looks very cold.”
“Aye, verra cold, but there are ways to warm ye quickly once ye are oot.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. She decided not to tell him the wild imaginings going on in her mind. “How many ways are there?”
“An infinite number, lass… numerous as the stars in yer eyes.”
She understood how a flower must feel the first time it unfurls its petals.
“’Tis good ye are no’ a coy lass, I am warmed by the bloom of desire in yer eyes. Do ye prefer to remove yer clothing and bathe yersel’, or do ye want to leave some o’ yer clothing on and let me wash the blood off of ye?”
Well, if that isn’t the proverbial between a rock and a hard place, I don’t know what is. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice to me.”
“’Tis borne of necessity, lass, for ye canna stand on yer own, so either way, I will have to help ye. Soaking yer ankle in the cold water will ease the pain and help the swelling.” He pulled the surcoat over her head, and she felt a cool waft of air wrap itself around her.
“What if you put me on that flat boulder jutting out over the water?” she said pointing, “I can sit there and soak my foot. Do you have some sort of cloth or a kerchief I can use to wash off the blood?”
“Aye,” he said and placed her on the rock, his surcoat beside her, and then fetched a cloth from his pouch.
By the time he returned, she was shivering from the cold, but it did ease the pain. He wet the cloth and bathed her face. She had never known face washing could be so sensual, and when he paused long enough to trace the shape of her lips with his thumb, her pounding heart kept tempo with her shallow breaths. Inside, everything felt warm and liquid. He attended to a couple of scratches on her arms and wiped the dried path of blood from her legs.
She would never have believed something so innocent could be so arousing. To have a man touch her like this—there was something undeniably sensual about it. She leaned back on her arms, her head back, her eyes closed, until she suddenly became aware that he was no longer washing her legs. His hand was resting warmly on her left thigh.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her, but nothing in the clear blue depth of his gaze gave any hint as to what he was thinking. But his hand was warm, his touch light, and it was terribly erotic.
“I think you’ve gotten it all,” she said, her voice low and breathless. “My ankle is feeling better, but my foot is going to freeze.” She pulled her foot out of the water and felt everything turn liquid inside as he began to dry her foot with his plaid. Afraid it might come unwrapped and fearing her reaction, she squeezed her eyes shut.
His hand stilled, and its warmth seeped into her skin. “Have ye never seen a naked man before today, lass?”
“I saw Michelangelo’s David.” Isobella, you’re an idiot!
He studied her closely. “I am beginning to think ye havena the wit to be a spy.”
She was frantically searching for a way to respond when his horse saved the day by coming up to Alysandir and giving him a shove with his nose. Alysandir picked up the surcoat and pulled it over her head and carried her back to her previous perch before he gathered his clothes and disappeared. While he was away, she put on her shoes. A pair of athletic socks had never felt so good.
He returned a short while later. “What ye witnessed earlier was brutal, and I ken I have washed away only the bluid and no’ the memory. Ye fear me now, no?”
She crooked her head to one side to better look at him. “No, I don’t, but I am in awe,” she said, with sincere honesty. “It was both the most spectacularly beautiful thing I have ever seen and the most barbaric.”
She saw the pained expression in his eyes and knew that whoever the dead men were, killing them was not something he wanted to do or enjoyed. To the contrary, it seemed to have subdued him considerably. He was not only a man of
“Aye, verra cold, but there are ways to warm ye quickly once ye are oot.”
She didn’t doubt that for a moment. She decided not to tell him the wild imaginings going on in her mind. “How many ways are there?”
“An infinite number, lass… numerous as the stars in yer eyes.”
She understood how a flower must feel the first time it unfurls its petals.
“’Tis good ye are no’ a coy lass, I am warmed by the bloom of desire in yer eyes. Do ye prefer to remove yer clothing and bathe yersel’, or do ye want to leave some o’ yer clothing on and let me wash the blood off of ye?”
Well, if that isn’t the proverbial between a rock and a hard place, I don’t know what is. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice to me.”
“’Tis borne of necessity, lass, for ye canna stand on yer own, so either way, I will have to help ye. Soaking yer ankle in the cold water will ease the pain and help the swelling.” He pulled the surcoat over her head, and she felt a cool waft of air wrap itself around her.
“What if you put me on that flat boulder jutting out over the water?” she said pointing, “I can sit there and soak my foot. Do you have some sort of cloth or a kerchief I can use to wash off the blood?”
“Aye,” he said and placed her on the rock, his surcoat beside her, and then fetched a cloth from his pouch.
By the time he returned, she was shivering from the cold, but it did ease the pain. He wet the cloth and bathed her face. She had never known face washing could be so sensual, and when he paused long enough to trace the shape of her lips with his thumb, her pounding heart kept tempo with her shallow breaths. Inside, everything felt warm and liquid. He attended to a couple of scratches on her arms and wiped the dried path of blood from her legs.
She would never have believed something so innocent could be so arousing. To have a man touch her like this—there was something undeniably sensual about it. She leaned back on her arms, her head back, her eyes closed, until she suddenly became aware that he was no longer washing her legs. His hand was resting warmly on her left thigh.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her, but nothing in the clear blue depth of his gaze gave any hint as to what he was thinking. But his hand was warm, his touch light, and it was terribly erotic.
“I think you’ve gotten it all,” she said, her voice low and breathless. “My ankle is feeling better, but my foot is going to freeze.” She pulled her foot out of the water and felt everything turn liquid inside as he began to dry her foot with his plaid. Afraid it might come unwrapped and fearing her reaction, she squeezed her eyes shut.
His hand stilled, and its warmth seeped into her skin. “Have ye never seen a naked man before today, lass?”
“I saw Michelangelo’s David.” Isobella, you’re an idiot!
He studied her closely. “I am beginning to think ye havena the wit to be a spy.”
She was frantically searching for a way to respond when his horse saved the day by coming up to Alysandir and giving him a shove with his nose. Alysandir picked up the surcoat and pulled it over her head and carried her back to her previous perch before he gathered his clothes and disappeared. While he was away, she put on her shoes. A pair of athletic socks had never felt so good.
He returned a short while later. “What ye witnessed earlier was brutal, and I ken I have washed away only the bluid and no’ the memory. Ye fear me now, no?”
She crooked her head to one side to better look at him. “No, I don’t, but I am in awe,” she said, with sincere honesty. “It was both the most spectacularly beautiful thing I have ever seen and the most barbaric.”
She saw the pained expression in his eyes and knew that whoever the dead men were, killing them was not something he wanted to do or enjoyed. To the contrary, it seemed to have subdued him considerably. He was not only a man of
Similar Books
