Chapter two - Gilbert

Gilbert looked down into the face of an angel. There was simply no other way to describe the ethereal beauty who had literally just fallen into his arms. Flaming red hair and pale, porcelain complexion. It was difficult to make out details in the darkness of the crumbling east corridor, but enchanting was the word that came to mind. Gently, he shifted her in his arms, working one hand free to stroke back the copper curls from her face.  There was definitely a clammy dampness to her skin. Even through her clothes, he could feel the intense heat emanating off her. Definitely, a raging fever. He almost cursed aloud. She would need constant nursing if she were to survive. And since he was the only one here, it would be up to him to tend to her. Whether he wished to or not. He couldn't allow another woman to die under his care. Perhaps, by saving this stranger, he might atone for his previous failure.

He slid his free arm under her knees and hoisted her up to his chest. Soft, perfectly luscious, well-rounded curves pillowed against hard muscle, making him think of other, less innocent, pursuits. Any other man might find such roundness unattractive. Some might even go so far as to snear and call her plump, but Gilbert had always preferred softly rounded, curvaceous women. And she curved in all the right places. Even if she was rather petite. Not tiny exactly, definitely small, but then, anyone standing beside him looked small.

He towered over the majority of men and dwarfed most women. Many people were leary simply because of his massive proportions. And his inability to speak in his own defense only worsened their opinions. It was just one more reason why he chose an isolated existence. Better to avoid narrow-minded society with its endless misunderstandings and conflicts. Living here in this crumbling castle gave him the peace and quiet he sought. A solitary existence but a safe retreat.

The last thing he expected was to have his solitude shattered by a frantic knock on his door. It was even more surprising to throw open the door and have a lone woman literally fall into his arms. He had watched in dismay as her wide-eyed gaze filled with terror the moment she'd glimpsed his face. Then those brilliant emerald eyes had rolled back into her head, and she fainted dead away. Not that he blamed her.

No doubt, he was a scary sight, his face unshaven, his hair and beard scruffy and unkempt. Anyone would have been frightened to meet up with such a disreputable looking fellow in the darkness. But what was a lone female doing out in the midst of dense forest, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night?

Something drastic had to have happened to drive a little bit of a thing like her away from the comfort of hearth and home. Whether the threat was real or imagined, he couldn't say. Obviously, she had been desperate indeed to beat at the door of this crumbling castle in hopes of shelter. But all this standing around, speculating on the reason, was not going to accomplish anything. If the woman was going to survive, he needed decisive action, now.

With this thought in mind, he whirled, kicking the door shut with his boot heel. The wooden panel made a satisfying thunk as he turned into the path. It was one of his first projects, that door. Little more than a gaping hole when he first arrived, he quickly set to work building and inserting that door. Even fashioning the hardware himself and he was quite happy with the way they all turned out. Not that he was any expert at blacksmithing, but he had done his best with the tools at hand. Careful not to jar the woman in his arms, he leaned down to pluck the lantern from the floor and cautiously proceeded down the winding corridor. He had yet to do more than clear a path through the rubble here in this part of the castle, so he had to step carefully. It was a long way through the majority of the old building to reach the only part he had renovated for himself.

Finally, he reached the end of the hall and pushed open the temporary door he'd rigged up there. It helped to block off drafts from the many cracks and openings in the massive crumbling castle. As he stepped through to the warmth of the kitchen, he blew out a grateful sigh. Everything here was strong and sound. The masonry was solid, the fireplace fully restored and functional. He had even managed to fabricate a few necessary pieces of furniture.

Unfortunately, he had yet to finish building himself a proper bed. He had been making do with a straw-filled pallet laid out on the floor. He had no choice,now, but to gently set his guest down on this humble makeshift bed. In the flickering light of the lantern, her lovely features drew his appreciative gaze. His artistic eye marveled at the pixie-like quality of those softly rounded features, fine porcelain skin, and light-coloured brows. Long lashes brushed those round cheeks, equally as red as the coppery tresses flowing around her pretty face. That pert little nose was speckled with a light dusting of freckles and lent an innocent youthfulness to her face. Full, pink lips pursed in a natural rosebud with the cupid-bow upper lip and plump lower. Youthfully round cheeks, rosy with colour. His fascination turned into frowning concern. Too rosy.

There was no time to hesitate. If her fever raged much higher, she would be done for. He had to get her temperature down and fast. The only way to do that was to strip her naked and bathe her in cool water. She likely would not be happy when she discovered he had stripped her bare, but there was no room here for modesty, decorum be damned.

He quickly got to work unhooking her damp cloak. He tossed it to the side and began working the buttons on her bodice. Finding her dress was soaked at the neck, and both sleeves did not surprise him. The numerous small rips and stains interspersed among old patches did. He took a closer look at her face and hands and noted places where there were scratches. Some were deep enough to bleed. There were even small twigs and leaves caught in her hair with a few cobwebs. Poor thing. She must have gotten lost in the deep brush. What could possibly have driven her out into the woods like that? She must have gotten lost. Probably delirious with the fever. She was likely dehydrated as well. Sympathy welled up inside him, but he pushed it down. It would only prove a distraction.

He forced himself to close off his emotions and remain as detached and clinical as he was able while he worked at removing her clothing. By focusing on his task, he hoped to maintain the emotional distance he needed. But he couldn't fail to notice all those soft curves and his body stirred despite his determination.

Carefully, he removed her dress and then suddenly froze in shocked outrage. Her fair skin was covered in bruises. Her arms, her shoulders, chest, and even her neck showed marks. Most about the size and shape of a mans hand.

