Chapter 5 #2
As if she was rousing from sleep, she blinked, and placing her hands on his chest, pushed. “ ’Twas not at all proper.”
He stepped away, his lips twitching up in a smile. “Ah, but that is not what I asked you.” For a moment he was lost in the green pools of her eyes. He wanted more of her, all of her. But when he moved toward her, she backed away.
“I shall say nothing of our encounter,” she said shivering, “and, please, tell no one.”
“I would not speak of this to anyone. After all, ’twas only a brief sharing of my body’s heat to warm you, nothing more,” he lied. The flicker of surprise in her eyes told him they both knew it, but mayhap she needed the lie. He grinned. “I cannot speak for you, but ’tis certain I am warmed.”
“You are impudent, Scribe,” she said as water dripped from her hair to her face and down her lovely neck.
“Before we go, you must admit you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”
“I certainly did not. I was merely… allowing you to share your warmth.”
He returned her a small laugh. “If you insist.” He picked up her wet shoes from the ground and reached out his hand. “Come, I will see you back to the tower.”
She pulled away and stared down at her wet gown. “I cannot go back like this!”
The gown clung to her slender curves in a most provocative way. He wanted to strip it from her and carry her naked to his bed, but instead, he said, “No, I expect not. We will take the back way to the mews and you can wait there while I retrieve a cloak for you.”
“If you ask a servant, she can fetch my cousin, Fia, who will get one.”
He chuckled. “ ’Tis probably best you not be seen wearing one of mine.”
They walked back together on the sun-dappled path. Despite the summer day, she shivered with cold. Taking her hand, he let his warmth flow to her, relieved she had not noticed the sword sheathed on his other side. He was not ready for any save Rhodri to know of his practice in the woods.
* * *
Catrìona sneezed. Beneath her robe, her skin was chilled like a plucked goose and her shivering would not stop. “I can… cannot seem to get wa… warm.” In truth, she had not been warm since the scribe let go of her hand.
“What were you thinking that you would run alone in the woods?” scolded Fia.
In Catrìona’s mind, she pictured them as young girls. “Remember when we were children, those sun-filled summers when we ran barefoot in the woods near Atholl?”
“Aye, I remember.” Her cousin looked at her askance and, with a disbelieving shrug of her shoulders, chided, “But you are nineteen now, Cat, no longer a child.”
“I was missing those days, Fia. I just wanted to be free and without the sad memories or the limitations of life as a lady of the queen. I was enjoying myself until I tried to cross the burn.”
“You are fortunate ’twas the scribe who found you.”
Yea, very fortunate. She raised her hand to her lips, remembering the his warm lips on hers.
It was her first real kiss. She paled at the thought it was not Domnall who had given it to her, but instead, the handsome scribe.
Still she would not change what had happened if she could.
The kiss had awakened a part of her never stirred before.
Was it a sin to have allowed him to kiss her so? To respond as she had?
“I hate to think what Angus would say if he knew.”
She averted her gaze from her cousin, not wanting Fia to see the flush Catrìona could feel rising in her cheeks. “Like you, he would scold.”
“And rightly so.”
Catrìona ran her fingers through her wet hair feeling Fia’s eyes upon her. “How can you be younger than me and still act the older sister?”
“Hmm. Mayhap because I would not be so foolish. You had better get dressed or they will be upbraiding us for being late to the evening meal. Here,” said Fia, picking up a drying cloth. “I’ll help with your hair.”
Fia placed the drying cloth over Catrìona’s head and rubbed vigorously, soaking up much of the remaining water.
Catrìona’s thoughts turned to the scribe and the way his eyes had lingered on her lips.
When he had drawn her into his warm embrace, she had melted into the heat of his muscular chest. Even through her wet gown she had been very aware of his body touching hers.
His strength had surrounded her. She knew she should have pulled away but, excited by his touch, she had allowed his masculine scent and towering height to engulf her.
She had not wanted to flee; she had wanted to stay and draw upon his warmth. She had wanted him to kiss her.
How could that be when I am intended for Domnall?
She and Domnall had yet to experience such intimacy, but there was a shared respect between them and the knowledge he was the man her father had chosen.
Surely her father had chosen well. She remembered the proud look on his face when he told her Domnall was an Irishman of noble blood worthy of a mormaer’s daughter.
Steinar was only the king’s clerk and an impudent one at that. But when his arms were around her, his station did not seem to matter.
