A wife being one of them.
Sara was not the type of woman he would have chosen as a wife, and yet he found she had many fine qualities, honesty one of them. He knew where he stood with her. She didn’t play him for a fool. She was outright in her intentions and challenges, and confident with herself.
She had reminded him last night there would be no lovemaking between them. They would simply seal their vows and make their marriage official, no more, no less. That suited him fine, though strangely, it also annoyed him, when he should have felt relieved.
It had been almost five months since Alaina’s death, her passing still fresh in his mind and heart. He hadn’t given thought to finding love, which was why it had been so easy to wed Sara. Love had nothing to do with their union . It had been a practical decision.
So why be annoyed over the fact that it was simply sex they would share? He just needed to be done with it, and what did it matter how, when, where, or who decided what?
A crack of thunder startled his horse, and Cullen’s troubled thoughts were diverted to dealing with the skittish stallion. After he resumed control, he realized how dark the sky had grown and knew it would be only minutes before the sky opened up and drenched them.
“We should find shelter,” Sara called out to him.
He nodded. “Jeremy mentioned that there were many abandoned cottages not far off the path.”
“Which way?” Sara asked.
Cullen felt the first drop of rain splat on his head. “You choose.”
Sara smiled and turned her mare toward a path that could barely be spied through the overgrown debris.
Cullen followed and, surprisingly, they emerged into a clearing where a tiny cottage sat snuggled by two large trees. They quickly secured the horses under the canopy of thick branches and made a dash for shelter.
The place was cold and empty, not a stick of furniture in the one room, and the hearth so small it could barely hold one log.
“I’ll gather what firewood I can,” Cullen said after dumping his rolled pack on the earthen floor. “Leave the window shutter open until I get back or it will be pitch-black in here.”
Sara agreed with a nod and shut the door behind him.
Cullen snatched up broken branches and sticks with a sense of annoyance. The trip thus far had seen too many delays. He was eager to get to his son. He had purposely avoided dwelling on his child, knowing it would do him little good to think about it, and besides, Sara had said Alexander was safe, and he trusted that she told him the truth. He had to; he had no other choice.
His concern now was to settle this bargain with Sara, for then he could give his full attention to his son, whom he ached to hold in his arms and never, ever let go. He had sworn to a dying Alaina that he would always keep their son safe, and he would keep his promise.
Cullen returned to the small cottage, dumped the broken branches and twigs in the small hearth, and set the wood to burning with a grumble and a groan.
“Something troubles you?” Sara asked, sitting cross-legged on the blanket she had spread on the ground.
“Delays,” he barked. “There have been too many delays.”
Sara shrugged, toying with a stick in her hand. “Un-avoidable, and besides, we reach the market by tomorrow, and three days from there we arrive at my home.”
Cullen reached for the stick in her hands. His fingertips touched hers and for a moment neither one of them moved.
Then ever so slowly Sara stroked her finger along his. “You are a strong man.”
Cullen snatched his hand away, the jolt from the innocent touch sending a shot of heat through him that landed tight in his loins. He turned, ignoring her remark and seeing to the fire, though he certainly didn’t need any more heat.
Damn, but he truly did need a woman if a simple touch fired his loins so quickly.
He almost jumped when Sara hunched down beside him in front of the fire, her side squashed to his.
“The heat feels good,” she said, holding her hands out to the flames.
He nodded, tossing in the last of the sticks, and drew in a breath, which he immediately regretted. The scent of her invaded his senses like an unexpected punch to the gut. She smelled of rich earth, pungent pine, and a hint of fresh rain, a potent combination, and damn if he could ignore it.
But why should he? She obviously was working her wiles on him, so why not take control of the situation and have it his way?
He turned, slipped his arm around her and dropped back on the blanket with her, his lips going for hers.
He was shocked when his lips met her hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Giving you what you obviously want,” he snapped.
“You thought I wanted you to kiss me?”
“You touched my finger, hunched beside me—”