Page 15 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
“No,” he replied as he looked out of the window, then he turned and faced her, looking uncomfortable. “Well, yes, Kenna. I know it sounds ungrateful, but I am beginning to feel very confined.I must leave, if only out of consideration for you. I don’t want to make any more trouble for you. You are taking too many chances.”
“Let me worry about that,” she replied. “You must concentrate on standing still while I alter these clothes. It will take a good few hours, but you cannot go out looking like a scarecrow. You will have to stay here tonight ’til I am finished.”
“Are you sure?” He was doubtful.
Kenna knelt down awkwardly in front of him and began to pin tucks into the trousers. It did not take her long to realize that she would have to unpick the seams to take in the width, so she pinned them so that they fitted his girth properly. She was uncomfortably aware that his body was reacting the way a man’s usually did to the touch of an attractive woman and worked as quickly as she could so that she could move on to the shirt.
To stick the pins in, Kenna had to brush against the muscles of his thigh, and she could feel the firmness of his flesh even through the fabric. There was so much power there! She felt herself almost melting with desire, and her face was beginning to flush with heat before she stood up and immediately turned away from him.
“Take them off and wrap yourself in a blanket,” she ordered.
Maxwell was glad to do so. Ever since Kenna had knelt down in front of him, her light touch had begun to arouse him, and he was immensely relieved when she turned her back on him. It was at times like these that he felt that, despite his strength, he was helpless before the charms of a woman, especially one as lovely as Kenna.
When Kenna sat down on her bed and began to sew, he paced over to the window and looked out. This little room did not have a well-favored view, and it was dark, so all that was visible were the lights of the village.
Maxwell was not a great drinker, but at that moment he could have killed for a good bottle of wine. The back of his throat tingled at the thought, and he sighed with longing.
“What is wrong?” Kenna asked, looking up from her needlework. She was sitting by a lantern that brought out the gold in her brown wavy hair, and her eyes were concerned as she looked at him.
“Nothing,” he replied, smiling a little too brightly.
“I can see that there is,” she observed. “You look sad.”
“I am going to sound very ungrateful, but I would love a glass of wine.”
He turned to look out of the window again, thinking of his sister, Lindsey. She loved her wine and was an expert on the subject. How he wished he could see her again, but no doubt she would be yet another of those with whom he had fallen out of favor. Maxwell had not seen her or any of his other relatives and friends since his flight from Invercree.
“I am sorry, but I cannot help you with that,” Kenna said regretfully. “The wine steward likes me, but not enough to make me presents of his best vintages. I too like a glass of claret, but I prefer port.”
Maxwell grinned. “I imagine many of the young men around here like you,” he observed, then realized the tone of what he had said. “I am sorry. I only meant to pay you a compliment.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then she brightened up. “Sometimes the laird and lady leave a half-finished bottle on the table after their meal. Usually the servants get it, but I can try to steal one away.”
Her emerald eyes glinted with excitement at the prospect.
Maxwell felt wretched suddenly. What if she was caught?
“Don’t do that,” he said hastily. “Not for me.”
7
“Why not?” Kenna asked, perplexed. “You said you liked it.”
“I do.” His voice was sad as he met her eyes again, noting the eagerness in them. “Let the servants have their little treat. I will drink wine again sometime, I am sure.” To change the subject, he looked at her sewing. “How are you getting on?”
She grinned as she cut down an entire seam with a pair of shears that looked like lethal weapons.
“There is a lot more work here than I expected,” she admitted. “But fortunately I have been doing this for years, and I am used to it. In fact, I enjoy it.”
“Who taught you?” he asked curiously, watching her nimble fingers as she joined one side of the seam to the other. They were long, slender, and capable, and she was working so quickly that his eyes could hardly keep up with her.
“My mother,” she answered. “She is an expert. She has even made dresses for milady, and you should see her embroidery!”
Her voice was full of pride. She was working while she spoke and was so speedy that in no time at all the seam she had been working on was perfectly finished. Despite being done in haste, it was as neat as though it had been done by a professional seamstress.
While she worked on the other seam, a comfortable silence descended, and Maxwell continued to watch Kenna while she sewed. It was a pleasure to do so since she obviously loved what she was doing so much that she hummed a little tune, and there was a tiny smile on her face.
Suddenly Kenna looked up.
