“Did I say it right?” I asked.
“You did.”
Behind her, Tavish looked ready to insist on coming, too, but he jerked his head toward the fire. “Don’t be long. I’ll find us something to eat.”
I led Portia down the rocks, pausing to help her untangle her skirts from bushes and scrub. After a minute, the scent of water reached my nose.
“This way.” Hand in hand, we approached a spring with a broad bank scattered with pebbles and the occasional sprig of grass. Water bubbled over river rocks, and mist clouded the air.
“It’s almost as pretty as Scotland,” Portia said, staring around.
“Not quite,” I said, and she tossed me a smile I was more than happy to catch.
“Tavish is angry with me,” she said suddenly.
I went to her, the tips of my boots brushing her skirts. Mist clung to her hair like a gossamer veil. “You gave him a fright. He only wants to protect you.” I touched her jaw. My beast tried to push into my voice, and I let it. “He also wants to claim you.”
She stared at me, and we both knew I spoke for myself as well as Tavish.
Portia looked down. “He’s made that very clear. But I can’t accept a mate bond right now.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “I don’t even really know whennowis.”
My heart turned over. Tucking a finger under her chin, I lifted her eyes to mine. “Now is now, lass. It’s a simple thing, but sometimes I think it might be the only thing that matters.”
Quiet spooled between us, the only sound the rush of water over the rocks.
“I think you’re very wise, Albie MacLean,” she said.
My dragon stirred under my skin, and heat sped to my groin. “You have mist caught in your eyelashes,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. I traced a finger along her cheekbone. “And dirt on your wee nose, and leaves in your hair.” I leaned closer. “And I’ve never wanted a woman more in my life.”
She looked at my mouth. Mist swirled around us, the fading sunlight making it sparkle.
Portia swallowed, the smooth column of her throat drawing my stare like a flash from a musket. “I should…” She gestured vaguely toward the spring.
I stepped back. “Aye. I’ll go off a pace or two, but I’ll stay close by.” I turned my back and moved away. My dragon paced beneath my skin. Dragging in a breath, I let my gaze wander over the forest, my senses primed for any sound or movement. The ache in my eye faded to a dull throb.
Portia’s boots crunched at my back, her footsteps growing softer as she moved away. Fabric rustled. A few moments later, it rustled again.
“Albie?”
I turned to find Portia by the spring’s edge, a tentative look on her face.
“Yes?” I asked, striding forward.
“I’d like to bathe.”
I stopped beside her. Immortal or not, she was from a different time. And I got the sense things were…softer where she came from. She’d looked ready to faint when I showed her the chamber pot back at the castle. Was she really prepared to bathe in the spring?
“It’ll be cold,” I warned.
“It’s better than being dirty.” She plucked at her skirts. “I feel gross.”
She looked gorgeous.
“I’ll help you with your laces,” I said.
She flashed a grateful smile, then presented her back. Smoothing her hair over her shoulder, I worked the corset laces loose, my fingers brushing the linen of her chemise. Tiny goosebumps lifted on her nape.
“These clothes are really inconvenient,” she said, turning her head enough to show me her profile. “I’m sorry you have to help me all the time.”
