Page 19 of Bride of Mist
She studied his clothing. Somewhere along the way, he’d discarded his armor, his shield, and his helm. What remained was practical, but well-made, not at all the attire she’d expect of a feral madman.
His boots were of finely tooled black leather. His jeweled dagger was tucked into a sheath secured with a leather tie around his waist. His quilted black gambeson fit him closely, hugging his broad chest and clinging to his hips, split at the legs and extending just past his knees. Beneath his gambeson, the loose folds of a muted black-and-grey plaid hung nearly to the ground. And knotted around it all, to her exasperation, was her own sword belt and her preciousshoudao.
His gaze was pensive as he stared into the water. Occasionally his brow would crease and his eyes would dim. Was he feeling the weight of guilt for what he’d done? Or only wishing something would nibble at his line?
Shewished something would nibble at his line. She intended to let him land a nice, fat trout before she dispatched him and stole his supper.
A half hour later, he still hadn’t caught anything and decided to change his strategy. He stepped onto the boulder to attack the pool from a different angle.
Feiyan settled back against the trunk of the oak. Now she had an even clearer view of him as he hunkered down atop the rock with the sun shining on his face.
She tried to force his countenance into that of a villain.
The locks slashing across his neck and falling in reckless tangles over his brow were as black as sin. His hollow cheeks and square chin were grave-grim. His nose was sharp, like a reaper’s scythe. His brow was as dark as death. His eyes reminded her of a deep loch—bright and blue on the surface, with murky and menacing currents beneath. When he’d spoken before, his lips had twisted into a wry, wicked curve. And his voice with its slight Highland cadence had rolled out like thunder, low and threatening.
Yet no matter how she tried to mold mac Darragh’s features into those of Lucifer himself, she couldn’t deny the fact that if he was a devil, he was a handsome devil indeed.
“There ye are.”
His sudden words nearly startled her out of the tree.
But he wasn’t speaking to her. He was staring intently at the water. Something was tugging at his line. As it bent the branch of his fishing pole, he came to his feet. Feiyan held her breath, as eager ashewas for a fish to take the bait.
It continued pulling on the line, and Feiyan could see by the bend in the rod it must be of a considerable size. She tightened her fists, as if she could will the man to set the hook quickly before his catch swam away.
Finally he did, giving his wrist a quick, firm jerk. Man and fish grappled for a few moments. But when he tried to pull the trout from the water, it proved too heavy for the pole. The last foot of the branch snapped off.
While Feiyan watched in dismay, the line and the fish began to escape downstream.
“Och, nay, ye don’t!” he shouted.
He was having none of that. He charged into the water—gambeson, boots, and all—and grabbed the broken branch with its line still attached before it could float away. Hand over hand, he hauled in his prize, battling the current, stumbling over the rocks of the riverbed, and drenching himself in the process.
But persistence won the day. He finally trapped the slippery, flopping fish against his gambeson, crowing in triumph. The trout, almost as long as his chest was wide, would make a decent meal.
She grinned in response.
But her smile faded fast when she remembered her purpose. This was the man she meant to kill. She shouldn’t be smiling. Bloody hell. She shouldn’t be feeling…anything…for him.
He lumbered forward through the current, hampered by his soaking gambeson. He knocked the trout against the boulder to kill it swiftly before tossing it onto the grassy bank. When he emerged dripping from the water, Feiyan’s first thought was that he looked more like magnificent Neptune than wicked Lucifer.
That was before he removed her sword belt, tossing it onto the bank with as little care as he’d given the fish.
Damn the lout! That was a valuable sword. If he didn’t dry off the steel blade and rub it with sheep fat, it would rust.
While she silently fumed over his callous mistreatment of her priceless weapon, he unknotted the ties of his gambeson and wrenched the sopping coat from his shoulders.
Her breath caught. The sheer, wet linen of his white leine left little to the imagination. His well-muscled chest looked as if it was carved of marble, smooth and perfect.
Draping his gambeson over a low-hanging alder limb, he grabbed the branch for balance and tugged off his boots.
When his hands fell to the leather belt holding up his drenched and dragging plaid, Feiyan squeezed her eyes shut.
She couldn’t keep them closed for long. When she at last dared take a peek, his plaid was stretched out over a bush to dry, and he was strutting about in nothing but his soaking leine, which barely reached his knees.
Feiyan swallowed hard.
Not because she’d never glimpsed a half-naked man. On the contrary, she saw clansmen in various states of undress all the time in her parents’ armory.
