Chapter Eight #2
Not expecting a refusal, he faltered for a moment, but then thrust his hand out. “Yer gown is covered in blood. Take these.”
She glanced down at herself then met his gaze. He noted the stubborn tilt to her chin. “I shall wash it.”
“’Tis a lot of blood.”
“There is a whole river beyond those trees as you well know.”
“My lady, I really must insist...” he began to say, but she thrust her hand up to stop him.
“Save yourself the trouble of arguing. My refusal is final. I am still a lady.”
As a matter of fact, she was not still a lady, but he would not remind her of that.
Anyway, title or no title, the woman standing before him was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.
“Ye may be a lady, but ye’re also my responsibility.
Ye and yer son are in my care. Let me remind ye, they will be looking for a noblewoman. ”
She lifted her chin. “And?”
He pressed his lips, trying to hold fast to his patience. “Well...ye see, my lady, it might behoove ye to not appear to be a noblewoman.”
She threw her shoulders back. “A lifetime of learning and good breeding cannot be disguised.”
He could not help but roll his eyes. “It can if ye wish to live.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “What do you suggest then?”
“I thought I made that clear,” he said, holding up the maid’s clothes. “Ye must change yer tunic.”
Looking as if she grasped something that had been dragged through refuse, she slowly reached out and pinched the tunic from his hand with two fingers and held it out in front of her. “Truly, you ask too much,” she grimaced.
Quinn snatched it back and held it up. He saw no rips or stains. The tunic was old and had seen better days, but overall, it was a serviceable enough garment. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
She shook her head. “It is ugly and rough to the touch. It will wreak havoc on my skin.”
Quinn pressed his lips together again while he offered her the kirtle to feel.
He thought of how different Catarina was from her sister, Bella.
Bella had never given them this much trouble.
“Here,” he said, shoving it toward her. “Ye’ll not feel the tunic at all over this kirtle.
‘Tis soft as Nicholas’s bottom. I promise ye. ”
She crossed her arms and looked away.
He released a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, my lady, but let me put it this way. Ye’ll go behind those trees there and change, or I will change ye myself.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He took a step forward, holding out the bundle of clothes. “Ye’ve one more chance to make the right decision, or else I’ll make it for ye.”
“I am not a child,” she snapped.
“Prove it.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. Then, at last, she reached out and snatched the bundle from his hands and stalked toward the tree, disappearing behind it.
When she was out of sight, he leaned back against a nearby tree and expelled a heavy breath while he slunk to the ground, letting his head rest against the trunk.
This was going to be harder than he had first thought.
Not one minute had passed when she came back out from behind the tree still clad in her soiled but fine attire.
He groaned. “Ye can’t be serious.”
“No,” she snapped. “It is not that.” She looked away, seemingly unable to meet his gaze. “I cannot change without assistance.”
His eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and stood. She eyed him warily as he slowly walked toward her. “Do not fash yerself, my lady,” he said. “One does not have to be a gentleman to know how a lady need be treated.”
First offering her what was meant to be a reassuring smile, he turned her about and set to work on her laces.
“You certainly do not untie laces like a monk,” she blurted.
He smiled at her insinuation that his fingers appeared well practiced but resisted the many jests that came to mind, and, instead, worked quickly to loosen her surcote.
Gently, he eased the fabric from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground.
She stepped free from the folds but kept her back to him.
He reached for her headdress, unwinding layers of gauzy silk.
Next, he removed several pieces of stiff fabric and netting.
“Turn around,” he said.
She pivoted on her foot, presenting herself to him but kept her eyes closed.
He reached for the pins near her temples.
“I ken ye’re in here somewhere,” he said, as he unpinned the layers of fabric fitted around her chin.
When he pulled the silk away, his fingers grazed her velvety neck.
In every detail, she had been made to tempt, from the exquisite lines of her face to the fullness of her red lips to the richness of her ebony hair.
Still tightly wound at the nape of her neck, he could not help wishing to see her hair unbound.
