Page 20 of Kilty as Sin
Her lips twitched ruefully, and she picked at the oat cake with her good hand. “I’ll no’ deny the bargains I might make for a fresh piece of fruit, but nay, ‘tis nae great hardship to eat oat cakes.”
Then why did she look so uneasy? “Grace, I ken ye have nae great liking for this task I’ve been set.” And neither did he. “But I’ll make ye as comfortable as I’m able, if ye’ll tell me what’s wrong.” Mayhap there was a crofter he could buy fruit from.
She hesitated, then sighed again. “I…” She shook her head, shrugging. “I ken ye’ll think me a spoiled lady. It’s just…I am used to washing regularly. Mayhap not hot baths daily, like some of yer Court ladies, but…” She shifted on the boulder. “I dinnae like that I am still so dirty.”
The chuckle burst from Barclay’s lips before he could stop himself. “Well, ‘tis easy enough to fix.” As he pushed himself to his feet again, his hand landed—almost unconsciously—on her upper back, and he had to stop himself from caressing her. “Tomorrow evening we’ll camp beside the loch, eh? Yer father’s holding is just to the south of it, so ye can get as clean as ye’d like afore ye return to him.”
He thought he’d been offering her a boon, a prize—the chance to bathe. But as soon as he saw her scowl, he realized he’d been wrong. Reminding her of her return to her father—and her imminent wedding vows—had been the wrong thing to do.
Sighing, he scooped her into his arms and deposited her on Horse’s back once more.
The first hour dragged on in silence, until Barclay could no longer stand it. He softly hummed a favorite tune, his lips curling at the way Horse seemed to step in beat, then he began to sing. Grace's forehead dropped to the center of his back, and he wondered if she was sleepy.
'Tis a good thing ye decided to stop early today.
When they passed another hollow—protected on three sides by rock fall—he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, and Horse obligingly stopped.
“Ye ken,somewarriors use their reins,” Grace roused herself to point out from behind him.
She was tired and likely sore. Heknewthis, and knew ‘twas responsible for her sour mood. Still, he couldn’t help his grin as he swung down; she was just so damnedadorable.
“I only use the reins when ‘tis necessary,” he explained as he carried her to a fallen log. “Horse understands my voice well enough. How wouldyelike it if, every time I wanted ye to go left or right, I tugged on one side of yer mouth?”
When his gaze dropped to her lips, the reminder of yesterday’s kiss made his cock stir.
Again.
“If ye tried it,” she snapped, slapping away his hands as he tried to help her settle, “I’d likely punch ye.”
Barclay rocked back on his heels, his thumbs hooked in his sword belt, and smiled down at her. “Ye ken, I believe ye would, lass. Do ye need me to carry ye to one of the bushes?”
St. Pancras’s right kneecap, she was even more appealing when she blushed like that!
“I can bloody well hobble to a bush, Sir Hunter. If ye’d just leave me in peace for longer than a moment—”
“Aye, aye, lass, I understand.” Chuckling, he held up his hands and backed away. “Stay near the hollow, eh, and I’ll be back after I’ve caught us some meat.”
In truth, it took longer than he expected to catch the pair of plump rabbits, and when he returned, ‘twas to find Horse kneeling in a patch of grass…and Grace curled up against his belly, genteelly snoring.
The late afternoon sunlight made her hair seem to glow, and she wore the dirty, wrinkled gown as if ‘twere the finest dress at Court. Her bare feet, still healing, peeked out from under the hem of her chemise, and Barclay had to resist the urge to tuck them in, to keep them warm.
She’s no’ yers to coddle. No’ yers to protect.
Soon she’d belong to her husband, some faceless laird who could give her the life she deserved.
Turning away, Barclay began to prepare the meat.
He knew the moment she woke, but he pretended not to hear her, so she could have some privacy. When she joined him beside the fire, she seemed…shy. Embarrassed? Because she’d napped?
“Are ye hungry, lass?”
“Famished,” she admitted.
Using his dagger, he sliced a piece of haunch for her, and couldn’t help his smile as she shifted it from one hand to the other and blew on it to cool. “I’m sorry ‘tis no’ a piece of fruit—”
She looked up, still chewing, and interrupted him. “It’s delicious. Thank ye.”
Grease from the rabbit was smeared around her mouth, and when she finished the slice, she licked each of her fingertips clean.
