Page 50 of An Allusive Love
“Did I ask yer opinion?”
“Did we ask for yer company?”
“I trust this to be one benefit ofnothaving siblings,” interrupted Kirsty. She leaned her stick against the barrel and wiped her hands on her apron. “They’re lovely, Brodie. Thank ye.” She turned to his sister. “And thank ye for yer help, Brigid. I think we’re about done for now.”
A silent message seemed to pass between the women, for Brigid opened her mouth then shut it with a nod. As she walked past him, Brodie reached out and yanked an auburn curl. It was childish, he knew, but his nerves were on edge, and she was grating every one.
Brigid whirled and pushed back at his chest. It caught him off balance and time seemed to slow. His body teetered, arms swinging in giant circles as he fought to stay on his feet. Then he lost the battle and splashed backside into the tub of dye. The women scattered to avoid the indigo spray, laughter trailing behind them. He gritted his teeth and gripped the rim of the barrel as his feet dangled over the edge.
“Brigid!”
His bellow echoed down the glen as Kirstine’s eyes grew wide. Her hand covered her mouth, but it didn’t silence the giggles. Brigid pressed her lips together and attempted a straight face. Then the two friends looked at each other and burst into another round of guffaws, clutching at their bellies.
Brodie heaved himself up. The blue water sluiced down his legs and soaked the back of his white stockings. His elbows were a deep indigo, and he didn’t want to know what his cheeks looked like. He cast his most ferocious glare at Brigid.
“Uh-oh.” His sister turned on her heel and ran down the lane, almost falling over Charlie on his way back. “I’ll see ye tomorrow night, Kirsty,” she called over her shoulder.
“Ye’ll no’ see the morning if I catch ye,” he yelled after her, waving the posy he still clutched in his fist.
Kirsty made a valiant effort to stop giggling, but obviously, his appearance was too comical. He held out the mangled flowers. She accepted them and led him toward the well.
“We’ll need to clean ye up quickly or the dye will set. We’ll rinse off the worst of it, then I’ll fetch some lye soap.”
The first bucket washed away any remaining arrogance.
The second cooled his temper.
The third made him realize how ridiculous he looked—clothes drenched, skin splotched purplish-blue—and sent Charlie into a fit of howls.
“Come up to the house now and bring two pails of water.” She patted his cheek and gave him a sweet smile. “I’ll see how much color I can scrub from yer arms. It’s mostly around yer elbows.” Her eyes traveled down his body.
“What about my legs?”
“Aye, I’ll do what I can within, but I’m not reaching up yer kilt. Ye’ll have to deal with your buttocks on yer own.”
“I remember a time ye had no qualms with touching me beneath my kilt.”
Pink spread across her face, and Brodie wanted to kiss her. Those laughing, brown eyes, the full lips… he bent his head just as she turned and hurried to the cottage. He sighed. This had gone on long enough. There would be a proposal today.
Kirsty carried a chair outside. “Take off yer shirt and stockings off and sit down. I’ll no’ have a mess inside.”
He obeyed as she bent over the pail and lathered the soap on a brush. He studied the rounded bottom that had started this ordeal. A smile curved his lips. Brodie had never been one to sulk, and his natural humor finally won out. When she swung to face him, her eyes landed on his chest.
He grinned. “I suppose ye can thank Brigid for the view.”
Her eyes shot up to his face, gazes locked. Kirsty broke first. The giggles bubbled out again, mixing with his laughter and several snorts.
She picked up his arm and began to scrub. “I apologize for the roughness, but dye isna easy to remove.”
“Aye, right.” He felt as if he’d just crawled through a field of thistles. By the time she finished his arms, his skin was raw and pink but only a light layer of blue remained. He stood on the chair, and she did the same for the back of his calves and a halfway up his thighs. The discomfort was worth the intimate contact. Kirsty touched him again, her hand skimming along his skin as it followed the soft bristles. Maybe he wouldn’t skelp his sister after all.
“It’s as far as I go,” she said, dropping the brush in the dark soapy water. She dipped the ladle in the second bucket and poured it down his legs. “I’ll give ye some oil to soothe yer skin. It should also help to fade more of the color.”
She returned with a small bottle and a soft cloth. “Hold out yer arms.” She gently applied the oil over his chafed skin, then turned his body around and squatted behind him.
Brodie’s jaw clenched as the oil smoothed over his lower thigh and calf. “For the love of saints, Kirsty. How much restraint do ye expect a mon to have?”
“Dinna blame me for yer randy actions. Ye did this to yerself.” She sounded just as frustrated.
