Page 26 of The Highlander's Auctioned Virgin
CHAPTER 7
“Take off yer dress.Ye’re shivering,” Ciaran urged suddenly, his voice jolting her out of her reverie.
She shook her head. “Nay, I’m fine.”
“I cannae let ye die from the cold before ye become me bride now, can I?”
Elinor laughed. “God, ye are just so full of yerself, are ye nae?”
“Only when I’m sure I’m right.”
“Well, in this case, ye arenae right. I am nae cold in any way whatsoever.”
“Ye look like an eel,” Ciaran muttered.
“Well, ye look like…” Elinor trailed off, trying to find something about him she could exploit—something he wouldn’t like—but nothing came forth.
His shirt clung to his torso and outlined the ridges of his abdomen. He stood like a warrior, not fazed by the cold, as if he had experienced worse. It made her so angry.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“Dinnae be a child. I willnae look.” He turned away slowly.
Elinor took off her dress, and the warming air kissed her skin. She hurried towards the bed and grabbed the towel.
“’Tis fine, ye can look now,” she called, once she wrapped the towel around her body.
Ciaran turned back around and merely gave her a nod. Then, he walked towards the only window in the cabin and peered through the glass. Elinor walked to the other side of the room and gently hung her dress. It looked damp and somewhat heavy against the wooden hanger. Then she returned to the bed, where the fire seemed to be more effective.
“The storm is growing stronger. I daenae think we’ll be able to make it back to the castle today.”
Elinor threw her head back. Of course, this was happening, and of course, it was happening toherof all people.
“So what do ye suggest?”
“There’s nay suggestion,” he replied. “Only the obvious solution. We have to spend the night here.”
Elinor raised her hand, utter despair written all over her face. “’Tis just me luck, is it nae?”
They both walked to the bed and sat on the edge, their eyes fixed on the wall as if waiting for the rain to stop so they could go back to the castle. But waiting meant they had to keep staring at the wall across from them, half-naked, until it was dry enough to return to the castle.
“Shall we play a game?” Ciaran suggested, breaking the silence almost immediately.
“A game?”
“Aye. Nine Men’s Morris. Are ye familiar with it?”
“Am I familiar with Nine Men’s Morris?”
Before she could respond, he had risen to his feet and walked to the entrance of the cabin. He pulled the door open and stepped out before she could do anything to stop him.
A few minutes later, he walked back in, even more drenched than before.
“What in God’s name do ye think ye’re doing?”
Before she could continue, he lifted the stones and the tree branch he had just collected outside. “Since we daenae have the board, we have to make do with what we have.”
Elinor nodded and watched him lower himself to the floor. He started to draw lines, his hand firm and steady on the branch.
