He chuckled again. Lore a’mighty, but the lass lightened his heart whenever he was with her. “Ye know he willna hurt ye, lass. He just likes to tug on ye a bit until ye give him the attention he feels he deserves.”
Her watchful gaze slid from the black warhorse to Gray. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Gray reached out to the mare. The small horse stepped forward and nuzzled his palm. “Now, Sorrel here is quite the lady.” He smoothed his hand up the horse’s cheek and rubbed her warm, silky neck. “She will cause ye nary a trouble. Come. I’ll settle ye on her back.”
Sorrel affirmed Gray’s invitation with a soft whinny and toss of her head.
Trulie didn’t move, just stood with her gaze locked on the horse and silent.
“Trulie.” He reached out, snagged the sleeve of her dress, and gently pulled her closer to the horse. “Ye dinna have to mount her just yet. Come and get to know her. See what a wee lamb she is.”
“There is nothing wee about her,” Trulie said as she grudgingly allowed him to position her in front of the gentle beast. She eyed him, then nodded at Sorrel’s whisker-covered nose just inches from her face. “She looks small to you because you’re so big.”
He couldn’t resist the look on Trulie’s face, a delightful combination of frustration, wonder, and maybe just a tiny bit of fear. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her toward him and pecked a quick kiss on the end of her nose.
Her soft green eyes nearly crossed as she glared up at him. “Kissing me will not make the horse any smaller.”
Laughter rumbled from him as he pulled her closer. He inhaled the sweetness of her hair and nuzzled the warm silkiness just behind her ear. “Kissing ye will not make me any smaller either.”
She immediately melted into his embrace and slid her hands up his back. “I can think of a better way to spend the afternoon than teaching me to ride a horse.”
“Aye. So can I.” If he had his way about it, Trulie would not be mounting anything but him. A groan escaped him as he found her mouth. Lore, the woman already had him aching to take her.
Leaning Trulie back in one arm, he ran a hand down the rough weave of her overdress and cradled the enticing swell of her hip. As he dove deeper into the warm welcome of her mouth, he edged them back into an empty stall. The thought of bedding down in the fresh clean hay spurred him onward. Aye. This was the perfect place for an afternoon of pleasure.
She slid her hands up around his neck and molded herself against him, returning his kiss with an urgency that nearly undid him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He shuddered and hungrily opened her mouth for more. Lore—the taste of her lured him like wine tempting a drunkard.
He would never get his fill of her. Couldn’t imagine the keep without her. But what if she chose to leave? What if she chose another time over him? He eased back a bit, shaken by the thought.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing.” He swept her up into his arms and laid her gently down in the hay.
“Wait a minute.” She gently pushed him away.
Wait? He stopped and pulled back. “I thought...”
She patted him on the chest and grinned. “I’m tangled in all these clothes. I need to shed some if we’re going to...” Her words trailed off, but the look in her eyes left no doubt as to what she meant.
Now, that sounded like a fine idea indeed. He shifted to his side and propped his head in his hand. “Aye. Rid yourself of those trappings. I promise ye, I willna let ye get cold.”
The look she gave him fanned the aching burn pulsing through him. Damn, but the woman set him on fire.
She rolled to her feet and shucked the heavy overdress off over her head, then bent to gather up the next layer.
He sat up and peered closer. What the devil did the woman have on beneath her léine?
The soft, white linen of Trulie’s ankle-length underdress appeared much darker from her waist down. Instead of a teasing outline of her bare legs, the tunic revealed some sort of skin-tight blue trews.
“What the devil do ye have on yer legs?” he asked.
“Leggings.” She bunched up the yards of linen around her waist and danced around in a circle. “See?”
He swallowed hard. Aye. He saw all right. How could he not see the way theleggingsmolded across the perfection of her fine arse?
“But why?” He leaned back against the stall and flicked a hand toward her. “Ye should be bare beneath yer dress. Women dinna wear trews or ... leggings. Why are ye not wearing stockings?”
Her brows arched nearly to her hairline. “It’s cold outside. You might be used to the wind whistling up your bare backside, but I’m not. These keep me nice and warm on a chilly day. Stockings don’t insulate anything but my legs.”
