Page 17 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
Maxwell had never given much thought to the lives of those who served him. Neither had he ever thought of the landlord of the local tavern, or the blacksmith, or the washerwoman. All those people had been so far below him on the social scale that he had never seen them as real people; they were mere tools to him, a way of achieving his ends.
“Would you mind having a maidservant?” she asked, grinning mischievously. “Just for today? I have trimmed beards before.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked, chuckling.
“I can’t sing,” she replied promptly, making him laugh. “I sound like a cats’ choir!”
She dropped her sewing and wiped her scissors on a cloth, then stood in front of him and grasped a handful of the unwanted bush of hair in her hand before cutting it off in two snaps of the scissor blades before throwing it into the fire.
After that, she began to gradually cut it closer and closer to his face until he could feel the blades against his skin.
“Shall I take it all off?” she asked.
This was a notion that had not occurred to Maxwell before. He looked at himself in the mirror again.
“I look…younger,” he observed, astonished. “And cleaner. I feel much better.” He hesitated for a few seconds, then said firmly, “Shave it all off, Kenna. I will never grow it again.”
“If you wish.”
She went to fetch some water and coarse soap, which she slathered onto his face with her hands.
Maxwell had never felt anything so glorious as the gentle pressure of her hands and fingernails as they massaged his face, and he had to restrain himself from moaning with pleasure.
Little did he know that Kenna was enjoying the rasping, tickling feeling of his facial hair against her palms just as much. In fact, she could have quite happily massaged his cheeks all day, but now she needed to get back to the task at hand.
Presently, Kenna took out the dagger he had given her, and he froze with fear as he saw her sharpening it on the stone she used for her scissors.
“What are you doing?” he asked at last.
“I don’t keep a razor here in case the odd gentleman happens by for a shave, Ewan,” she told him, laughing. “This is all I have, but dagger or razor, I could still kill you if I wanted to if that is what you are afraid of.”
“I suppose you could,” he agreed, his tension lessening as he heard the laughter in Kenna’s voice.
“I will not kill you if you ask me not to,” she told him. “But you must ask me very nicely.”
“Please don’t kill me,” he said at once, trying not to laugh. “I really would like to live a while longer.”
As he said it, he realized that he meant it. His earlier melancholy had given way to cautious optimism, and it was all because of Kenna.
“Very well, then.”
She bent over him and began to shave him. Initially he was nervous, but after a few moments he relaxed as she wielded the blade skillfully across his skin. It was almost like a caress, and it was made even better by her nearness. He could smell the scent of her, feel the warmth of her body as she bent over him, so close that he could see every pore in her smooth skin and the soft plumpness of her lips.
If he had been more daring, he could have kissed her. The thought was infinitely appealing as she stuck the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her lips while she concentrated. It was an innocent gesture yet deeply arousing. However, he knew that she could cut him very badly, either accidentally or on purpose, if he did anything untoward.
“Please don’t smile,” she asked. “I might cut you, but I am nearly finished.”
Maxwell had not even realized he was smiling, and he sat still until she had completed the last stroke of her makeshift razor, then she wiped his face with a dry cloth and stood back.
She held up the mirror so that he could see his face, and he gasped as he looked at himself.
“I can’t believe it,” he breathed.
He had thought he looked different with a short beard, but now that he was clean-shaven he looked like a completely new man. It had been a long time since he had seen his own cheeks, andnow he rubbed his hands over them, surprised to find the skin was so soft.
He looked up and smiled at her. “I look so different,” he said in wonder. “Thank you, Kenna.”
“You look much better,” she agreed as she put her implements away and picked up her sewing again. “This will be finished soon. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
