Free The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford

open air, quite delicious. For a moment Iain surveyed her in silence, then sat down and ate his own. They washed the food down with a beaker of ale.
    By the time they had finished it was dark save for the small pool of light from the lamp. Ashlynn was beginning to feel better now for the food had restored some inner warmth and, even though the barn was chilly, it was better by far than being out in the bitter night air. She drew her cloak closer, keenly aware of the man beside her. She watched him gather the bowls and beakers and return them to the tray. Then he took the lamp from its hook.
    ‘Come.’
    She rose somewhat reluctantly from her makeshift seat. ‘Where are we going?’
    He guided her to the foot of a wooden ladder. ‘Up there.’
    ‘The hayloft?’
    ‘Aye.’
    Apprehension reawakened and she hesitated, looking from the ladder to him, more than ever aware of the darkness, the remote place and his physical proximity.
    ‘Where are you going to sleep?’
    ‘In the same place.’
    ‘You will not!’
    One dark brow arched a little. ‘Are you going up that ladder, Ashlynn, or am I going to carry you?’
    The mild tone didn’t deceive her for a moment. He wouldn’t hesitate. Glaring at him in impotent wrath she knew there was no choice but to obey and with thumping heart began to climb, conscious that he observed every step. He smiled sardonically; then followed her up and lifted the lantern, illuminating piles of sweet-smelling hay.
    ‘It’s likely not what you’re used to, lass, but it’s dry and a lot warmer than sleeping in the open.’
    Ashlynn said nothing. It wasn’t the thought of sleeping in a hay barn that disturbed her.
    ‘We’ve a long ride ahead tomorrow,’ he went on, ‘so get some sleep while you can.’
    The tone was gentler than the one he’d used earlier but still Ashlynn made no move to comply. She watched him hang the lantern on a nail by the ladder. Immediately the loft was plunged into shadow for most of the light fell below. Apparently unaware of her gaze, he divested himself of his sword belt and then he lay down beside it and stretched out, wrapping himself in the fur-lined cloak. Only then did he glance at his companion.
    ‘Goodnight, lass. Sleep well.’
    Seeing he made no move to touch her, Ashlynn felt slightly less anxious. Besides, after the rigours of the day, she was suddenly bone weary. Selecting a spot as far from him as possible, she too lay down and drew her cloak protectively around her. For a while she was quite still, ears straining to detect any movement from her companion, but none came. She could hear only the sound of the beasts munching hay in the stalls below. Outside in the distance a fox barked. She shivered and curled up beneath the cloak. The sense of loneliness intensified bringing tears welling behind her eyelids, and for a while she wept silently into the folds of the cloth. Not for anything would she have let her sobs be heard or given utterance to the grief that weighed upon her heart like lead.
    However, in the quiet of the loft even the smallest sounds carried clearly. From where he lay, Iain heard the pain and sorrow underlying those stifled sobs, and with that all her aching vulnerability. All vestiges of his earlier anger evaporated on the heel of that realisation and he was unexpectedly touched, more so perhaps than if she had wept openly. For a moment he was tempted to go to her but then checked the impulse. Given all that had passed between them she’d likely not welcome the intrusion. Besides, what could he say that would in any way diminish the loss she felt? Grief needed an outlet. Better to let her have her cry out no matter how hard it was to hear it.
    * * *
    Sleep came for her eventually but with it troubling dreams of burning buildings and mounted men all in chain mail with the light glinting on their helmets. Like devils they rode through the flames striking down any who tried to flee. The air rang with screams of pain and