Page 49 of A Rogue in Firelight
“It alarms me, if not you. And you will ruin another gown.”
“Too late!” The water reached her waist, then her chest. But he was correct, for the mucky floor suddenly dipped away under one foot. She stopped.
“Wait there.” He approached, keeping low in the water, holding the dog.
She threw out an arm for balance and reached forward with the other. The water licked around her bodice, splashed her chin, dampened her hair.
“Here, reach for your wee kelpie.” He pushed the dog toward her. Obedient for once, Balor paddled toward her and she caught his wriggling little body.
“Thank you, Mr. MacGregor, for rescuing him once again.”
“Nothing to it. So it is Mr. MacGregor? Not Lord Darrach?” he teased.
She looked away, for her gaze kept dipping from his bearded, handsome face to his wide shoulders, strong collarbones, and chest with its dark, wet mat. Even in cool water, she knew her cheeks burned.
“I can hardly call you Lord Darrach here. It would be even more embarrassing.”
He chuckled, arms treading, circling. “Ronan, then. Certainly after Balor’s latest escapade, we can consider each other a friend.”
“Friends with a secret,” she laughed.
“Many secrets,” he said, as his eyes cast quickly down, then up.
Glancing down, she saw her bodice and chemise ballooning with water, exposing far too much. Tugging at the cloth, she pressed the dog closer. But the tall man standing just an arm’s length away had an easy view.
He looked away politely, dipping down so that water covered all but his head, while his hair floated out like a dark fan. He leaned backward, hands circling, distorted by the rippling water. “Take that wee rascal to the house and get dry. And be sure to tighten his leash. He is bent on mischief, that one.”
“He is spirited,” she agreed, easing backward in the water, dog clasped close.
“Farewell.” He waved her toward the shore. “I will wait until you are well away.”
“I apologize. I had no idea—do you often bathe in a loch? Is it a Highland habit?”
“Aye, common in the hills. I came here hoping for a quick private swim. I am not fond of that beast in the tower.”
“Beast? Oh, the shower machine! It can be difficult.” She waded backward. “Thank you again, Mr. MacGregor.”
“Ronan. Surely we are friends now.” He spread his hands, bare shoulders out of the water, to indicate his state.
“Ellison,” she offered, moving back, water sluicing from her gown.
“Ellison Graham.” He smiled. “E. S. G., as in your note. What is the ‘S’ for?”
“Sophia. My mother’s name.”
“Ellison Sophia, I enjoy your company, I do. But you cannot be seen here with me. Go on, and take the wee one with you.” He waved.
As she turned, Balor struggled to get free, yelping as if insisting he stay with the man in the water. She pressed him tightly to her as she walked over slippery stones, water surging around her. But her foot found an uneven dip and she stumbled, going nearly under for a moment. Holding the dog high, she gasped and tried to regain her balance.
Strong hands grabbed her around the waist. Sputtering, she swirled to face Ronan as he held her securely so she would not slip again. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she held the dog, coughed, sniffled. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.
He let go but kept one hand firmly on her shoulder. “Steady, now. Good?”
“Aye.” Sniffling, she stepped back, though Balor struggled to reach the man he clearly adored. “Best no one knows about this.”
“Agreed.” He surged backward. “Go on. I will follow in a bit.”
“You should come out of the water. You will catch a chill.”
