“S-sir…” A mere squeak.
Not loud enough for a mouse to hear and certainly not bold.
She drew a deep breath, prepared to try again. “Sir!”
That, he heard.
Never had she seen anyone exit a bed so quickly.
Or recover his wits as swiftly.
“Thunder of heaven!” Chest heaving, he stared at her. “Sakes, woman, I thought we were under attack.”
Nae, but my courage is fleeing, her heart confessed.
She said nothing. How could she with his hard-muscled body, so magnificent in the moonlight, minding her of more than her wish for them to be as one with the wild northern night, the cold wind and crashing sea.
“My lady, that was not wise.” He came toward her, at ease with his near-nakedness, unaware of her intent.
Stopping in front of her, he reached for her hand, and then raised it to kiss her knuckles. “I’d not alarm you, but it is dangerous to stir a man so abruptly. I could have hurt you when I leapt from the bed.”
“I wanted you to see the night sky,” she said, not looking at the stars at all, but at his groin, his manhood still swollen from sleep and pressing against the thin linen of his braies.
“You are not looking at the sky,” he said, releasing her hand.
Meeting his gaze, she tried not to squirm, tried even harder to ignore the awareness crackling between them.
Did he feel it, too?
Something told her he did.
When his gaze flickered over her, she was sure of it. Praise be he’d kissed the top of her hand, for her palms were hot and damp.
“So, sweeting…” He tossed a look out the nearest window, then turned back to her. “I have seen the night sky, mist-chased as it is. Shall we not return to bed?”
“Can we sit here for a while?” she asked, forcing a light tone. “I could not sleep.”
“I am not surprised, given the length of the day, and how it ended.”
“Please…” She smoothed the bed-robe over her knees. “Let us not speak of Sir John and his treachery. I would simply rest a bit.” She gave him a hopeful smile. “Enjoy the quiet, and whatever the night might yet bring.”
“As you wish,” he said, lowering himself on the opposite facing seat. “Shall we admire the stars?” His voice held a trace of amusement. “Leastways, the ones kind enough to peek at us from behind the mist.”
“Even if we can’t see them all, they are still there.” Caterine waited, expecting him to laugh.
Instead, he reached for an old, folded plaid and spread it across his legs, getting comfortable.
“Those who have gone before us do the same,” he said, sounding almost like a Highlander. “We see them when they wish it. Other times, they are cloaked in mystery, hidden from view.”
“Can it be, sir, that you are Scottish?” Caterine smiled a little, lifted a brow. “You speak like the men of our hills.”
“Ah, well.” He studied her, his good eye twinkling. “Perhaps I’ve spent too many years in the Highlands? Breathed in too much peat smoke? Or maybe” – he gestured to the nearest window arch – “too much of your infernal, ever-present mist?”
“I suppose that would do it.” Her smile widened, a place deep inside her noting how easily he cut through her defenses. “You are a Highlander in all but blood.”
“So I have heard, my lady.” His own smile flashed. “I take it as a great compliment.”
Caterine’s heart warmed. “I was quite serious.”
