Page 22 of The Highlander's Dare
“I know. Got a lot of men bellowing about ye just now.”
“Do I?”
“Well, two, Graham and some other bastard.”
“What would you do if you were in my position?”
“Well, I’d no’ go near the other fella. He seems ripe to bust. But Graham, he seems nice enough. Never heard him insult a woman. Though I’ve only known him a couple of days. Lots of these knights are spending every waking moment doing one of three things: fighting, drinking or whoring. I ain’t seen Graham do the latter. In his tent to bed every night.”
Clara didn’t say anything, surprised that he would offer up so much and also shocked. Was Baston visiting the wenches willing to provide pleasure?
“Pardon me if I’ve said too much,” Alan continued. “I tend to run my mouth a bit when I’m around a pretty lady.”
Clara smiled, rain dripping down her nose. “Never fear, sir, I am not easily offended.”
“Well, that’s good.”
They reached Graham’s tent, and the man bowed to her as he whistled to his hound and disappeared back into the thick sea of tents.
She pushed back the flap, happy to finally be out of the rain. Entering the tent, she let the flap drop back behind her, shutting off the world. And she stopped short, seeing Graham standing in the center of the makeshift hut, his back completely nude, hose hugging his muscular behind and legs…
Dear God, he was practically nude, and his skin was slick from sweat and rain.
Her mouth went dry, and her heart started to beat so fast that she wasn’t certain she could keep up with the breaths forcing themselves in and out of her lungs. And so, she stood there in a slowly growing puddle as water dripped from her hair, her gown.
“I’m sorry,” she stuttered and started to leave as he turned to face her, the nakedness of his chest assaulting her senses.
The man was beautifully built. There had been very few occasions she’d seen a man without his tunic on. One was her father, but he was shaped built this way. Then a few wounded men from time to time, but she didn’t make it a habit to watch the men train, which was where a lot of younger ladies saw their first bits of male flesh.
“Dinna be sorry, lass, I invited ye. I just didna expect ye to come so quick.”
“I left the stands.”
“I hoped ye would.”
This was a bad idea. They shouldn’t be alone. Last time they were alone in this tent, they’d shared a passionate kiss. One she’d not been able to stop thinking about. And now, here he was, his skin glistening, and a devilish look in his eyes.
“I can remain like this if it pleases ye,” he said softly, stalking toward her as a lion would his prey. “Though I think ’tis only fair if I’m to be half-naked, so should ye.”
Clara’s mouth fell open in shock, and she gasped. He was only a foot away—six inches now, and she felt the heat coming off his skin. She started to reach for him, to touch him, only to ball her hand into a fist and force it back to her side. A dark sprinkling of hair graced his torso, and corded muscle rippled beneath skin that was tanned from the sun. What would it hurt run her palms up his abdomen to his chest, to slide them over his broad shoulders and to press her breasts against the hardness of his body?
Her gaze rose from his naked skin to his eyes, seeing the hunger and curiosity mirrored in his gaze. Graham lowered his face, and she tilted hers up, certain now that he was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him. Considering this moment to be his prize for a job well done on the list field, and a prize for her too because she wanted his kiss. Wanted him as she’d never wanted anything before. Every inch of her skin was drawn toward him, reaching, searching, needing. Her breath hitched right before he reached her mouth, and he plucked at the waist of her gown, whispering, “Take it off. ’Tis only fair,” followed by his laughter.
Clara took a shocked step back. Had his entire seduction just now been a joke? Was she a joke to him?
“I jest, I jest.” He chuckled and turned away from her, tugging a tunic over his head, and every inch of his tempting skin disappeared along with the heat in her body.
Good lord, but she was a wanton for thinking she could march into his tent, touch his naked skin and have him kiss her. He’d firmly told her he didn’t want to marry her, and she was betrothed to another man. If anyone were to walk in, it would be the end of her reputation. Her aunt and uncle would be mortified, and likely her mother would demand she be disowned.
She’d go back to Normandy humiliated—and unmarried.
Although, it would also be the end of her marriage prospects. Her father wouldn’t toss her out, even if her mother did insist. The idea had merit.
Clara shook the thoughts away, managing to pull her emotions together, and swiping her slick palms on the skirts of her equally slick gown.
“I wanted to congratulate you,” Clara said, though her voice did not sound like her own.
Get it together,she admonished herself.
