Because . . . of course he did.
She clasped her hands behind her back, itching her palms with her nails. Anything to banish the phantom sense of him.
She shot a pointed look at the blunt-tipped fencingépéein his hand.
“I’m not going to fence with you.” She got right to the point. “The very thought is absurd.”
“Ye promised ye would try to remember, lass. Ye gave your word—”
“And where is Mrs. McKay?” Eilidh scowled, looking around the room once more. “You are breaking faith with me at every turn.”
“Mrs. McKay is taking a nap,” he all but sighed. “The door is open. There are servants about. I assure ye, we are meeting propriety.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “I like Mrs. McKay, but I am starting to suspect that she was chosen as my chaperone because she is elderly, permissive, and easily swayed by flirtatious compliments.”
The twitch of Kieran’s lips was all the confirmation Eilidh needed.
“I’m not fencing with you,” she repeated.
“Ye promised. And I have . . .oranges.” He pointed hisépéeat the burlap sack still sitting on the table.
Eilidh glanced at it and then looked back to him.
“I may have promised, but all I’ve seen is you testing that promise—pushing my cooperation to its limits. If you want me to fence, you will have to give me an orange first, as a show of good faith.” She snapped her fingers and held out her hand. “An agreement is an agreement.”
He shook his head, closing the distance between them. “Ye have done nothing to try to remember yet.”
She folded her arms. “Then we are at an impasse, Master MacTavish.”
If she thought to unsettle him, she found she was mistaken.
Shooting her a rather smug smile, he set down his rapier and fetched an orange from the sack. Leaning back against the edge of the ancient oaken table, he crossed his feet at the ankles and began peeling the orange, the muscles of his forearms flexing and retreating.
“That’smyorange.” She crossed to him. “You cannot simply eat it yourself.”
That roguish smile stretched wider. “Consider this a bonus orange. A show of good faith, as ye requested.”
The heady smell of citrus filled the air. He peeled the fruit in a bright narrow strip, round and round, his long fingers expertly skimming off the rind in one continuous corkscrew of summery color.
Eilidh watched, her gaze helplessly tangled in the orange spiral.
His actions felt simultaneously novel and, yet, achingly familiar.
She took another hesitant step forward, halving the distance between them. With a grin, he finished peeling the orange and then deftly reassembled the long corkscrew back into a sphere. He held both oranges out to her—one on each palm—the bright orange hollow peel and the pith-speckled ball of its interior.
Eilidh reached for the fruit.
Grinning even wider, Kieran snatched it out of her reach, holding it over his head.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
His smirk said he would welcome her climbing his body to grasp the prize.
That wasnotgoing to happen.
She held out her palm, a silent demand.
He looked at her hand, shook his head, and then split the peeled orange in half, sending a small spray of juice into the air. The scent of citrus assaulted her.
