Page 44 of Laird of Smoke
But Lady Aillenn was fascinated by his boldness—and the muscular thighs he revealed as he peeled off the trews.So entranced was she, she couldn’t remember what she’d intended to say to him.
He plucked the leine away from his body, rippling it to try to dry the linen.
“This may add an hour to our journey,” he warned.“I can’t very well show up lookin’ like a wet selkie.”
She nodded, though she thought if hewerea selkie, she would have gladly followed the fae creature into the water to drown.He was compelling and irresistible, even when the power of his gaze was diminished by strings of dark, dripping hair covering his face.
He strode near.For a moment, huddled on the ground, she froze.Another step, and she’d be able to see whether he was wearing braies beneath his leine.
But then he reached out his hand.She took it, and he pulled her upright.
“We should find a sunny spot to dry these,” he said, collecting his boots and cap and surcoat.
She looked away then to pick up her satchel.
Finally finding her wits, she said, “Thank ye.”
“For what?”
A wicked answer flew into her head.For letting me feast my eyes upon your body.
But that wouldn’t do.
Instead she replied, “For savin’ me.”
He gave her a dramatic sweep of a bow.“O’ course.”Then he winked.“Anythin’ for my sister.”
She could not have felt less like his sister.Nonetheless, she gave him a nod of gratitude before they embarked on their search for sunlight.
He found a glade not far from the road with a hawthorn where he could hang his wet clothing to dry and a fallen, mossy log where they could sit in reasonable comfort.
“So tell me about your search for a husband,” he bid her.
“Oh, I’m not searchin’ for a husband.”
He smiled.“I suppose a lady as lovely as ye doesn’t need tosearchfor a husband.”
Lovely.He’d called her lovely.
“Nay,” she said, blushing.“I mean I’m not…that is…” What did she mean?Sister Eve wasn’t searching for a husband.But Lady Aillenn surely must wish to have children one day.“I suppose I’m…in no hurry.”
“Ah.I imagine findin’ just the right short, pale, fair-haired, soft-around-the-edges, agreeable gentleman may take a while.”
She grinned.He’d remembered her silly description.
“And o’ course,” he continued, “’twould be hard to give up the thrill of our profession.”
The thrill.She’d never thought of it that way.She’d always considered her disguises simply a necessity for doing God’s work.
But he was right.It was thrilling, slipping into the identity of another person, altering her carriage and her speech.Fooling observers.Carrying off risky plots.
“I suppose if ye were to marry,” he said, “’twould be the end o’ your adventures.”
She’d never had to consider that.After all, she was a nun.She’d already come to terms with not becoming a wife or mother.
“I suppose,” she said.“But what about ye?Would ye give up your life o’ deception for a bride?”
“’Tis the only skill I have,” he admitted.“So unless I find a rich heiress to wed…”
