“Nae.” He wouldn’t mention the crone’s name. Wicked as she was, it wouldn’t surprise him if she suddenly hobbled in the door, cackling her glee, looking on as two mere mortals made fools of themselves.
The gods were aye for amusement.
Meddlesome Highland crones as well, it would seem.
“Use the cream, lass.” He heard her open the jar. “It’ll help the pain, for sure.”
That, at least, was good.
Devorgilla was famed for stirring mischief and mayhem, but she wasn’t known for harming folk.
Callum heard the rustling of cloth, knew the lass was unlacing her bodice ties, slipping her gown off her shoulders, down her back. But then she stopped.
Silence reigned.
“I can’t reach the scratches,” she said, five words that sent chills down his back.
“Try,” he urged her, standing as rigid as stone. “You must.”
More rustling, an annoyed huff. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to do it for me.”
Callum turned, relief sluicing him when he saw she clutched the opened front of her gown high, the lush rounds of her breasts hidden from view.
“Give me the jar,” he said, grateful his voice was still his own. “Then turn so I can smear the cream on the scratches.”
She did as he asked, letting the gown slip to her waist, freeing the whole of her back.
Callum’s heart stopped.
He couldn’t speak.
Nary a cat scratch marred her skin.
But…
Below her left shoulder, level with her heart, was a reddish-brown mark.
A vertical ‘scar’ she’d surely carried from birth and that exactly matched the two marks on his body. He carried one on his back in the same spot as hers, while the other was on his chest, right over his heart. And he knew without looking, what he’d see if she turned again, showing him her naked breasts.
“Alanna.” His heart hammered so hard he heard its beating in his ears. “I must see the front of you. I’m no’ asking because I want to pounce on you. Just let me see, please.”
She didn’t move. “No man has ever seen me naked.”
No man but me, came the Norse voice again, this time at his ear as if the invisible fiend stood beside him, looking on as he stepped into this nightmare of truth.
And truth it had to be, much as he’d rather deny it.
Yet he’d heard the tales, the stories and legends – just as she had.
Their legend, their past.
Another chill raced through him and he hoped he didn’t start to tremble. His heart and his mind-of-its-own maleness were beyond his control. The first pounding so hard he wondered Blackie and his friends didn’t hear up in the longhouse; the second so tight and straining, he feared he’d soon disgrace himself.
“One quick look, lass, and I’ll no’ trouble you again.” He took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he knew he’d see. “Turn around, your breasts bared to me.”
“Oh, gods!” she cried, clapping her hands over her eyes.
“Turn now.”
