Page 37 of Highland Seduction

“Yer new shift,” he reminded her, guiding Ainsley toward the bed. Then, using the cloth around her, Tor dried every bit of wetness from her body. At first, she attempted to cover herself with her hands. But he simply pulled them away.

Eventually, certain she had already been completely dry some time ago, Tor leaned toward the shift. When Ainsley attempted to turn toward him, he stopped her. Dropping the cloth, he pressed himself into her, Ainsley’s backside firmly against him. Then, leaning forward, he plucked the shift from the bed.

“Pardon,” he said, backing away as if the contact had been necessary. Then, as reluctantly as a starving man might refuse food, he placed it atop her head, Ainsley assisting by placing her arms inside each sleeve. It was a loose garment that covered much of what was beneath, but now he knew. Had seen clearly the jewels that were now buried.

Though they’d not be buried for long.

Chapter 21

It had been four days since they’d arrived in Berwick. She sat at the same table in the hall of River’s End for a midday meal as they’d occupied each day. There was a comfort, somehow, to this table by the window like the one in Mend Hayle. With its shutters wide open, she could watch as the people of Berwick went about their day. Every so often, a wagon full of goods would roll by and Ainsley attempted to discern what was inside. Greer would enjoy this spot as she loved to guess what others might be thinking or doing.

Tor never took his eyes from her as he spoke to the innkeeper. In fact, he never took his eyes from her at all while they traveled the town, questioning everyone who would speak to them. When they ate, he listened to Ainsley’s every word as if she had some grand tales to tell, which, assuredly, she did not.

In the eve, they were alone in their room after a long day of attempting to find any trace of Ian and Marta. But then he did more than look. Kissing him had become her new favorite pastime. Although he’d done no more since that night in the tub, Ainsley was sure he wanted to, as did she. Since their bed was large enough to accommodate them both—something she knew was rare in an inn such as this—each night she slept as she did in the woods. Now, if Ainsley woke and was not tucked into Tor’s side, her head on his chest, she felt lost. As if she were in those woods once again.

It scared Ainsley, to have become so reliant on him after she had spent so long preparing to do otherwise—to be as her brother, and sister, were, able to rely on themselves and not dependent on another. It was the reason she’d given Broden for not wishing to wed. Ainsley would not be controlled by a husband. Nay. Never.

Her weakness appalled her. Kept her silent when Ainsley had wanted to ask if Tor had received word yet from the bishop. Instead, they focused on their search, Ainsley content with their kisses. For now.

“Exciting news,” Tor said, sitting.

She loved when he smiled that way, the joy from him lighting the entire hall of the inn. Or so it seemed. Ainsley could do naught else but smile back.

“Indeed?” She pushed the pewter bowl toward him. “Be certain to eat while the stew is still warm.”

Tor picked up his spoon. “Do ye remember the guards?” he asked, taking a bite.

Ainsley thought back to their second night in Berwick, when both guards had come to the inn asking for Tor. As promised, he’d paid the innkeeper enough coin for the men to eat and drink all eve. She’d only spoken briefly to one of the men, but she did remember them.

“Aye,” she answered, looking onto the street when a child called out, searching for his mother. Ainsley was preparing to stand from her seat when a woman came running toward him, grabbing the child’s hand.

“They were here again last eve, apparently. Their innkeeper was questioning a shoemaker about Ian and Marta when the guard overheard his conversation. He remembered admitting a couple such as the one the innkeeper described just before dusk more than a sennight ago.”

Ainsley’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “With so many arriving and leaving Berwick each day, how can he be certain?”

“I asked that very question, lass. Apparently the woman had been limping. The guard noticed because he himself had been injured by a fall from his mount and had just recovered from a limp himself.”

“Did he say aught else about them?”

Tor shook his head. “He didnae speak to them or see them since, but ’tis our first lead since we’ve arrived.”

Ainsley could not be more pleased at the thought that Ian and Marta could truly be alive and here in Berwick. She raised her mug and Tor did the same. They toasted to the news. Or were about to when Tor’s smile faltered. His mug paused midair as he leaned forward, looking out of the window at something that seemed to concern him.

His hand returned to the table, and Ainsley followed his gaze. She saw naught but the mother and child from earlier, still speaking to a merchant whose wagon marked him a cloth dealer.

“What in the devil?” Tor jumped from his seat.

“What is it?” she asked, following Tor as he practically ran through the inn’s hall toward the front door.

“No’ what, but who.”

“Ian—”

He cut her off as they passed through the door’s entrance. “Nay, ’tis no’ them. Look.” He pointed, continuing to walk.

“A priest?” she asked as Tor did not relent, his pace ensuring they would catch up with the man.

“No’ just a priest. Father Godfrey.”