gown she snatched up so soon as his gaze lit upon its freshly-laundered folds.
“Aye, you have caught me at my washing,” she admitted, indicating a steaming washtub Kenneth hadn’t yet noticed.
“This is my best kirtle,” she said, hanging the gown on a wall peg. “My other one is yet in yon wash kettle—so dinna think I greet every man who darkens my door quite so . . . invitingly!”
Coming close again, she smoothed a hand over his groin. “But you, sir . . . ahhh, let us just say, I am pleased you caught me thusly—even if you do not seem quite so
eager
as those who usually come to call!”
Kenneth froze at her touch, trying not to grimace.
She
lifted a brow . . . and squeezed.
“O-o-oh, but you are a fine-made man,” she purred. “Mayhap if you see what a well-made woman I am, you will grow even finer!”
The words spoken, she rid herself of her undershift and stood before him naked and glorious, her creamy skin luminescent in the candle glow, her bountiful curves and the dark triangle of her womanhood, dangerously apparent.
But before he could look too closely, a sudden blast of wind shook the cottage, sweeping in through the smoke hole in the ceiling. Eddies of peat ash swirled into the air—right into Kenneth’s face!
“By the Rood!” he spluttered, spitting out ash and rubbing his eyes.
“Och, mercy me!” Gunna of the Glen grabbed her undergown, dabbed at his face.
A calculated move, to be sure, for with every circular rub of the cloth, her full breasts brushed his chest and the lush thicket of her female curls teased across his thigh.
“Here, hold tight lest you overbalance afore you can see again,” she urged, seizing his hand and pressing his fingers to an unmistakable damp and silken heat. “A firm grip just
there
and—”
“Nay, I see fine already,” Kenneth blurted, extricating himself.
Quick as winking, he nabbed the undershift and whirled it around her shoulders, covering her breasts if not the vee of curls so evident between her shapely thighs.
“Och, I see as well.” She looked at him, her face coloring. “So you did not come here for the reason I’d expected?”
Kenneth winced at the hurt in her eyes. But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t salve her feelings at the cost of another’s.
“Och, lass, ’tis true enough I came here desiring your . . . attentions,” he admitted. “But, see you, somewhere along the way, it came to me that I’d best seek such comforts elsewhere.”
Gunna of the Glen eyed him, comprehension replacing the hurt on her face.
A wistful softness that made her appear younger than her years, and surprisingly . . . vulnerable.
“You are a very beautiful woman,” Kenneth spoke true and reached to smooth his knuckles down her cheek. “So desirable that, were I made otherwise, I would wish to lie with you for days and days, but—”
“Your heart belongs to another,” she finished for him, catching his hand and kissing his fingers before he could lift them from her cheek.
“Dinna fash yourself,” she said quickly. “I once knew that kind of love myself—with my late husband, the saints rest his soul. ’Tis missing him and what we shared, that keeps my door opened to those who might bring me a night’s forgetful solace!”
Kenneth looked at her, her admission touching him deeply, making him ache for something he’d long ago stopped believing in.
Something he wanted to trust in again.
If only he could.
“Your needs are well met?” he asked, pushing thoughts of
her
from his mind—especially thoughts of the might and status of her father.
What such a man might think of him.
But the widow was smiling at him,
now
a welcome distraction. “I live in amity with everyone in these parts, ne’er you worry,” she said, donning her undergown. “See you, bitter feuds and reprisals are always forgotten when men turn their minds to . . . other things!”
“I am glad to hear it,” Kenneth said, moving ever so tactfully
“Aye, you have caught me at my washing,” she admitted, indicating a steaming washtub Kenneth hadn’t yet noticed.
“This is my best kirtle,” she said, hanging the gown on a wall peg. “My other one is yet in yon wash kettle—so dinna think I greet every man who darkens my door quite so . . . invitingly!”
Coming close again, she smoothed a hand over his groin. “But you, sir . . . ahhh, let us just say, I am pleased you caught me thusly—even if you do not seem quite so
eager
as those who usually come to call!”
Kenneth froze at her touch, trying not to grimace.
She
lifted a brow . . . and squeezed.
“O-o-oh, but you are a fine-made man,” she purred. “Mayhap if you see what a well-made woman I am, you will grow even finer!”
The words spoken, she rid herself of her undershift and stood before him naked and glorious, her creamy skin luminescent in the candle glow, her bountiful curves and the dark triangle of her womanhood, dangerously apparent.
But before he could look too closely, a sudden blast of wind shook the cottage, sweeping in through the smoke hole in the ceiling. Eddies of peat ash swirled into the air—right into Kenneth’s face!
“By the Rood!” he spluttered, spitting out ash and rubbing his eyes.
“Och, mercy me!” Gunna of the Glen grabbed her undergown, dabbed at his face.
A calculated move, to be sure, for with every circular rub of the cloth, her full breasts brushed his chest and the lush thicket of her female curls teased across his thigh.
“Here, hold tight lest you overbalance afore you can see again,” she urged, seizing his hand and pressing his fingers to an unmistakable damp and silken heat. “A firm grip just
there
and—”
“Nay, I see fine already,” Kenneth blurted, extricating himself.
Quick as winking, he nabbed the undershift and whirled it around her shoulders, covering her breasts if not the vee of curls so evident between her shapely thighs.
“Och, I see as well.” She looked at him, her face coloring. “So you did not come here for the reason I’d expected?”
Kenneth winced at the hurt in her eyes. But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t salve her feelings at the cost of another’s.
“Och, lass, ’tis true enough I came here desiring your . . . attentions,” he admitted. “But, see you, somewhere along the way, it came to me that I’d best seek such comforts elsewhere.”
Gunna of the Glen eyed him, comprehension replacing the hurt on her face.
A wistful softness that made her appear younger than her years, and surprisingly . . . vulnerable.
“You are a very beautiful woman,” Kenneth spoke true and reached to smooth his knuckles down her cheek. “So desirable that, were I made otherwise, I would wish to lie with you for days and days, but—”
“Your heart belongs to another,” she finished for him, catching his hand and kissing his fingers before he could lift them from her cheek.
“Dinna fash yourself,” she said quickly. “I once knew that kind of love myself—with my late husband, the saints rest his soul. ’Tis missing him and what we shared, that keeps my door opened to those who might bring me a night’s forgetful solace!”
Kenneth looked at her, her admission touching him deeply, making him ache for something he’d long ago stopped believing in.
Something he wanted to trust in again.
If only he could.
“Your needs are well met?” he asked, pushing thoughts of
her
from his mind—especially thoughts of the might and status of her father.
What such a man might think of him.
But the widow was smiling at him,
now
a welcome distraction. “I live in amity with everyone in these parts, ne’er you worry,” she said, donning her undergown. “See you, bitter feuds and reprisals are always forgotten when men turn their minds to . . . other things!”
“I am glad to hear it,” Kenneth said, moving ever so tactfully
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