His eyes swept over the swell of her full bosom and womanly curves.
Unable to resist, he leaned close, inhaling the scent of her hair. “My lady,” he whispered.
Her eyes jerked open. She drew a sharp breath. A slow smile curved his lips before he retreated several steps. “I believe ye can manage from here.” He bowed low and turned on his heel to head down to the river. She needed her privacy, and he needed to douse himself in the cold water.
CATARINA’S GAZE FOLLOWED Quinn. She stood there, still staring even when his strong, bare back had passed from view.
Ignoring her racing heart, she crossed to where Nicholas slept.
She knelt to brush her fingertips across his forehead, but her hand shook.
She balled her fingers in a tight fist, hiding the evidence of her fluster.
“I hardly know what to think anymore,” she whispered.
Remembering herself, she stood, her spine poker-straight, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted the hem of her tunic and circled around the tree where she set to work removing the remainder of her finery.
The wind rustled through the trees carrying the scent of bluebells.
She inhaled deeply and listened to the forest. How odd it was to be naked out of doors.
She felt like Eve standing amid Eden, but who did that make Quinn—her Adam?
Her skin tingled, and her heart raced. A short distance away, Quinn likely crouched near the river, beads of water cascading off his strong shoulders.
She could still feel his calloused fingers brushing her skin.
His touch, so fleeting, had felt more intimate than any of her couplings with her husband.
Laying with Henry had been simply another duty not so different from ensuring clean rushes lined the great hall or that the larder was fully stocked.
She had hoped Henry would grow to be more loving, but he never did.
Remembering her dead husband stole the heat from her body.
Cold and full of sorrow, she dressed quickly in the borrowed garments.
Smoothing out the tunic, she had to admit the wool did not feel as harsh as she had predicted.
More than that, it felt divine to be free of her headdress, although she could not help feeling self-conscious.
She reached behind her head. Thankfully, her long hair was still pinned in a coil at the nape of her neck.
She took a step forward, her fine slipper peeking out from beneath faded wool.
Her heart sank—she was a commoner. For a moment, self-pity consumed her, but then she glanced over at Nicholas, her precious child, asleep on the forest floor.
She headed through the trees. “Are there slippers?” she asked when she came up behind Quinn.
He turned, his chest still bare. Her eyes traveled the length of his muscled torso before she met his gaze.
“These will not do.” She lifted the hem of her worn tunic, revealing sky blue, pointed-toe slippers, embroidered with white flowers and marred by drops of Henry’s blood.
He grabbed for his tunic and pulled it over his head.
She chewed her bottom lip while she glimpsed his muscles shift and decided it was a pity to cover something so fine.
“Here,” he said, producing a pair of simple, leather slippers from the bundle.
She reached for the plain shoes. A shiver shot up her spine as their fingers touched. “Thank you,” she said and turned to retreat, but then she paused and looked back. “I spoke through pride before.”
He raised a questioning brow at her.
“I am speaking of my refusal to wear my maid’s clothes. You had our well-being in mind, and I thank you for that.” She lifted her chin, imbuing her stance with strength. “I will do whatever it takes to protect my son.”
Quinn knelt at her feet. “May I,” he said.
She swallowed hard and slowly placed the slippers in his open hand.
Her breath caught in her throat when he gently lifted her foot and slid off her fine shoe.
His warm hand encircled her heel. She fought to swallow again.
Then he slid the new slipper on. He gave her other foot the same slow, deliberate care.
By the time he finished, her heart raced, and she could barely draw breath.
“Thank you,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. She cleared her throat and took a step back, smoothing her hands down the front of her tunic. Then she straightened her sleeves.
“Ye look lovely,” he said.
Her head jerked up, and she met his gaze.
A slight smile curved his lips, his dark eyes traveling the length of her with unconcealed appreciation. “I can actually see ye now without all those veils and fuss.”
She blushed. For reasons she dared not consider, she liked that Quinn could now ‘actually see’ her.