chuckled, the sound carrying up onto the beach, and replied to Torsten, who nodded affably.

Torsten turned several times, once seemingly without purpose, and another time pointing in her direction, rousing a frown from Raina, while he continued his discussion with a handful of men, which presumably included her for whatever reason. She tried not to look very often, but again and again her gaze wandered back to Torsten, who stood taller and broader than any man in the small grouping at the edge of the sea, and who appeared, uncharacteristically, to be without his perpetual scowl. Although, she did have to admit that his scowl had been less and less discernable since her kidnapping, much to her confused chagrin.

Deciding she much preferred his inattention, so that she was not made anxious by his close proximity or his oft-studious scrutiny, Raina set to work, counting out coins and recording names and figures in the journal while Samuel ushered the queue forward.

Nell eventually stood in front of Raina, looking more worn and unkempt than normal. Her face, which was neither bonny nor precisely unattractive and was usually set in a stern expression, now betrayed hints of exhaustion and perhaps a touch of resignation. Her two bairns clung to her silently, their gazes doleful, one of them barefoot.

"Good day, Nell," Raina greeted, her voice polite despite their strained history. "You seem... tired. Is everything alright?"

Nell shifted uneasily, as if uncomfortable with the unexpected display of concern, before she bit out, "Nae concern of yers."

Raina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "The offer still stands, to work inside Lochlan if you would prefer."

Nell's brow furrowed, her expression hardening once more. "I dinna prefer."

Matching her coolness, Raina nodded in acceptance of this and dropped coins into Nell's waiting hand. "Good day."

Torsten returned when only two more people stood in line and waited without speaking until Raina had completed her task and began packing up the basket.

Again, he plunked his hands down on the table, drawing Raina's attention.

"Shall we join them?" He asked mysteriously.

"Join who?"

He chuckled and waved his arm toward the currach. "Them, on the boat," Torsten said.

Entranced as she was by his rare smile, Raina had to wrench her gaze away from him, to follow the direction in which he'd pointed. Edane, one of the fisherman, stood in knee-high water, waving in her direction.

Perplexed, she returned her regard to Torsten. "You want to go out on a fishing expedition? "

"Should we nae see what they're about?" he challenged, his scowl amazingly still missing in action. "Those we're paying to haul in the fish? Might be we find they're under or overpaid."

"I don't know anything about...I've never been on a boat."

"As I have nae for nearly a decade," he admitted.

"I-I cannot," she stammered, lifting the heavy basket onto her shoulder. "I have to return this to—"

"Samuel can see the coins get back to the steward's office," Torsten said, stepping closer, taking the straps off her shoulders. Before she could argue, he said, "I forget already who is who, but the elderly fellow invited me and then ye. And truth be kent, lass, I daresay they were pleased by the privilege of taking the laird and lady out to sea."

"Yes, and I'm quite sure they will be happier still to leave us out there," Raina supposed.

Torsten found this amusing and laughed again.

Raina stared at him, briefly captivated by how laughter so quickly and effortlessly softened the sharp edges of the man. He had very nice teeth, gleaming white against the backdrop of his sun-colored complexion.

She hadn't fully relinquished the basket, had instead covered the handle with her free hand. Torsten took her hand in his, threading his fingers with hers, while he used his other hand to take possession of the basket.

"C'mon, lass," he cajoled. "It'll do ye guid. And we canna disappoint them."

Raina stared at their connected hands, fascinated by the way they fit together, palm to palm, even as her hands were so much smaller than his. Fancifully, she imagined that their hands formed a bridge between them, built on the foundation of Torsten's inexplicable kindness to her in the past week. The notion was as titillating as it was unnerving.

Raina glanced up at Torsten, meeting his eyes briefly, finding a softness in his gaze that she hadn't expected.

"I'll nae let anything happen to ye, Raina," he said solemnly.

Feeling as if she had little choice, lest she be labeled a killjoy—she absolutely did not need or desire another nickname!—Raina acquiesced, though she couldn't quite manage a smile or rouse any excitement, save for what Torsten's touch had already awakened.

His smiled widened and Torsten handed the basket to Gavin. "Get that to the steward's office first thing, lad."

He gave no instruction about the table or chair, but turned their joined hands around and strode toward the water's edge, pulling a nervous Raina along with him.

She was slightly mollified by the small cheer that rose from those men waiting at the boat, even as she was quite certain they were satisfied with their new laird's company and much less the prospect of hers.

At the water's edge, and without warning, Torsten pivoted and scooped up Raina in his arms. Reflexively, her hands reached up and clung to his shoulders, trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse, hoping the instant flush of her cheeks was not noticeable.

"Ye dinna want yer skirts to get wet," Torsten said by way of explanation.

His mood was such—relaxed, lighthearted, enticing even—that Raina wondered, not for the first time, who this man was, and what had become of the one she married .

