Page 43 of Laird of Smoke
“I should have realized ye were a true noblewoman,” he said, coming to his feet.He shook the stray leaves from the linen square and tucked it back into his satchel.“How else would ye know the Rivenlochs?”
Another bolt of alarm shot through her.She didn’t dare meet his eyes.“Aye.Right.”
“So yedoknow the Rivenlochs?”
“Me?”she squeaked.“Nay, not personally.”She licked her lips and hefted up the satchel, staggering back a step under its weight.
He reached out to steady her.
She danced back out of his reach, trying desperately to recall what she’d said before about the Rivenlochs.“I’ve only heard tell o’ the clan.”
“All the way in Ireland?”
“Aye?”she said, wondering if that could even be true.After all, no one in Scotland seemed to know any of the Irish nobles.If they had, they certainly wouldn’t recall the Bhallach clan, which was a creation of her own.“They’ve got quite a reputation.”
“Is that so?”
His eyes twinkled then with a curious sort of triumph.He knew something.Or he’d tripped her up.But how?
Suddenly she remembered.Shite.She’d told him she’d heard about the Rivenlochs at Perth.Not in Ireland.She took another evasive step backward.
“Careful,” he said with a chiding smile, curving one arm around her waist.
Eve bristled.She hated to be outwitted, especially by a man who found amusement at her expense.And she’d always had a problem with authority.Careful, indeed.She backed out of his embrace.“Don’t tell me what to—”
“M’lady!”he shouted, reaching for her again.
Incensed, she shoved her satchel between them and took another step back.Her heel caught on uneven ground, and she began to fall backward.When she tried to catch herself on her other foot, her boot slipped on wet, mossy rock.
Adam loomed in front of her.His eyes were wide.His brow was determined.
With haphazard grace, he snagged a fistful of her gown and catapulted her aside with brute strength.
She was tossed onto the grass on her hands and knees.
He was not so lucky.
She heard a great splash behind her.Apparently, the force required to save her from falling into the water had propelled him into the burn in her stead.
She turned in horror to see him rising from the stream like a disgruntled Neptune.
“Why did ye not heed my warnin’?”he sputtered, finding his footing.
He took off his velvet cap and squeezed the water from it.
As he slogged forward in his drenched clothes, she began to see the humor of the situation.She fell back onto her bottom, stifling her laughter as she regarded him over her knees.
“Oh, ye think ’tis amusin’, do ye?”he asked.
Shedidfind it amusing.He’d gone to such efforts to preserve her balance that he’d utterly upset his own.Now he looked like a peevish cat retrieved from a well.
Still, she was grateful.If she’d stumbled into the burn, she would have ruined her best gown.It was a noble sacrifice on his part.She was about to tell him that when he tossed his cap onto the bank and hauled his wet surcoat off over his head.He wrung it out as he waded toward the shore, finally draping it over the limb of a streamside rowan.
He might as well have removed his leine, for all the modesty it afforded him.Soaking wet, the knee-length transparent linen clung to every sculpted muscle, leaving little to her imagination.
He pulled off his boots, holding them upside down to drain out the water before setting them down on a mossy rock.Then, with no regard for propriety, he reached under his leine and began to unfasten his trews.
She meant to tear her gaze away.Sister Eve knew it was improper to look upon a man in a state of undress.
