Page 34 of Laird of Smoke
What had she done wrong?Had she been too aggressive?Was she supposed to be still?She knew nothing about kissing.
Then he cupped her chin, tilted his head, and explained, “I’ve ne’er kissed anyone with a beard before.”
Relief melted into a smile.“I’ve ne’er kissedanyonebe—” The words were out before she could stop them.
His brow creased.“What?”
She hadn’t meant to confess that.She was supposed to be a lady.SurelyLady Aillennwould have had many suitors.
“I mean,” she amended with a blush, “thepilgrimhas ne’er kissed anyone.”
“Ah,” he said.But he didn’t look like he believed her explanation.“Shall we change out o’ this holy garb ere someone thinks a pair o’ errant monks are indulgin’ in carnal temptation?”
She knew he was jesting.But those two words had never sounded so tempting as they did now on his lips.
He was right.They needed to change their identities to throw off any possible pursuers.Besides, the mule-hair beard was not only unsavory.It was getting itchy.Perhaps the painstaking process of removing it would erase any sensual, intrusive thoughts.
She gulped.“Aye.My satchel is in the copse ahead.”Then she remembered.“But I’ll need to find verjuice to remove the beard.”The acid would help dissolve the pine pitch she’d used to adhere it.
“I’ve got verjuice.”
“Ye do?”Who carried verjuice with them?She always had to seek out a kitchen to procure the stuff.
“In my satchel.”Then he gave her a sly glance.“’Tis how I usually removemyfake beard, when ’tisn’t bein’ torn off by a vexed lass.”
Thankfully, the mule hair hid her blush.She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t decided to tear her beard off in revenge.
“Come sit,” he said, patting a moss-covered boulder.Then he reached behind the boulder and pulled out his satchel.
He uncorked a clay vessel and wet a linen rag with its pungent contents.Then he began dabbing the liquid carefully along the edge of her beard.The odor was sour, sharp, and strong, but the verjuice effectively dissolved the sticky pine pitch.
As he worked, leaning so close to her face, she couldn’t help but study him.
How no one could recognize him in his various disguises, she didn’t know.True, it could be said he had no particularly distinguishing features.His hair and eyes, like hers, were a neutral brown.Unremarkable.Nondescript.He wasn’t especially tall or short.Heavy or thin.Neither strong as an ox nor weak as a kitten.
She supposed he could be called ordinary.
But to her, he was singular.Exceptional.Unforgettable.
His skin was lightly tinted by the sun to a warm hue.His brows were refined and expressive.His thick lashes shadowed alert eyes that missed nothing.His nose was straight and noble.His jaw could be resolute or yielding.His mouth was generous and quick to smile.His lips were kind.And tender.And delicious.
He was gently tugging the mule hair free from beneath her nose when he lifted his gaze and caught her staring.He stopped his ministrations and gave her a knowing grin.
Unfortunately, the acrid odor of the verjuice-soaked linen tickled her nose at that moment.She squinched up her eyes.Gave a little gasp.And sneezed.
He recoiled with a laugh.
After that, she tried very hard not to meet his gaze.But it wasn’t easy.When she tired of staring through the pines over his shoulder, she tried closing her eyes.
That only heightened her other senses.She felt his light breath upon her face.The soft touch of his fingers.The heat emanating off of him as he crouched close.
She inhaled the scent of him.Worn leather.Clean sweat.And a faint, spicy incense that lingered in the fabric of his cassock.
“There,” he murmured as he loosened the last bit of beard from her chin.
She made the mistake of opening her eyes.
Then she made the mistake of gazing into his.