He carefully set her down in the currach, making sure she was steady before releasing her. Raina settled herself on the closest wooden bench, trying to find her balance in the unsteady boat.

She knew their names, these fishermen, but little else about them. Jasper, a burly fellow with a thick beard, pulled in the small anchor, and a moment later, Torsten and the fisher, Edane, a tall and lean man with sharp features, pushed off from the thigh-high water before climbing into the boat. The currach wobbled fitfully until the two men took their seats, Torsten plopping down next to her.

Artair, the oldest, with deep-set wrinkles and silver hair, and Peile, a very young man with a mop of unruly straw-colored hair, sat in front of her, sharing a bench seat. Artair eyed her cautiously.

Torsten tapped Raina's leg and pointed at the bottom of the boat. Her feet were sitting on a pair of oars, and she lifted her legs so that Torsten could retrieve them.

"Aye, I dinna tell ye," he confessed, grinning once more as he handed one of the oars to her, "we have to earn our seat."

"Oh, good heavens," Raina declared, gingerly handling the heavy oar. "I don't know anything about rowing."

"Nor I," said Torsten, "save I do ken this upright peg is the thole pin," he said, fitting his oar to the boat.

Raina inspected her oar, discovering a notch that rested against the pin, and attached hers in a similar manner. She needed no further instruction, but simply replicated the actions of Artair and Peile. Or tried to. Though the motion looked simple enough, and constantly repetitive, she learned fairly quickly that rowing was not so easy as they made it look.

"Dig the oar deeper into the water," Artair instructed, watching her fumble quite a bit. "Aye, like that. And find the rhythm."

Her strokes improved but were not as smooth as these seasoned fishermen, or even Torsten's strong efforts. And pretty quickly she wished that the rhythm was much slower; her arms soon began to protest the strenuous motion. She wouldn't complain, though, lest they regret allowing her on the excursion. She understood that it likely wasn't expected that she would be able to keep up with them, but she didn't want it said that she'd given in, and so she rowed on.

"Do you not ever sail toward battle?" She asked her husband, needing a distraction. "Isn't it quicker?"

"Aye, it can be," Torsten answered, not quite out of breath as she was. "But we're mainly a cavalry, and a large one at that. It would need a heavy purse and many boats to move my army up or down the coast—and planning and usually waiting on ships' availability." He rowed several more times before adding, "?Tis easier, in the end, simply to start marching."

"And less taxing?" She guessed.

"Much less."

It was another ten minutes, by which time she was sure she'd have blisters if she didn't already, when Artair called for a halt.

"Thank God," Raina mumbled.

All the rowing ceased and yet the currach glided a bit further over the relatively smooth surface of the calm sea.

"Sweet Mother Mary," Raina whispered to Torsten, "but how much more difficult is that rowing when the sea is rough?"

He chuckled lightly and answered in a low voice. "I'll make sure we dinna ever have to find out."

"Yes, please. "

A bit of scrambling took place, men moving around the boat. As the others had done, Torsten returned the oars to the bottom of the boat.

Staying put on the wooden bench, clinging to the side of the boat as it wobbled left and right with all the movement, Raina rather envied Torsten's ease, how confidently he acted and involved himself.

"Milady," Artair addressed her, swinging her head around, as she'd been watching the men position themselves at the back of the boat. "Sit here, milady," he said, patting the wooden bench next to him. He hadn't moved, and his wrinkled hands still help two oars. "A better view," he offered, when she hesitated.

Raina stood but remained bent, to hang onto the wooden slats as she stepped over the bench seat between her and Artair. At his side, at what she guessed was the front of the currach, she sat next to the thin man on the narrow seat, now facing the entire boat and the men working at the rear of it.

A better view, indeed. "Thank you, Artair."

"Take the oar," he instructed. "Move as I say, when needed, forward or back."

"All right," she replied, poised, waiting, her gaze returning to where Torsten labored with the fishermen, hauling in the nets.

Just as the others did, he gripped the coarse, wet rope and pulled with a steady rhythm, his muscles straining under the effort, the sinews of his arms and back flexing with each pull. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn't slow down, matching the seasoned fishermen move for move.

Raina watched him, admiration and curiosity in her gaze. His easy manner with the men and his willingness to participate in the hard labor intrigued her. She realized a spark of pride, seeing him so at ease in this environment.

"What are those...things attached to the nets?" Raina asked of a series of elongated sacs affixed at intervals along the top of the net, now clumped in the bottom of the boat.

"Inflated bladders, milady," said Artair, before he instructed, "Forward—nae, milady, the other direction. Aye, once, again."

She understood then it was their job to keep the boat steady, not allowing it to drift from this location.

"Inflated bladders?" She questioned Artair, grimacing.

"Aye. Cow's bladders are best, but pigs will do. A hollow reed is used to blow air into them. They're tied off and secured to the nets."

"Oh, I see. They float and then the nets are easy to find in the sea."

"Aye, that's it, milady."

"Do you ever catch more than you can carry?"

