Ronan’s eyes widened. He stared at her, well aware his jaw was slipping. His breath lodged in his throat, making it difficult to think. Worst of all, her flame-bright hair caught the fire glow and his fingers itched to touch the gleaming strands.
A man could lose himself in such silky, glistening tresses.
Lose himself and much more.
He frowned.
Praise the saints she hadn’t yet undressed.
Even so, it took all his strength to tear his gaze from her jigging buttocks.
When he could, his pent-up breath left him in a great, gusty rush.
“What goes on here?” He strode forward, his stare pinned on the iron poker in her hand. “Who —”
“We both know who is responsible.” Cool as spring rain, she set aside the fire poker and stood. “One glance was all I needed” — she made a sweeping gesture, turning — “though I vow anyone would have guessed upon seeing . . .”
She froze, her extended arm poised in midair. “Mercy!” she gasped, her eyes widening. “You’re naked!”
“Bah. I —” Ronan started to deny it, but clamped his mouth shut instead.
Hewasnaked.
He firmed his jaw and squared his shoulders, opting for a show of dignity. With each breath, he became more aware of the heavy plaid still clutched in his hand, the dry bits of rushes and herbage tickling the bare soles of his feet.
Lady Gelis was staring at him.
He could neither move nor speak.
Great folds of tartan dangled from his fingers to pool on the floor. Rather than throw the plaid around him, he’d simply snatched it up and run, so great had been his urgency to reach her side and ensure her safety.
Now he looked the fool.
“You forgot to don your plaid,” she said, quite unnecessarily.
“Nae,” Ronan lied, “I did not wish to waste time with such trivialities in my haste to see what was amiss here.”
Her eyes twinkled. “There is naught amiss here that cannot be easily rectified.”
Something in her tone warned him.
Against his better judgment, he glanced down, his worst dread confirmed.
Her jigging buttocks had affected him more than he’d realized.
Heat shot up the back of his neck. His vitals caught flame. After all, it wasn’t every day such a desirable female stood staring at his man piece.
Nor could he recall having ever seen a more amused-looking female.
Or one who looked quite so triumphant.
Ronan cleared his throat, pride not letting him sling on his plaid too hastily. “Fair lady, you’d be hard-pressed to find a Heilander who doesn’t sleep naked as the good God made him.” He held her gaze as he spoke, forcing himself to use slow and careful movements as he covered himself.
The plaid finally in place, he dusted his hands, blessed composure his once again. “Anice woke me,” he began, doing fine until he perceived a certain canine stare boring into him from the door.
Buckie lay sprawled across the threshold, his shaggy head resting on his paws, his milky eyes keener than Ronan had seen them in years.
Definitely unblinking, and perhaps even a wee bit accusatory.
