Page 34 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
Elinor nodded and inched towards the edge of the bed.
“Yer dress is dry,” Ciaran added, shifting the rest of the meat dangling over the fire. “Ye can wear it now if ye want.”
Elinor looked at the dress on the other side of the fireplace. It was hung neatly and looked like it had been washed, even though she knew it wasn’t. She rose to her feet and headed to it anyway. Her eyes searched it for any kind of defect, something she may not have noticed during the storm, but she found none.
“I suppose I have ye to thank for this, do I?”
Ciaran shrugged. “I only did what any reasonable man would have done in such a situation.”
“Ye think this is what any reasonable man would have done?”
“Is it nae?”
“Nay,” Elinor responded, a hint of finality in her voice.
She grabbed her dress and headed back to the bed. Ciaran still had his back turned to her, but from the way he was handling the meat, she knew he would step away from the fireplace soon.
“I am about to change. Dinnae turn around until I tell ye.”
“Aye, M’Lady,” he returned, his voice curt.
Elinor dropped the towel, and without rushing—or at least thinking she was hastening—she put on her dress.
“Ye can turn around now,” she said. “There is something I need ye to help me with. I cannae tie the laces at the back of me dress by meself.”
Ciaran nodded. “Of course.”
Elinor turned her back to him, and soon, he had tied the laces and secured her dress.
“Have ye done this before?” she asked as she sat back on the edge of the bed, before the stool, staring at the roasted cuts of meat.
“A few times,” he admitted.
There was a glint in his eyes. A kind of anticipation. He was waiting for her to ask which women he had done that with.
Elinor refused to ask the question. Instead, she picked a cut of meat and bit into it.
Surprisingly, it was well roasted. Not that she would admit it in front of him. So she decided to change the subject.
“Ye think the lairds in the castle think that we both died out here in the woods?”
“I think the lairds in the castle are weak goats who daenae deserve as little as a glance from ye,” he huffed.
Elinor bit into another cut of meat. Then, she looked up and saw him placing more meat into another plate.
“I suppose ‘tis only fair that ye serve yerself as well,” she remarked.
“On the contrary, M’Lady, this isnae for me. ‘Tis for ye.”
Elinor almost choked as her head snapped back up. “For me?”
“Aye. In case ye’re still hungry.”
“And when do ye plan to eat?”
Ciaran leaned back against the wall. “I shall eat whatever remains when ye’re full.”
Suddenly, warmth spread through her.
