The Virgin Bride Arrived With Fear in Her Eyes Mountain Men Said “Darlin, I Don’t Bite Unless”

Chapter 5

Two hours later, the storm arrived.

She had not believed him. The sky had been bright when they left Millbrook. And even as the snow began to fall, she had told herself it was just a flurry, just a dusting, nothing to worry about.

She was wrong.

The wind came first, howling down from the peaks with a fury that nearly tore the coat from her shoulders. Then the snow — not gentle flakes, but sheets of white that reduced visibility to nearly nothing. The temperature dropped so fast she could feel it in her bones, a cold that sank through layers of clothing and fur and settled into her very core.

Elias did not panic. He did not even seem concerned. He simply hunched forward, shielded his eyes with one hand, and kept the wagon moving up the trail.

“One more mile,” he said over the wind. “Hold on.”

Evelyn clung to the seat with frozen fingers, her teeth chattering so hard she could not respond. She had never been so cold in her life. She had never felt so small, so insignificant, so utterly at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

And then, through the swirling white, she saw it.

The cabin emerged from the storm like a ship appearing through fog. It was built of logs, solid and square, with a chimney that promised warmth and windows that glowed with the last light of day. A small barn stood nearby, and beyond that, Evelyn could make out the dark line of a creek.

“Home,” Elias said.

He brought the wagon to a stop in front of the cabin, jumped down, and immediately began unhitching the horse. Evelyn tried to climb down after him, but her legs were so numb she nearly fell. Before she hit the ground, hands caught her. His hands. Large and rough and impossibly gentle.

“Easy.”

He steadied her until her feet were solid beneath her, then released her immediately, as though he knew that being touched was not something she welcomed.

“Inside,” he said. “Door is not locked. I will see to the horse.”

Evelyn stumbled toward the cabin, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped into darkness. The cold inside was only slightly less brutal than the cold outside. She stood shivering in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. Her breath came in invisible clouds. She could make out the shape of a fireplace against one wall, and next to it, a stack of split wood.

Her fingers were so numb she could barely feel them. But she forced herself to move, to kneel beside the hearth, to remember the lessons she had learned from watching servants in her father’s house. She had never started a fire in her life. She had never needed to.

But she was not in Boston anymore. And if she did not figure this out, she would freeze to death.

It took her four attempts. The kindling would not catch. The matches kept breaking in her trembling hands. By the time a small flame finally flickered to life, she was nearly in tears.

“Good.”

She spun around. Elias stood in the doorway, snow covering his shoulders, watching her with those unreadable gray eyes. “I was not sure you would manage,” he said. “You did.”

Evelyn turned back to the fire, feeding it more kindling, watching it grow. The warmth began to seep into the room, and slowly, painfully, feeling returned to her fingers and toes.

Elias moved about the cabin with efficient purpose. He lit oil lamps that hung from the walls, revealing the space around her. It was simple but well-maintained. A large room with a fireplace at one end and a stove at the other. A wooden table with two chairs. A bookshelf filled with more volumes than she had expected. A ladder leading to a loft above.

And on the far side of the room, a door.

“That is your room,” Elias said.

Evelyn stood and crossed to the door. She opened it and found a small bedroom, perhaps ten feet by ten feet. A bed with a quilt made of fabric squares in blues and greens. A small window, now dark with night and swirling snow. A washbasin on a stand with a clean towel beside it.

And on the inside of the door, a lock.

She stared at it.

“I put that in last month,” Elias said from behind her. “Figured you might want it.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brass key. It glinted in the lamplight as he held it out to her. “You keep it.”

Evelyn took the key. It was warm from his body heat, and it sat in her palm like something precious, something that should not exist.

“You will not—” she began, but she could not finish the sentence. She did not know how to ask what she needed to ask.

“No.” His voice was quiet, steady. “I sleep out here by the fire. I will not come into your room unless you invite me.”

Evelyn clutched the key so tightly it bit into her skin. “I do not understand,” she whispered. “Why would you do this? Give me my own room. Give me a key. We are supposed to be married.”

Elias was quiet for a long moment. Then he moved past her and began building the fire in the stove, preparing to cook.

“I needed someone to talk to,” he said finally. “I have been alone too long. I do not need you in my bed. I need you at my table.”

Evelyn stood frozen in the doorway of her room, the key pressed against her heart. No man had ever given her a choice before. No man had ever asked what she wanted, what she needed, what she feared.

But then again, Elias Blackthorn was not like any man she had ever known.