Chapter 8 #2
Behind him, he heard nothing but silence. No doubt Skye’s eyes were boring into his back, waiting for him to do something to prove her right. To turn or steal a glance.
“We havenae got all night, lassie,” he remarked idly, turning up his eyes. “I, for one, am exhausted. If ye hope to see that soft, fluffy bed at all before dawn, I suggest ye hurry.”
She bit back a growl of annoyance. For a moment, he was sure that she would do nothing and just let the bathwater go cold out of spite. Then he heard the rustle of fabric.
In the silence, the sounds seemed to echo. He could trace every noise—the rasp of her kirtle strings loosening, the breathy sigh of a petticoat falling to the floor in a crumpled mess.
“Did ye injure yerself today?” he asked, and heard a rustling flinch.
“What?”
She sounded tentative. A muffled plop made him think that she’d dipped her hand into the bathwater, testing its temperature.
“It’s easily done. Are ye hurt, lass? I never stopped to check.”
She cleared her throat. “None of yer concern.”
He rolled his eyes. “Prickly as always.”
“Are ye going to let me enjoy me bath or nae?”
He said nothing. Presumably, she took that as a yes, because then he heard a muted splash, the sound of a limb plunging into water.
Was she hurt? He didn’t think he’d seen a blade get too close to her. The arrow, at least, had missed, but if she was injured, the wretched lass was just the kind to hide it.
Quietly cursing, he drew in a breath and quickly, oh so quickly, glanced over his shoulder.
She had her back to him and was stepping into the bathwater. His gaze dragged down her body, on the lookout for nasty, mottled bruises or vivid red gashes. He saw none, but of course that hardly mattered anymore.
What he did see was acres of smooth white flesh. Her buttocks, tight and round, tensed as she lowered herself into the tub, water sliding up the curves of her legs. With her back turned, he could hardly see any of her front, nothing beyond the glimpse of a pink nipple.
That was all he had time for before his reflexes dragged him around again, pinning his gaze to the wall. His heart pounded, desire tightening in his gut.
Did she see me?
A soft sigh escaped from behind, water lapping at the sides of the bathtub as she lowered herself in.
Nay, she didnae see. She’d be raging right now if she did.
Guilt niggled at him, and he shifted his weight. He shouldn’t have looked; that went without saying. But if the wretched lass had only told him honestly whether she was injured or not—
Enough of that. Call a spade a spade. Ye looked because ye wanted to look.
And now he had to live with the memory. No more than he deserved, really.
“All right,” Skye said, her voice sounding oddly breathy. “I’m in. Ye can turn around.”
Evander did so, slowly. Submerged in the tub, he could only see her head poking out, hair plastered to her head, dark as a seal. She gave a tentative smile, and his chest tightened.
“So I see,” he managed.
She lifted one soapy arm, inspecting it in the flickering firelight. “So, the one bed. How do ye plan to talk yer way out of that one? Will we top and tail?”
“Very funny,” he snorted. “Nay, there’s a perfectly good chair in the corner.”
She glanced over at the chair in question, a rickety-looking wooden thing without an inch of padding. She frowned.
“I’m nae sure I would describe it as perfectly good.”
“At any rate, it’ll suffice,” he responded thinly. “Unless, of course…” he trailed off, letting a smile play on his lips. “Ye care to share. It’s a large bed. Plenty of room. And the nights do get so very cold, so…”
She flushed beet red, and his smile widened. It was so fun, making her blush like that.
“I daenae think so,” she responded snippily.
He chuckled. “Aye, that’s what I thought ye would say. Look, lass, if ye truly hate the thought of sharing the room with me, I’ll go sleep on the landing outside. I’ll nae force me company on ye. I daenae force it on anyone.”
She was silent for a long moment, mulling this over.
Evander made himself wait, not jumping in to speak or to pressure her into answering. She’d talk when she was ready, and not a moment before.
“I’m nae sure I want ye to leave,” Skye whispered. With the firelight behind her, casting flickering shadows over her face, her eyes were dark and her face unreadable.
“That is to say,” she continued, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, “I daenae understand what happened to me. I daenae ken who took me, or why. I’m…
” She swallowed. “I hate to say it, but I’m afraid.
More afraid than I should be. The plain fact is that I daenae wish to be alone right now.
I could be in danger, and while I am nae entirely sure of ye, Evander… ”
“Thanks.”
“… I would sooner have ye here than nae. If ye daenae mind,” she added, with a touch of self-consciousness that he hadn’t seen before.
Wordlessly, Evander slid over to the chair, lowering himself into its hard, unyielding embrace.
With a sigh, he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles.
It wasn’t proper for him to stay in the room, not if he was being honest with himself.
And with that quick stolen glimpse, he’d set alight a familiar flame in his chest.
Fool, he cursed himself inwardly.
“Thank ye for explaining that to me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I am glad we can speak honestly to each other. So, then, I’ll stay, but only until ye fall asleep.”
She nodded, the water shivering around her. “Thank ye, Evander.”