"Sometimes we do," Artair acknowledged with a shrug. "Then we have to throw some back or send out the other boat. Forward again," he directed. "Again."

Raina blindly responded to the old fisherman's command, her eyes glued to the action at the front of the boat.

It seemed they dragged in an awful lot of net before Raina began to see it filled with fish. But soon, the nets revealed a bounty of silvery herring, their scales catching the sunlight as they flopped and wriggled in the mesh. There also, sturdy cod with speckled skins emerged, alongside fat mackerel gleaming with iridescent blues and greens, and the occasional salmon .

Raina's jaw dropped at the same time a smile evolved. "Oh, my," she breathed with awe, impressed with the catch, which seemed to be hundreds of fish.

The net was emptied until all the fish settled into the bottom of the boat. Jasper and Peile used buckets and scooped water, emptying it into the bottom of the boat as well, just enough to keep the fish wet, while Edane and Torsten sat again to row, and Aulay cast the empty net, with its iron weights and inflated bladders into the sea for tomorrow's haul.

They moved on then, all hands rowing for a short time, heading to the next buoy.

"I see them!" Raina exclaimed with excitement, rowing with greater confidence next to Artair. "The bladders," She said, pointing them out.

"Care to lend a hand, milady?" Edane asked, surmising her interest.

"Oh, no, I-I don't want to...ruin anything or break anything. I've never—"

"Ye canna break a net, milady," Edane assured her, laughter in his tone. "Jasper's out here almost every day and has yet to turn the boat. If he can do it, so can ye."

Raina cautiously stepped forward. Torsten turned sideways at the prow and Jasper moved left to allow room for her, which caused the boat to rock, and Raina to lose her footing. She began to tip sideways only to be caught by Torsten.

"Sea legs and quick hands," applauded Peile. "He's a fine fisher already."

Raina blushed, grateful for Torsten's steady grip. "Thank you," she murmured, steadying herself .

Torsten kept a hand on her arm, guiding her toward the prow.

She gripped the net hesitantly, feeling the rough texture against her palms. The weight of it surprised her, and she struggled to find her balance.

"Just follow the rhythm," Edane instructed, demonstrating the motion. "Pull, and then rest a beat, like this."

Raina nodded, trying to mimic his movements. Her first attempts were clumsy and weak. She hadn't the strength of these men. Gritting her teeth, she tried again, giving a good yank on the heavy net. Pull, rest, pull , she repeated in her head as she followed their tempo. The task was physically demanding, and her arms soon ached, but she was determined to keep up. The net did not get lighter but heavier, and soon fish begin to appear.

"Pull! Pull!" Peile commanded, increasing the pace.

Pull, rest, pull, but only quicker now. Raina sent a glance to Torsten, who worked directly beside her, sharing a broad smile of accomplishment with him. "This is amazing!" She cried enthusiastically.

She was astonished again at the number of fish and was hardly bothered that her léine and kirtle were nearly completely soaked from the waist down by the time the entire net lay in the bottom of the boat. She also had a newfound respect for the fishers, for the hard work of this, wondering how they managed this back-breaking labor every day.

"Oh, but the smell," she realized a moment later, putting her hand to her nose.

"Nae for the faint of heart," Jasper commented with a chuckle.

"Or nose," she replied with a wry smile .

"Go on then, milady," Edane instructed kindly. "We dinna expect ye to pick fish from the nets."

Raina returned to her seat more cautiously, stepping from bench to bench until she reached the back of the boat.

They rowed slowly again and Peile and Torsten cast the net now into the water.

Jasper paused while slopping water into the boat. "?Tis a fine catch," he said, looking at Raina. "Are ye a witch after all, to have brought up so many fish?"

Though caught off-guard by the question, and noticing how Torsten swung around, his scowl seen for the first time in hours, Raina sensed no animosity in the query.

"If I had such powers," she responded lightly, "we'd need a much bigger boat and lots of them."

To her relief, and apparently Torsten's, a bit of laughter answered her quip.

Shortly thereafter, the seven of them rowed back to shore.

Raina wasn't sure that she wanted to repeat the adventure, but in truth, she'd enjoyed herself tremendously.

She said as much to Torsten as they rowed.

"Same, lass," he readily agreed. "But aye, give me a sword and a battle any day."

Assuming he was jesting at least a wee bit, Raina laughed at this.

Returned to the beach, she refused Torsten's offer to carry her again to the sand, referencing the state of her garb.

"But help me out," she asked, "lest I tumble face first into the water."

He did, taking her by the waist, lifting her up and out of the boat. Raina latched onto his shoulders until she was set on her feet, and then she walked out a ways until she was nearly waist deep in the water, hoping to rid herself of at least some of the stench and offal clinging to her.

The lightness and the joy remained. She was so damn tickled by the experience that when Torsten took her hand, leading her up the cliff walk, as naturally as if he'd done so a thousand times before, Raina did not resist.