Ronan looked at her, his surprise complete. “The meal I’d ordered for —”
“For me, aye, but now for us both to enjoy! We have” — she lifted a hand, began ticking off viands — “thick slices of cold roasted mutton, the very same spiced salmon patties and jellied eggs, and even Hugh MacHugh’s ginger-dusted honey cakes.”
Ronan’s brows arched.
“And not just that.” She flicked another glance at the well-spread table board. “There are additional savories as well.”
It was all Ronan could do to keep from telling her thatshewas the savory.
Blessedly, speech failed him.
She flashed a dimpled smile. “Hugh MacHugh was generous.”
Ronan could only goggle.
She was beyond all, a vision against the cold gray of the wood, the dark trunks of the great Scots pines crowding the little path.
Behind her, mist and cloud swirled across the jagged face of Creag na Gaoith, but — as if to bedevil him — a single shaft of sunlight slanted through the trees, the golden light falling directly across her, gilding her.
Not that she needed any such embellishment.
Prominent and well-made, her breasts swelled above a tighter-fitting, lower- dipping bodice than he’d yet seen her wear, and her flaming hair had loosened from its braid to hang about her shoulders.
Not even attempting to tame her wild tresses or right the front of her gown, she held his gaze. Her eyes smoldered, their gold-flecked depths proud and full of challenge.
The top rims of her nipples were plainly visible.
Ronan swallowed.
His jaw went so slack he doubted he’d e’er be able to firm it again.
Another, more self-minded part of him twitched and jerked.
No danger of slackness there.
Indeed, if he ran any harder, the wretched thing might just snap in two.
Ignoring it, he finally managed to lower his arm and shove his fool sword back into its sheath. He dismounted and made a bit of a show brushing at his travel cloak, flicking its folds into place.
Ne’er had he felt more like a bumbling, witless bravo.
It was unthinkable that he had nearly gone charging through the underbrush, brandishing his sword and yelling forVikingsto come out of their hidey holes and fight like men.
The near shame of it coursed through him.
He gritted his teeth and drew a tight breath. He would not redden in front of her.
Nor would he let her see how deeply she affected him.
Unfortunately, from the look she was giving him, he suspected she knew fine.
“Of course, you were startled.” She came closer, her red-gold curls swinging about her hips. The scent of roses swirled around him. “It was my intention to surprise you.”
His nose quivered, her perfume almost overwhelming his senses.
“To be sure, and you did, just! Surprise me.” He eyed her sharply, scarce able to think straight. “But did you no’ consider Buckie —”
She brushed aside his concern and took his arm, her grip firm. “Buckie is in fine fettle. He’s enjoyed the day and still is.”
