Page 76 of Bride of Mist
He frowned. That could hardly be true. The ale was making her wax poetic.
“The first time I saw you,” she continued, “sleeping there so peacefully, with the moon shining on your hair, your chest rising and falling with each breath, I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“I couldn’t kill you.”
He sighed. He felt the same way about her. For the last few days, he’d tried to convince himself that when it came to protecting his clan, he’d let nothing stand in the way. Not daunting odds. Not a warrior clan on his heels. And definitely not a wee Border lass. He wanted to believe he was capable of cold, calculating negotiations and merciless justice.
But gazing at the lovely, innocent, vulnerable maiden, bathing like an enticing Siren in the dangerous waters before him, he recognized it was all just an empty threat.
That was going to be a problem when Rivenloch stormed the gates of Darragh. He didn’t know if he could put up a convincing bluff, holding Feiyan hostage. Would her clan believe him capable of killing her? Even worse, was it possible shewasinvisible to Rivenloch? A pawn they considered worth the sacrifice?
He didn’t want to think about holding a blade to Feiyan’s throat. Indeed, at the moment, he’d prefer to leave a trail of kisses there.
As if she’d read his mind, she tipped her head back, baring her throat. Then she swabbed her neck with the dripping rag.
“I’m glad we’re going to be working together,” she said.
“What do ye mean, workin’ together?”
“We make a great team.”
Theydidmake a great team. The way they’d outmaneuvered the thieves in the woods—two against five—had been masterful.
But he couldn’t ally with a lass whose clan harbored outlaws. And until he verified what had happened at Kirkoswald, the mac Girics remained the most likely suspects.
At that moment, the lass lifted her leg out of the water and began rubbing at her shin. It took all his willpower not to seize the rag from her and do the task himself. He would have used more leisurely, languid, seductive strokes. He would have made her shiver with anticipation as he caressed the length of her leg, growing closer and closer to…
“Stealth is naturally the best option,” she murmured.
For one startling instant, he feared he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.
Then she continued. “When we arrive at Darragh, we don’t announce our presence. Not at first. That way we can gather information from the servants, crofters, merchants.”
He was only half listening. Clearing his throat and adjusting his braies, he rose from his crouch and limped back to the chair by the fire. Perhaps the gentler flames would somehow cool his fiery lust.
As she chattered on, he removed his boots, studying them with an intensity normally reserved for chess.
“Servants always have the best information,” she said. “They’re invisible, like me.”
He suddenly wished shewereinvisible. Even though he was examining the cracked heel of his boot, she was there in his peripheral vision, lifting her other leg with casual abandon, as if she didn’t possess the limbs of a goddess.
Meanwhile she continued to think aloud. “Someone has to know something about who did this. Maybe a squire. Or a stable lad.”
She’d finished washing her legs now. She was sitting forward with her arms around her knees, tapping thoughtfully at her lip. At least, that was what heimaginedshe was doing, since all of his attention was on the spot of dirt on the toe of his boot.
“And as far as your brother…” she prompted.
“Gaufrid.” The name came out of him like the croak of a frog.
“Aye, Gaufrid. As laird, he no doubt has a manservant. A steward. A mistress. Someone who may have overheard an important conversation.”
Without warning, she rose from the bath, like Aphrodite from the sea. It took all his willpower to continue scouring his boot.
“I’ve dawdled long enough,” she declared. “’Tis your turn.”
He dared not watch as she emerged from the bath in all her naked glory. Soon afterward, to his relief, she shimmied into her shift. By then, he may have scrubbed his boot leather as thin as parchment.
