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Owen chuckled. “Only noblemen sleep on feather mattresses. This must be simply wool.”
There was a knock on the door, and a young woman entered with two clay bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, a small pot of butter, and a piece of cheese. She put the food on a round table in the corner of the room together with a wooden jug of ale and two clay cups. With a curious glance in Amber’s direction, she left.
“Come,” Owen said. “Eat, lass. Ye need to eat.”
“After everything that happened tonight, I’m not really hungry.”
She removed the helm, and set it aside. Her scalp ached deliciously from the freedom. Her muscles throbbed all over, and dried sweat covered every inch of her body.
“Even more reason to eat,” Owen said. “Dinna make me come and make ye.”
She groaned and shook her head. The next moment, his giant frame loomed over her. He leaned down and took both her hands in his, making her skin buzz from the touch. He pulled her up, and she stood before him, deliciously confined by his strong arms.
He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes with the intensity of a thousand suns. The floor shook under her feet, and she forgot how to breathe. Her knees jittered, and she felt herself losing balance. But he held her safely in place by the elbows.
“Let’s eat,” Owen said, his voice hoarse. “Come.”
He gently led her to the table, and she let him. She didn’t think anyone had ever taken care of her like this.
Owen let her sit and took the chair across the table from her. He poured ale in the cups and clunked his with hers. In the dim light of the room, his eyes were the color of grass in the golden hour before sunset. She melted like wax under the heat of his gaze.
They drank, and the ale was sweet and tasted only slightly alcoholic. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. She took the first spoonful of cold stew without tasting the food. All her attention was on the golden demigod sitting across the table from her. The man who’d saved her life and helped her escape torture in a medieval dungeon. The man whose very presence made her feel supported and cherished, as well as weak and wobbly.
All things she really shouldn’t feel towards a Highlander born about seven hundred years earlier than her. But it all felt so right. So good. Like there was hope for her.
Back home, she had no one. Her mom and dad were dead, and her brothers had their own lives. They’d never been close. That’s why she hadn’t contacted any of them to help when Jackson framed her for Bryan’s murder. But this man cared for her, even though he didn’t really know her.
She tore herself a chunk of bread and spread some butter on it, then bit into it.
“I have a question, Owen,” she said through a mouthful.
He chewed as well, his square jaw working. He raised his eyebrows in response.
She swallowed. “Why do you care about me? Why are you helping me, going to these lengths to save me?”
“I see a lass in need, I canna leave her in peril. Ye’re from another time. Ye need protection.”
“Yes, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? There must be. Tell me the truth.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The truth, lass? I dinna think ye’re ready to hear the truth.”
“I am. I feel like I’ve lived through more with you than I have with any of my brothers. This past week, or however long it has been, felt like a lifetime. So tell me. Did you help me out of the kindness of your heart? Or is there more?”
He studied her as though contemplating whether to tell her or not. Then he leaned forward over the table and covered her hand with his. The touch went through her like a bolt of electricity, stealing her breath away and melting her blood.
“There’s more, lass. I think ye’re magnificent.”
Chapter 14
Amber’s large, dark eyes widened.
He chuckled softly and drank from his cup. She was too much of a distraction. Women in peril were his weakness. He couldn’t pass up a woman in distress, and she was an especially rare one. Looking at her now, her smooth skin glowing, fire from the candle dancing in her eyes, he couldn’t hold back.
“The moment I saw ye kicking and punching the English knights—ye had no weapon, just yer fists and yer legs… I dinna think I’ve seen anyone so breathtaking. And that ye’re from the future…”
A spasm of emotion tightened his throat, and he couldn’t say a word more. The fact that she was from the future made her mysterious. Made her a heroine who’d stepped out of a myth, or a ballad or a fairy tale.