Catrìona handed Fia the drying cloth and shook out her hair, stepping close to the brazier. Once warmed, she donned the crimson velvet gown she had chosen to wear. ’Twas a shade she was fond of that did not war with the color of her hair.
“Will you plait your hair?” asked Fia.
“If you would help me, I would plait only the sides and secure them in the back. The rest of it I would wear free. ’Tis still not entirely dry.”
“That has always been my favorite way you wear it. I imagine Domnall will like it as well. You have such beautiful hair.”
“If you like red…”
“Men do prefer the queen’s coloring, I suppose. Margaret’s flaxen locks are lovely but your hair is unusual. Men notice it.”
Fia’s compliment made Catrìona glad they were friends as well as cousins.
While Fia dressed on her hair, Catrìona recalled her meeting with Domnall and Maerleswein. She had forgotten to tell Fia about Davina’s coming betrothal. “Had you heard that Davina will be leaving the queen’s service to marry?”
“Nay, but then she is not one to speak much. Who is it to be?”
“Maerleswein, the nobleman who was once an English sheriff. Domnall introduced us and Maerleswein told me the king has given him lands in Lothian and Davina for his bride.”
“Do you think she will be pleased?” Fia inquired.
“He is a fine looking man, of noble lineage and seems well mannered. He is older than she might have hoped for, but no doubt a better man than some the king could have chosen.”
“Mayhap he conferred with the queen. Margaret knows her ladies.”
“Whether he did or not, Davina does not seem like one who would object.”
Remembering what Audra had told her when they had first come to Dunfermline, Catrìona said, “I expect there will be a new lady joining us when Davina leaves.”
“Aye, most likely.”
In no time at all, Fia had woven the sides of Catrìona’s hair into two narrow plaits and gathered them to the back of her head to entwine together in one long plait resting on top of her free-flowing tresses. The change in the way she typically wore her hair pleased her.
Once Fia was dressed, they left the chamber for the hall where they would meet the other ladies.
Uncle Matad had departed for Atholl the day before, but even before he had gone, she and Fia had joined the queen’s ladies at one of the tables for meals and no longer ate on the dais.
Catrìona was glad for the change. Though she missed Edgar’s company, she did not wish to be on display.
Sitting with the queen’s ladies allowed her to hide among them, hopefully avoiding the leering eyes of the king’s men.
* * *
Steinar stood next to Rhodri at the bottom of the stairs, swapping stories about their day. Behind them, the hall was already noisy with the crowd gathering for the evening meal. Light from the open shutters spoke of the long summer days that had come to Scotland.
He had not told his friend of his encounter with the auburn-haired tree nymph and her plunge into the burn. He would keep that meeting and the memory of their kiss to himself, delighting in the one thing he had learned: she was not indifferent to him.
As he searched the crowd for the queen’s ladies, Steinar heard Rhodri’s sharp intake of breath.
Following his friend’s gaze up the stairs, Steinar saw Catrìona and her cousin slowly descending.
Catrìona was clothed in a deep crimson gown that dipped low, exposing her ivory skin and hinting at her enticing breasts, the same breasts he had felt through her wet gown that afternoon.
Her long auburn tresses hung free, one thick strand cascading over her shoulder.
Rhodri dug an elbow into Steinar’s ribs. “Introduce me to the dark-haired one.”
Steinar had noticed the tendre Rhodri held for the girl and was unsurprised at the request.
“Ladies,” he said as the two reached the last step. “Might we detain you for a moment?”
The women paused with expectant expressions. “Aye,” said Catrìona, her green eyes shimmering like emeralds.
“Allow me to present my friend, Rhodri of Gwynedd, the king’s bard and master of the bow.”
“Rhodri, this is Catrìona of the Vale of Leven and her cousin, Fia of Atholl.”
Each of the young women held out her hand to the bard.
Rhodri bowed low, first over Catrìona’s hand.
“A rare vixen,” he said smiling up at her.
Then he took the hand of the dark-haired one and placed a kiss on her knuckles.
“The rarest of jewels with dark sapphire eyes. Your midnight hair and fair skin make me think you Welsh, my lady and cause me to long for the land of my youth.”
The dark-haired girl blushed, seemingly flattered, as Steinar was certain Rhodri had meant her to be.
His friend had won the heart of many a woman at Malcolm’s court.
But the bard’s lingering kiss on Fia’s hand and his intense gaze told Steinar this woman was more to Rhodri than just another pretty girl.