Page 14 of Torin and His Oath
Oh.My.
He was so hot. His back, his shoulders, the lean cut of muscle in his thighs as he picked his way barefoot across the stone-strewn riverbank. Awkward for half a second, then plunging straight into the water. He vanished beneath the surface, the river swallowing him whole, until he burst up again with a shout, “Phwesha!” flinging water from his hair in a wild arc across his face and chest.
He turned, grinning, and looked directly up the bank. Straight at me.
I had forgotten to not look.
I blushed. “Sorry, um…”
Even with his bruised and battered face, his grin was cocky and sure of himself.
I turned away.
5
LEXI
1558 - BY THE RIVER DEE
Ineeded to be busy, very busy, absolutely not looking at him, so I decided to wash that gross shirt. Over my shoulder I asked, “Do you think if I soaked this shirt in the river, wrung it out, and laid it on that rock, it might dry in the sun?”
“Aye, ye can try. We hae a couple hours of sun yet, but why are ye thinking on it?”
“I don’t know, I’m just worried I might have to wear it.”
“Ye winna hae tae, I will get ye home as soon as we are done restin’. If we hae tae move, ye can stay in yer dress, and I’ll wrap ye in the plaid.”
“What is a plaid?”
“A plaid? Och, Princess, tis the length of wool I wear. I wrap it round m’waist for a kilt, then throw the rest over m’shoulder for a cloak. Tis blanket, cloak, and armour against the rain, all in one.”
“Okay, good, but still, I ought to wash this tunic just because it’s gross and I don’t want it spreading its stink around.”
I kept my gaze fixed anywhere but on him as I picked up the foul-smelling shirt from the pile. I didn’t want to risk getting my socks wet, so I peeled them off and kicked away my rainboots —again sending up a silent thank-you that I’d chosen them instead of flip-flops.
Barefoot, I carried the shirt down to a broad slab of rock jutting over the river, maybe ten feet above where Torin was bathing. The surface was slick in spots, so I picked my steps carefully until I reached the edge. I dipped a toe into the current and yelped.
“Too cold! How are you swimming in it?”
Torin looked up, water streaming down his battered face, already cleaner and calmer now that he’d washed away the dirt and blood. He smiled, merrily. “Tis perfect — a Scottish spring!” He plunged under again.
He surfaced, hair plastered to his brow.
I said, “It feels like ice.”
“Aye, because the ice melts on the munros and cascades down tae us. Tis ice water, Princess.”
I knelt at the edge of the rock and plunged the linen shirt into the river. The icy current numbed my fingers instantly, but I scrubbed briskly anyway, hoping the cold water would work some kind of magic on the stink.
I asked, “What river is this?”
“The Dee.”
The morning sun shone bright across the bank, but my hands were already raw with cold.
Torin’s voice drifted up, casual. “If ye put yer arse in, it’d help yer pink, chafed skin.”
I wiped damp hair out of my face with my wrist. “Too cold. And how would that help?”
