Page 33 of The Scot Who Loved Me
A knot twisted behind his breastbone. The same knot came from talk of home, his father, and Clanranald. Like other men, he’d lost a great deal more than the war.
Relief flooded him when Mr. Baines announced, “Bermondsey Wall.”
The younger man leaped into the water, and Will joined him, glad to help. Bermondsey Wall lacked the usual boat-to-stairs landing, thus the wherry had to be hauled ashore through sludge. Water slapped his legs. Mud sucked his boots, but he needed to put his back into something. Exertion got his blood flowing. He was taut as a bowstring. Restless and cagey. Neither talk of home nor the bread of idleness sat well with him. A man was meant for labor, and a son to honor his father.
His heels dug in and sweat popped at his hairline. Could be the green-eyed woman watching him. Thoughts of Anne began to harass him again. Her hand moving under bed linens. Her sweet cries. His booted feet in cold water could not quench the fire.
An appointment with his hand might.
Molars grinding, he gave the wherry one last heave ’til it was half on dry land.
A panting Mr. Baines touched his hat. “My thanks, sir.”
His cousin, petticoats plucked high, picked her way over narrow wooden benches. She chatteredon, veering toward Mr. Baines while Anne stood in the back. On impulse, Will sloshed through knee-high water and offered his hand.
“Mrs. Neville.”
“Mr. MacDonald.” A breeze caught her hair. “This is very gallant of you.”
He felt a smile creeping over his face. Standing in water, his arm out, he was in danger of turning into a fool. “You mean my sparing you from walking the length of this little boat?”
She smiled back. “It’s not that little.”
And you’re no’ a fragile woman, but I want to take care of you all the same.The thought swirled inside him with stunning force. What would Anne say if he said it aloud?
“If you don’t mind, my feet are a wee bit soggy. An’ I’ll have a devil of a time cleaning my boots.”
She set her gloveless hand in his. “Perhaps someone with tender mercies will clean them.”
His chuckle was rusty as an old saw. He liked her dry humor. Subtle and rare as London’s cloudless blue skies but worth the wait. Anne balanced a foot on the rail and stepped up, an act of trust, warming him down to his chilly toes. The wherry wobbled, and he swept her into his arms. For the second time tonight, she grabbed handfuls of his coat and held fast.
Her rum-sweet exhale fanned his cheek. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“In the auld days, I’d’ve tossed you over my shoulder.”
“The City has tamed you.”
Maybe Anne wanted to be tossed over a man’s shoulder? His shoulder. In this, he couldn’t claimknowledge of her mind, but he knew exactly why he’d trotted into midnight waters. To feel her hand in his. To hold her.
“Might be because I’m aulder,” he said.
“You are twenty-eight. Hardly long in the tooth.”
Anne was a slender piece, engulfed in cloak and petticoats, yet his feet sank deeper in soft, hidden soil. Currents buffeted his legs, a reminder to get moving. He savored her body against his. The embrace wasn’t the same as lust and sex. It was holding. An arm hooked under white-stockinged knees hidden by voluminous skirts, the other supporting her narrow back.
His nature ran to elemental things. The powerful need to protect and provide. To earn a woman’s lifelong respect.
Anne rubbing his back was nice too. When she reached for his cheek, he stilled. Their faces were close, her hood fallen. Moonlight glossed ink-black hair and painted her a touch mysterious. Anne had never been mysterious in her youth, but how much did that young man know of her?
The older man craved deeper knowledge. He let himself forget his cousin and Mr. Baines watching them. He hadn’t moved from knee-deep water. Anne was dociling him, the great hulking beast holding a maiden fair.
She tucked loose hair behind his ear. “I forgot that you know about sheep.”
Quivers traipsed his back when her fingertip traced the shell of his ear. He’d never been so grateful for that narrow strip of skin.
“A lad doesna forget his education,” he saidgruffly. “You go’ yours by way of tutors. Mine came in a barn.”
He waded ashore, squeezing her close.Don’t think about tupping. Do no’ think about tupping.
