And he’d been fully at ease.
Dear heavens.
Caterine’s heart flip-flopped and her mouth went dry. Something deep inside her contracted to a tight and hollow ache. The recalled image, even in a relaxed state, weighted her belly with a pulsing warmth. Imagining him at need, fully aroused, filled her with a greedy, demanding hunger she’d never believed existed until now.
“Do not heed their foolery, my lady,” he spoke at last, the deep smoothness of his voice warming her soul as surely as remembering his male perfection stirred her body. “They forget themselves at times.”
As she’d forgotten herself, her mind filling with wickedness.
Embarrassed, she drew a shaky breath, the image of his nakedness still emblazoned across her mind’s eye. She blinked, awakening as if from a haze.
“Lady?” He was peering oddly at her. “Are you unwell?”
“No.” She shook her head, aware that everyone in the hall was staring at her. “I am fine, truly.”
His brow arced upward. “You are sure?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I was only-”
“You appeared dazed.”
I was. I am.Caterine touched her cheek, not surprised to find it hot. “I have been a bit unsettled in recent times,” she admitted, hoping he wouldn’t guess why.
“Strongbow does that to all the ladies,” one of his men blurted, then slapped the table.
The others chuckled, their bearded faces splitting in grins.
It was a quick outburst, but enough to shatter the strange intensity charging the air between her and Linnet’s champion.
Conversation resumed at the tables. Everyday sounds of men tucking into what humble offerings Dunlaidir’s kitchens could place before them. Platters of bread and cheese, barley gruel, and for those lucky enough to be sitting in the upper hall, stewed cockles and, set here and there along the tables, small dishes of spiced almonds. Ordinary fare and noise that underscored how swiftly her sense of normalcy had changed since the English knight’s arrival.
Acutely aware of him, Caterine lifted a hand to her shoulder. Though he’d released her, the tingling warmth where his fingers had pressed against her yet lingered. She also couldn’t help but notice how light from a nearby wall torch glossed his thick, dark hair, and - of course - how that same shimmering light danced across his mailed shoulders, drawing attention to his powerful build. The masculine strength that made her pulse skitter.
As if he knew, he smoothed the back of his fingers down the curve of her cheek and the tingles spread, tumbling through her in a cascade of pleasure clear to her toes.
“You mustn’t let my men unsettle you,” he said, lifting away his hand. “They are rogues and have rough manners.”
You unsettle me, she wanted to say, but the hint of an amused gleam in his good eye held her tongue.
And made her bold.
Daring enough to challenge the sensations he’d awakened in her.
“Is it true, then?”
“What, my lady?”
“The things whispered about you.” Caterine held his gaze, glad when Eoghann skirted round her and plunked down a platter of roasted seabird. The rich smell of the savory gannet meant staved off curious glances.
Heart pounding, she leaned in. “Are you a spell-caster? A charmer of women as your men claim?”
An amused smile curved his lips as he caught her hand and began massaging her palm with his callused thumb. “I would rather leave that for you to decide,” he said, releasing her. “Perhaps one day soon you will give me your opinion.”
“I shall,” Caterine blurted, too flustered by the delicious prickling sensation dancing across her palm to remember what else she’d wanted to ask him.
Still smiling, he seized her hand once more, this time placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
At her quick intake of breath, his smile deepened to reveal a set of most appealing dimples. Two vertical creases running from mid-cheek to just below the corners of his mouth, and as charming as his scar was daunting.
