Page 54 of Wild Highland Rose
She looked up with a pleased smile, the light from the fire illuminating her face. "I had a flint in my sporran." She held up the small bag triumphantly. "Aren't you glad now that I took the time to find it?"
Recalling the incident, he had to admit that escaping the boat had been his priority at the time, but now, feeling the heat of the flames reaching out to him, he was pleased she'd refused to abandon the sporran. But, he'd be damned before he'd acknowledge it. After all, he was the one who was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around.
Surprised at the Neanderthal nature of his reaction, he watched as her face fell. Guilt washed over him, vanquishing his wounded pride. "I'm glad you have it, but even if you didn't,I suspect you'd have found a way to coax a flame from the wood." She brightened at the compliment and he stared at her, enchanted for a moment by her beauty.
"I'll need some bigger pieces to keep it going." She looked pointedly at the stack he carried.
"Right." He pulled his thoughts away from the lush curves of her body. "I'll just put it all down right here." He made a tidy little pile next to the hearth. Stepping back, he watched as she efficiently fed the growing fire. Turning away, he stripped off his plaid and hung it over a large branch of the dead tree. It made a perfect drying rack. Close enough to the fire to allow the wool to absorb the warmth, and far enough away to keep it from catching fire. Hell, he sounded like Martha Stewart.
He pulled his shirt over his head and hung it beside the plaid. With a shiver, he moved closer to the fire. "You can hang your wet clothes over there on the tree."
She looked up at him, her eyes widening at his lack of attire. Cameron actually felt himself blush. The Scottish version of underwear resembled a pair of baggy Bermuda shorts, hardly enticing. Hell, his bathing suit was more revealing. But somehow, under her gaze, he felt naked.
"Here, give me one of the blankets." She handed it to him without a word, color washing over her face. Holding the material by two corners, he shook the blanket, thankful when nothing living popped off. He twirled the thing around his shoulders making a cape of sorts. It was musty smelling, but seemed to be bug free and it was certainly warmer than nothing.
Marjory's eyes were still on him. He bent and picked up the other blanket, handing it to her. "Your turn."
She took the faded rectangle from him, jumping back when their hands met. Good, she wasn't as immune to him as she pretended. It made him feel better to know he wasn't alone in his attraction.
"Turn your back."
She looked a bit like a prim schoolmarm in an old western. With a grin, he spun around, granting her a little privacy. He could hear her movements and his unapologetic brain conjured vivid pictures to go along with them.
"All right. You can turn around."
She was covered from ankle to shoulder in the blanket. She had managed to tie it somehow at one shoulder so that it hung from her body, toga style. It was an appealing sight.
"Here." She held out her shift. He hung it next to his plaid, trying to get his libido in control.
"What now?"
"I think we should try and get some rest. We've a long walk, in the morning."
That was his Marjory, practical to the core. Her no nonsense attitude effectively tamped down his rising desire. "Where do you suggest we sleep?"
She shot a look at the bed in the corner. "Maybe we can use a bit of that?"
He walked over to the pile of straw. It certainly looked more appealing than the debris strewn floor. "All right. You clear a place by the fire and I'll see what can be salvaged here." He stirred the pile with a stick, hoping to frighten off anything else residing there. Nothing moved. Gingerly, he reached under the straw, grabbing an armload.
Three trips later they had place to sleep. Marjory had found an old piece of linen folded in the chest. She spread it over the top of the makeshift bed. "It could be worse." Ah yes, that Gaelic sense of optimism.
"It'll be fine," he said with more enthusiasm than he felt.
"It'd be better if we had a blanket for the top." Marjory shot a look at his plaid.
"Not a chance, it's still too wet."
"Oh." Her face fell.
"I've got an idea, but I'm not sure if you'll like it."
She bit her lip, waiting for his thoughts.
"I could take this off." He gestured to his blanket. "We could use it for cover."
She shook her head, slowly.
"Look, Marjory, it isn't like I'm naked under here. Besides, we've slept in the same bed before."
