Page 80 of Desire's Ransom
Ryland hopped up to his feet and held out a hand to assist her. Temair didn’t much feel like getting up, but his outstretched hand and his bright smile were impossible to resist.
She glanced around the camp. The Sabbath was often the busiest day of the week for the woodkerns. Friar Brian and young Fergus were packing up satchels full of goods to distribute to the various households. Lady Mor served up bread to break everyone’s fast and began grinding grain for the supper loaves. Six of the men took off for theloughwith fishing poles. Sorcha started brewing a new batch of ale. And Aife slung a basket of dried herbs over her arm, preparing to spy upon thetuath,which had now become a daily task.
Ryland noticed the activity as well. “What can I do?” At Temair’s astonished blink, he shrugged and explained. “I may as well be of some use.”
“’Tis my turn for laundry. You could come along and help.” She was hesitant to leave him behind in the camp, not because she didn’t trust him, but because she didn’t trust Lady Mor with him.
“Laundry?” She could see he was surprised by that.
“Livin’ in the wood doesn’t make us savages.” She arched a brow. “Besides, ’tis a skill everyone should learn, noblemen and paupers.”
She loaded him up with bedding and bundled all the spare clothing and odd rags that needed washing. Then she grabbed her laundry bat and led him to the stream and the spot where they’d first met.
The basket she’d forgotten was still there, though some opportunistic animal had tipped it over and eaten all the blackberries.
She untied the bundle and dumped the clothing by the streamside. “The most important thing is not to lose the laundry in the current.”
She showed him how to separate the smaller items like stockings and rags and to wash them first, scrubbing them by hand on a stone and setting them to dry on bushes. To her amusement, he was an apt student, hanging on her every word as if she were teaching him the finer points of swordplay.
When they got to theléines, she demonstrated the laundry bat. Soon he was beating the dust from the garments, stirring them in the current, and draping them over hazel branches to dry as if he’d done it all his life.
“Ye keep this up and ye’ll make someone a good wife,” she teased.
He grinned back. “I’m fairly sure my bride-to-be has a staff of laundresses to wash her clothing.”
That had been true at one time. Temair had even had a maid to help dress her. But living with the woodkerns, she’d quickly learned to be self-sufficient.
“What about you?” he asked. “Are you ever going to make someone a good wife?”
He’d said it casually, but it startled her enough to make her lose her grip on theléineshe’d been washing. The linen garment dropped into the water and started to float away. She made a successful grab for it, but she had to step into the stream, soaking herbrogs.
“Shite.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” She didn’t believe him. His eyes were dancing, and he sounded very insincere.
Shewasupset. She wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Until the events of the last few days, marriage had seemed like a distant possibility. But with a bridegroom appointed to the O’Keeffe heiress, her father setting up an imposter, and Temair mustering funds for an army to battle for her legacy, a wedding seemed imminent.
Of course, he knew none of that. His question was perfectly innocent.
“I’m not upset,” she lied, giving the last stocking a final swish in the water and hanging it over the long branch of a hazel. “I’m just in no hurry to get married.”
That part was true.
Ryland considered her answer. If GraywasTemair, he could see why she would say that. Cormac O’Keeffe wasn’t exactly a shining example of a good husband and wedded bliss.
But if she was Temair, she would also know thatRylandwas her betrothed. Did she really find the prospect of being married to him so revolting?
Rylanddidn’t. Not at all. Though it surprised him to admit he was attracted to an outlaw, it was true. He was quite fond of the wayward lass.
He wished there was some way to discover for certain whether Gray was in fact Temair.
As soon as he’d realized where she was leading him, it occurred to him that he was in a position to escape. For a wild moment, he’d considered it. He wouldn’t even have had to break his oath, for she’d given him permission to leave the camp. Since she’d taken him to the log bridge where they’d first met, he was close enough to the road to find his way back to O’Keeffe.
But the niggling doubt about Gray’s identity and his certainty that his men would save the day made Ryland decide to leave things as they were. If she didn’t want to reveal who she was, she must have a reason. The last thing he wanted to do was to spook her into doing something unpredictable that would endanger the whole plan.
He leaned against the hazel trunk and crossed his arms. “Surely you’ll want to marry eventually.”
“Why should I?” She dunked the lastléinein the stream, stirring it with the laundry bat.
