Page 26 of The Iron Earl

She picked it up, another attempt.

Failure.

She picked it up again, setting her forefinger in place just before she lost control and it slipped out of her hands, the button popping free.

Success.

And only twenty-four more to go.

Her teeth gritting, she picked up the dress again and started on the second button.

A waft of cool air hit her cheeks.

“You’re not dressed yet?”

She looked up. Lachlan had popped his head into the tent. His gaze dropped down to the dress in her lap, a frown setting on his face when he saw her trembling fingers.

“Your hands are out of control, Evalyn.” He stepped into the tent and pulled the dress from her lap, then dropped it to the blanket that covered the ground. He grabbed her shaking hands and pulled her up and the pain of her weight on her toes sent scorching needles through her freezing feet.

She lost her balance, falling into him.

“Hell, Evalyn.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder to catch her weight. “I’ll deal with the wretched buttons. You need to warm by the fire.”

Stepping slightly behind her, his arms wrapped around her to tighten the long blanket about her body so none of her skin was bared to the air. He set an arm along the back of her shoulders and his fingers clasped onto her upper arm as he steered her out past the front flap of his tent and to the main fire. Close to the blazes, he gently pushed down on her shoulders until she was sitting, able to warm herself by the fire.

The heat of the healthy flames stung, almost too much against her frozen skin.

“Sit, Evalyn, and warm yourself.”

Exhausted by the short steps it took to get to the fire, she nodded, her lips too tired to move. Her fingers tightened along the edges of the blanket, securing it in front of her. A waft from the blanket lifted to her nose. It smelled of Lachlan. Campfire and spice and rosewood. She focused on the fire, not wanting to look around at the men’s gaping stares she knew were pointed in her direction.

Lachlan deserted her, moving away from her for a moment. A quiver of panic fluttered in her stomach. Instinctively, she knew she was safer with him directly beside her and she didn’t care for her nude body being one blanket away from baring her to all.

Her gaze refused to move from the fire. The silence in the air pounded, palpable, and she wasn’t about to look up and open herself to the men jeering her.

Lachlan returned, dipping to sit on his heels in front of her. He held a metal cup to her lips and tilted it back. Whisky warmed her tongue and sent fire along her throat as it chased down to her stomach.

“Good.” He lifted the cup in his hand and filled it, then handed the bottle to Domnall on his right. Finding her left hand gripping the front edge of the fur-lined blanket at her chest, he slid his fingers under hers, popping free her fingertips one by one until he could wedge the cup into her hand. “Drink. This will warm you.”

He stood and Evalyn looked up, her eyes finding enough steadiness to focus on Lachlan’s face. The glow of the fire behind him made him look like a Greek god straight from an Ares’s blaze-soaked battle.

She nodded, her eyes dipping back down to the fire as he walked back to his tent.

The first long swallow of the whisky settled deep into her belly, creating fire where there was none and encouraging her to take another sip from the cup. And another. And another.

Four more sips and the fifth time she lifted the cup to her lips, it was empty.

Movement next to her, grunting, and she watched with wariness out of the corner of her eye as Domnall moved closer to her. He was the oldest of the men aside from Rupe, or at least she thought as such from the graying of his dark hair along his temples. Good natured, he was also the nicest of the men, never once calling her a wench and his thick face usually held a jovial grin.

He sat with a whoosh of air as his thick form settled into place next to her. “Another spot, lass?” He lifted the bottle Lachlan had handed to him.

She nodded, lifting her cup.

With a mischievous tilt of his head, Domnall filled the metal cup in her hand. She took another sip and it was only moments before her head started to weave in a slow circle.

She just wanted to sleep. Lie down by the warmth of the fire and sleep. As long as she kept the blanket tucked together, covering her bare skin, this was the perfect spot to sleep. Much better than her cold hole under the wagon.

Her hair. Dammit. If she didn’t get her fingers through it now while it was wet, it would be impossible to untangle once it was dry in the morning.

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