Page 7 of Kilty Plea
“Ye’ll no’ regret this, Payton, I swear it.”
Another smile, and then she turned, his cloak still heavy—and warm—about her shoulders and hurried toward the Abbey. Tonight, she wouldn’t sleep with the other unmarried women in the dormitory; she didn’t trust the Abbot’s promises.
Nay, now she had this cloak, she’d spend the night waiting for Payton.
Waiting for her husband.
Chapter 2
The air wascrisp and colder than Payton had expected, in the dim pre-dawn light.
What do ye expect? Ye gave away yer nice warm cloak.
Aye, and he might suffer a bit for it, but ‘twas for a good cause.
The woman—the waif…Flora. Flora had needed it more than he, and Payton knew a little discomfort would be worth it, knowing she’d be warm.
Damnation, she’d not even worn stockings, had she? At first, as he’d watched her, he’d thought her some sort of slave…except the Scots kept no slaves, not anymore. Then he’d decided she was being punished for some reason, made to suffer in the cold.
But when the Abbot had called her over…
Christ, he was still ashamed of how his body had reacted to having her kneeling at his feet.
She’d been so close to him—to his knees, his thighs, his cock—and he’d had to struggle to control his arousal.
She was too dirty and too skinny and too miserable for ye to lust after.
Aye, he was glad he’d given neither her nor the Abbot an indication of his inappropriate interest.
But…she’d offered him milk.
He didn’t want to share the Abbot’s ale, but when she’d made him such a simple offering, Payton didn’t see the harm in it. They shared the milk, he’d caught her in his arms when she might’ve fallen, they spoke of his family. And she’d smiled.
Oh, Christ, she’d smiled.
Even this morning, the memory of that smile—the way it had transformed her face from something waifish into an ethereal beauty—still made him shift uncomfortably in the saddle.
In that moment, he hadn’t wanted her because he’d been too long without a woman and she was kneeling submissively at his feet. He’d wanted her because she was lovely.
Not lovely in a traditional sense, or thelovelyof the ladies at court; the angles of her face were too harsh, her teeth too crooked, the lines around her eyes too distinct to bethatkind of lovely. Nay, she was thelovelyof strength, and certainty, and joy.
Lovely, and joyous, and sparkling—everything a woman should be.
And he was a scarred monster hiding under a helm.
I cannae wait to say good riddance to the Abbey.
That’s what she’d said, and he still wasn’t certain what she’d meant, but he’d agreed with her. Which is why he was up at the arse-crack of dawn and riding out before any of the hungover abbey denizens were up and about.
Good riddance.
His horse snorted and tossed her head, breath fogging in the cold air, and Payton shook his head, dragging himself back to the here and now.
The Abbot and his people might’ve been creepy as fook, but they’re behind ye now.
He’d done his duty to his King; now he had to look to the future.
The immediate future.
