"That's nae helpful."
"Ye look like someone dumped ye in a mud puddle and forgot tae rinse ye off." His mouth quirked into a smile. "But I suppose with the right light and enough distance, it might pass fer dirt rather than intentional disguise."
"Ye're mockin' me."
"I'm nae mockin'. I'm just..." He lost the battle against his smile and laughed. "Och, Liliane, ye should see yerself. Ye've got clay in yer hair, on yer nose, and is that supposed tae be stubble on yer chin?"
"Aye! I was tryin' tae make it look like I hadnae shaved in days." She touched her jaw self-consciously. "Daes it nae look believable?"
"It looks like ye rolled in dirt and hoped fer the best." But his laughter was warm, not cruel. "Come here."
She moved closer reluctantly, and he caught her chin in his hand.
"The idea's sound," he said, his voice gentling. "Clay or dirt tae darken yer skin, make ye look weathered. But ye need tae blend it better, make it look natural rather than applied." His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, smearing the clay. "Like this. Uneven, patchy, as if ye've actually been workin' outdoors rather than paintin' yerself in a courtyard."
"Ye're still laughin' at me."
"I'm laughin' with ye. There's a difference." He released her chin but didn't step back. "Though I have tae ask, what was that voice ye were usin'? The deep one?"
Heat flooded her face. "I was practicin' soundin' more masculine."
"Ye sounded like ye'd swallowed a frog."
"I did nae!"
"Ye did. A very large, very unhappy frog." His grin widened at her outraged expression. "Liliane, ye daenae need tae deepen yer voice that much. Most young warriors still have higher voices anyway. Just speak a bit more curtly, less melodically. Like this—" He demonstrated, his tone becoming clipped and businesslike. "Aye, me laird. Right away, me laird. Whatever ye say, me laird."
She tried to copy his cadence. "Aye, me laird. Right away."
"Better. Less singin’, more statin’. Ye're reportin' information, nae tellin' a story." He circled around her, studying her from different angles.
They practiced for several more minutes, Tòrr offering corrections and suggestions, until Liliane felt she had a better grasp of masculine movement and speech. Finally, he called a halt.
He reached out and wiped a smudge of clay from her forehead. "Though I have tae say, even covered in mud and walkin' like a warrior, ye're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
The casual compliment, so simply stated, made her throat tight. "I look like a bog creature, ye said so yerself."
"Aye, but ye're me bog creature." His hand lingered on her face, his expression growing serious. "And even disguised, even covered in clay and pretendin' tae be someone ye're nae, ye're still beautiful. That willnae change no matter how ye dress or what voice ye use."
"I never thought I'd feel this way."
"What way?"
"Safe. Comfortable." She met his eyes in the moonlight. "I never thought I'd stand in a courtyard with a man, covered in clay, and feel... peaceful. Never thought I'd trust someone enough tae let them see me like this, foolish and uncertain and tryin' so hard tae be somethin' I'm nae."
"Ye deserve everythin'." He kissed her then, soft and sweet, tasting of night air and promises. "Now come. Let's get ye cleaned up afore someone sees us and starts spreadin' rumors about the laird and his mud-covered wife."
She laughed, the sound surprising her with its lightness. "What kind of rumors?"
"Oh, ye ken. That I've driven ye mad with me demands. That ye've taken tae rollin' in dirt rather than share me bed." His eyes danced with amusement. "That we're secret druids performin' strange rituals."
"Druids?"
"It's the clay. Very druidic." He tugged her toward the door. "Come on. I'll help ye wash it off."
Back in their chamber, Liliane scrubbed the clay from her face and hands, watching the water in the basin turn muddy brown. The cool water felt good against her skin, washing away the tight, uncomfortable feeling of dried clay. When she was done, she looked up to find Tòrr watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
She felt his chest shake with quiet laughter, his lips pressing to the top of her head. "Aye, wife. Whatever ye say." His hand stroked down her spine, and she shivered despite the warmth flooding through her.