It was obvious this young woman had been abused and beaten or at least restrained. No wonder she was frightened half out of her wits. He could think of only one reason a pretty girl like her would be so bruised and battered. He prayed that had not been the case here, but he held little actual hope. With more care, he removed the rest of her garments, looking for any further sign injuries. Thankfully, he found only the tiny scratches and scrapes he'd first noticed on her fair skin. He discerned there was no blood between her thighs. It was a good sign but meaningless if the indignity had been performed at some other time. There was really only one way to ascertain if she had been defiled, and Gilbert refused to cross that line merely to satisfy his own curiosity.

After that, he worked fast and had her stripped to the skin and in no time had her tucked into his bed. Then he fetched a bowl of water and a rag and knelt at her side. He began bathing her skin, stopping now and then to dribbled cool water between her dry lips. For hours, she barely moved. He could not determine if she slept or was unconscious. Then, at about dawn, she began to shiver so violently that her teeth were chattering with cold.

Hastily, he built up the fire in the hearth. She would need heat to combat the chills racking her small body. He wrapped her in every blanket he had and then threw both her cloak and his own over her for good measure.

What else? Perhaps a hot drink to  warm her from the inside. Yes, that made sense. Quickly, he set his kettle on the hearth to heat and made a weak tea, which he spoon-fed her. After that, she lay quietly, and he dozed a while seated there beside her, with his back leaned against the stone wall. He was awakened some time later by her moaning. A glance told him she'd tossed aside all the covers and was thrashing about in delirium. Rolling his eyes with frustration, he fetched fresh water and started wiping her down again.

After that, he parceled his time between bathing her skin to keep her temperature down and bundling her up in every cover he could find when she shivered with fever chills. He lost track of the days. She took up his entire focus. He only left her side long enough to fetch wood and water and tend to his small cluster of animals.

On the third day, after hours of continued shivering, no matter how he tried to warm her, he finally decided there was only one way to guarantee to keep her warm and that was to provide her with his own body heat. She wasn't going to be happy about waking in bed with a strange man, especially after all she had suffered, but there really was no choice. Stripping to the skin, he crawled under the blankets next to her and dragged her into his arms. She snuggled up tight, greedily sucking in his warmth. After a few more moments, her shivering eased. She sighed contentedly and seemed to drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

Gilbert lay there, trying to ignore the presence of a warm, naked woman in his arms. He kept reminding himself he was not a beast, no matter what the outside world thought. He would behave as a gentleman should and keep his baser instincts at bay, even if it killed him. He grasped the fraying reins of his control despite the stirring interest below his belly. The woman was sick and had already experienced abuse at the hands of some unprincipled fiend. She certainly did not need to have another strange man taking liberties. He didn't even know her name.

If she was from the village, she didn't look familiar. Not that he would recognize many of the locals anyway. Even when he did leave the castle for supplies, he only dealt with the same portly merchant whom he had bought the deed for this castle from or his friendly clerk. Interaction with the shopkeeper was gruff, terse, and strictly all business. Gilbert preferred dealing with the overworked clerk. If it wasn't for the fact that Gilbert traded his crafted wares for basic necessities, he would not have dealt with the portly merchant at all. At least the whole transaction was wrapped up quickly.

In a matter of a few hours, he was making the return trek to the ruin he now called home. Which is what he had been doing when she showed up at his door. Lucky thing, too. Between her fainting in his arms and his tending to her constantly, he hadn't had much sleep.

With a yawn, he scanned the dark ceiling overhead and wondered what the woman would think of this place. It was more hovel than castle. Most of the building was in complete ruins. Only the front facade and the kitchens in the rear were in any habitable condition. He had labored long and hard over the last few years just to repair this much. He could easily pick out the places where his patching had repaired the walls. New stone stood out from the old. Even the huge fireplace, no doubt built somewhere back in medieval times, had been repaired with fresh field stones, which stood out against the soot-blackened originals. Thankfully, the chimney was still functional and didn't need more than a good cleaning.

He had often wondered about the noble family who had built this hulking mass of mortar and stone. According to the deed in his possession, the massive stone structure was known as Smollett Keep. Safe to assume the family name was Smollett then. But, who were they? What were they like? What would they think of their home as it lay now, in near ruins? Some later descendants must have disgraced the family name by neglecting the old place. He was certain the shopkeeper hadn't known the old ruin was even habitable. The place was merely a useless, crumbling pile of stones.

He had worked hard to make the place habitable for himself. He had even installed glass in the high, narrow windows. At least the ones here in the kitchen. The rest he boarded over until he could get to them. The corridor leading into the upper rooms of the keep on the opposite end of the kitchen was blocked up with a rough wood panel to ward off the drafts, which funneled through. When he finished clearing the rubbish from the rest of the castle, he intended to remove the blockage. For now, the kitchens served him well just as they were. There was a solid roof overhead and a roaring fire in the hearth, keeping the large room warm and dry. What more did a man need?

The woman snuffled and murmured in her sleep, and he automatically touched her forehead to check for fever. Her skin was warm but not hot, thank goodness. Perhaps the illness had finally run its course. It was too soon to be certain, but he could hope. He took a moment to study her fine features. She wasn't what the snobs of the peerage would consider beautiful. Not in the pale, washed-out fashion of the London set. Her flaming red curls would have set her apart. But her porcelain complexion and delicate features were fine enough to grace any Botticelli masterpiece. He smiled, amused by his own flight of fancy even as his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted off to sleep.