It was just . . .
A woman!
Ship!
Here!
Naked!
Woman!!
Some sense of his own shock must have carried to her.
She froze, the cloth pressed to her neck.
She glanced over her shoulder and then shrieked. Snatching up the wool blanket, she pressed it to her front and whirled to face him.
They regarded one another for the space of three heartbeats.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Kieran’s blood was a pulse in his ears.
So . . . he had found Jamie.
Or . . . thelasspretending to be Jamie.
She stared at him in wide-eyed shock.
How had he ever thought her to be a boy?
He was such aneejit.
With her face clean, the elegant swoop of her jaw could only belong to a woman.
She was petite and small and devastatingly beautiful.
No wonder she remained filthy. How else was she to disguise such loveliness?
She licked her lips, chest heaving under the blanket clasped to her.
“Who are ye?” he asked. “Not James Fyffe, obviously.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Ye still have the look of Charles. Are ye . . . are ye the sister then? Eilidh, was it?”
“Aye.” She nodded her head. “Jamie died. I took his place.”
Her hands shook where she held the blanket. Kieran’s eyes dipped down to them. He swallowed.
He lifted his eyes back to hers.
She had not missed his perusal. She pulled the blanket tighter around her chest.
