The Scent of Jasmine by Jude Deveraux Page A

saw the money he’d left on the counter, and closed the door behind her. “I once had a pony with a mane the color of your hair and it was my favorite of all of them.”
    Cay looked at the closed door behind her. “Are you just saying these things to get me to do what you want?”
    “Aye, I am, but I’m also telling you the truth, lass,” he said softly. “You have beautiful hair.”
    Smiling, she went down the stairs.
    In the store, she’d felt the looseness of the boy’s clothing, but it wasn’t until she mounted her mare that she really saw how different they were. Instead of having to rely on people or things to help her mount, without a skirt holding her legs together, she put her foot high up into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. She looked down at her legs in the dark breeches and knew that if her elegant mother saw her now she’d faint. Edilean Harcourt would never wear boy’s clothing, no matter what the circumstances. But Cay couldn’t help feeling just a bit more free. She saw that the Scotsman was watching her in curiosity. “I want to see the map to where we’re going,” she said in the firmest voice she could manage.
    She had no idea what she’d said that made him laugh so loud, but she reminded him that they had to be quiet or someone would hear them.
    “I think I’ve made my lot worse,” he said as he reined his horse away and started going south, Cay right behind him.

Eight

    Cay had been careful not to say another word about the Scotsman’s hair or the state of his body until they stopped to camp that night. When she’d lowered her lashes and asked sweetly that they camp by a stream or a river, he’d squinted his eyes, as though to ask what she was up to, but he said nothing, and that’s where they’d stopped. All through their dinner of dried fruit, crackers, and pickles, she’d said nothing.
    It was only after they’d finished eating that she stood up and stared down at him. “It’s time for you to take a bath.”
    “Too cold,” he said without looking up.
    “It must be eighty degrees and you’re a Scot, so how can anything be too cold?”
    “The river current is too strong.”
    She didn’t have to look at the stream to see how gently it was flowing. “I have soft soap for your hair.”
    “I don’t need it.” He still hadn’t looked up at her. “As for you, lass, I’m afraid it’s time to trim your hair. I brought scissors so I won’t need to use my knife, but I think we should get started on it.”
    She knew he was trying to distract her, but it wasn’t working. “You smell so bad that I have to hold my hand over my nose and breathe through my mouth. Your hair is so dirty that I’ve seen cow tails that are cleaner. You stink, and I can’t stand it any longer.”
    Alex kept his eyes straight ahead, looking at the water and the sun low in the sky, and not looking at her. The truth was that he didn’t want to remove the stench of the prison from his body. He knew he was being foolish, but he hadn’t been allowed to bathe since the day he’d married Lilith, and if he washed, he knew it would remove his last connection to her.
    And then there was the fact that he was alone with a young woman whom he was beginning to see as being quite desirable. All in all, he thought it would be better to make her stay away from him. “I like the smell of me.”
    “Well, I don’t. If we’re going to make it to Florida together, then there are going to be times when you need my help, and if you want me to give it to you, then you are going to be clean. ”
    When he just sat there, she turned away from him, went to her horse, and began to saddle it. He took longer than she’d thought he would before he stopped her, but he did.
    “Why didn’t your father turn you over his knee and teach you to obey your elders?”
    “My father would never strike a child, but my mother . . .” She glared at him. “Don’t get me started on my family! There’s the water and the soap