“How is Dawn?” Sloan asked.
“You care?” Cree asked with a quirk of his brow.
“She intrigues me for one who has no voice.”
“Do not let her intrigue you too much,” Cree warned.
“Jealous?” Sloan grinned.
“I keep warning you about your tongue.”
“And yet it is still whole in my mouth.”
A commotion at the entrance to the Great Hall kept Cree from responding and when both men saw who had entered they jumped out of their seats.
“Elwin, are you not supposed to be guarding Dawn?” Sloan demanded hurrying around the table to stand in front of the warrior who stood dripping rainwater on the wood floor.
“Tannin is standing guard—”
“What has happened?” Cree snapped with anger.
Elwin took a step back and bowed his head. “The silent one got out of the cottage and went and freed Dorrie, then brought her back to the cottage. They are both there now.”
Cree looked ready to choke the man. “How does a woman escape a man of your size and girth and why didn’t you return Dorrie to the stocks?”
“I stopped her when she opened the door. I told her that she could not leave, your orders.” He hesitated reluctant to continue, though knew he had no choice. “I can only assume that she got out through the window in the other room. And as for Dorrie,” —he took a breath— “I tried but the silent one tricked me and got into the cottage and latched the door before I could stop her.”
“I’m admiring this woman more and more,” Sloan said though refrained from grinning.
Cree turned on him and Sloan was quick to raise his hands. “You must admit that it takes mettle and a generous heart to help someone who has wronged you.”
“Or foolishness,” Cree said. “Of which I intend to put an end to. Sloan, go get Lila I have no doubt I’ll have need of her. Elwin, you follow me. Dorrie will be returned to the stocks and Dawn... shall learn the consequences of disobeying me.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Dorrie sat at the table, in fresh garments, her hands wrapped around a tankard of hot cider while Dawn hung the wet towels by the fire to dry. Dorrie’s garments were another matter. They would need washing and so Dawn placed them in basket for her to take home.
“I should be doing that,” Dorrie said. “You have done more than enough for me already. And I cannot thank you enough.”
Dawn shook her head and pointed to Dorrie’s tankard, then her mouth and then she smiled and rubbed her stomach and hugged herself.
Dorrie nodded and Dawn was glad to see her smile. “The cider does warm me, though I thought nothing would take the dreaded chill from my bones. It is amazing how when I watch you speak with your hands that I can truly understand what you’re saying.”
Dawn rolled her finger over and over in front of her mouth.
Dorrie giggled. “You talk a lot. That’s funny.”
Dawn lifted the bucket of water now dark from the mud she had washed off Dorrie and went to the door to empty it.
“Let me do that,” Dorrie said but Dawn shook her head before the woman could move.
Dawn tugged at her wet garments.
“Oh, I suppose you’re right. You’re still wet while I’m finally dry and warm. You must fill the bucket again so that I can help you wash up and slip into dry, warm garments.”
Dawn nodded, unlatched the door and lightning struck just as she swung it open. It pierced the distant ground and electrified the sky outlining the dark figure bearing down on her cottage while another figure followed behind him.
She dropped the bucket outside and hurried back into the cottage leaving the door open not doubting in the least that if she didn’t, Cree would break it down. She rushed Dorrie out of the chair and brazenly took a protective stance in front of her.
“Oh my God, he’s here isn’t he?” Dorrie said her voice trembling. And she reached out and grasped Dawn’s hand tightly, as if by holding onto her she could save her from Cree’s wrath.
Dawn kept her eyes on the open door. She did not rescue Dorrie only to see her returned to the stocks. How she would prevent it, she did not know. She only knew that she would stand her ground against Cree, for she did not believe Cree would do her harm.
Dawn heard Dorrie gasp behind her when Cree bowed his head to enter the cottage, the door not tall enough to accommodate his height and his shoulders so wide that they scraped the door frame. His leather tunic dripped rainwater as did his wet hair that appeared as black-as-night and his face wore such a threatening scowl that it had Dorrie inching closer to Dawn.
Dawn raised her chin determined to see Dorrie kept safe and then Elwin entered the cottage and Dawn’s resolve suffered a blow. He was here to take Dorrie to the stocks and how could she, one voiceless woman, stop the large warrior from doing so?