She unfastened it and he lifted the sodden garment from her shoulders. Looking down at the rest of her, she wondered if he was shocked by the trews she wore. Her brother was much taller and larger than she, so she’d been forced to roll them up at the waist to pull the extra fabric into place. It had been years since she and Ciara had worn the scandalous trews, while running through the forests at play. Sliding her hands down onto her thighs, she realized they were soaked through as well. She shivered as the cold, wet fabric plastered itself to her skin.
Jamie had busied himself starting a fire in the small metal brazier after hanging her cloak and his on pegs next to the door. Proving himself quite self-sufficient for a nobleman, he then brought in some chopped blocks of peat to add to it. It would be smoky but would warm them and help dry their cloaks. Soon, the heat of the fire began to fill the hut.
“That should help,” he said, facing her. He frowned and shook his head. “You should change out of those wet clothes. I brought your bag in.”
He reached for her bag and discovered exactly what she knew would be true—the heavy fabric bag had absorbed as much water as the rest of her had and the gowns inside were wet. When he discovered their condition, he shrugged.
“Well, that is not a choice now, is it?” He pulled one of the blankets from the shelf and shook it out. “At least this will keep you warm while your garments dry.”
Now, shivers of another kind shot through her, as she considered undressing with him so close and watching. She knew it would come to that, once they married, or even before while yet on this journey, but was that to be now? Being as bold as she could, she reached out to take the blanket from him.
Chapter Four
James watched as the uncertainty in her gaze changed and she reached out for the blanket he offered. He understood she’d only just comprehended that they were truly alone and truly well into this brave or foolhardy adventure. And accepted the way that it would end—with their marriage and her being bedded, well-bedded, before returning to their families. A lovely blush crept up into her fair-skinned cheeks and her mouth opened slightly as he smiled at her.
Only by taking vows and consummating them would she be protected by the claim of marriage. And whether the vows or the consummation would happen first was not something he’d thought much on...until now!
“Are you worried, Elizabeth? About what will happen between us?” he asked quietly.
Only the sound of the rain outside echoed around them. He had not considered that she would be afraid, not after her bold acceptance of his proposal and their elopement last night. But, her reputation would be ruined if his offer was not honorable. Did she know worry on that?
She let out of breath and sighed. Shaking her head, she turned her back to him and began untying the belt that held the trews up. He snatched up the blanket and held it around her, so she would not be chilled...or embarrassed. Though, truth be told, he wanted to see her naked. Naked and beneath him. Naked, covered only by the length of her brown hair.
James shook himself free of such thoughts, since there would be time enough for all of that, and turned his head away, staring instead at the door. He was not some untried youth who needed to pounce on the woman he wanted, especially since she would be his wife soon enough. And as his wife, they would have a long life ahead of them. So, how they started was an important step and one he would not stumble upon taking.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, as he avoided peeking over the curtain he formed with the blanket.
“A bit,” she said, taking the edges of the woolen covering and wrapping it around her shoulders. “I have some food in my bag as well. My mother made meat pies and there were several left. If you look in the bottom of the bag, they are wrapped.”
Searching for the meat pies kept him from staring at the lovely, enticing bare shoulders. Or the way she gathered up her wet garments and hung them from various places around the hut. Or the scent of her now-loosened hair as she eased past him and crouched closer to the heat of the peat fire. His hands fisted and relaxed as he reminded himself that he could control the growing desire for her. When the edge of the blanket slipped from her grasp and exposed the slope of her breasts, he sucked in a harsh breath through his clenched teeth.
Turning back his attention to finding the food, he found the pies and removed them, along with some other foodstuffs, and placed them on the shelf. He retrieved the supplies he’d pilfered from the MacLerie kitchen and added them, so they could see what they had and plan how and what they would need.
It would take them no more than one full day of riding to reach the split in the road and the village just beyond it. The priest Lady MacLerie spoke of lived just outside that village, serving the people in the area as a priest in the Old Church. But, until the rains eased and the dirt paths dried out, travel would be nigh to impossible. If they waited out the storms here, at least they would be dry.
“Are you not wet, too?” Her soft voice broke into his moment of inattention.
He stopped himself from tearing loose his own trews and taking his shirt off. But only just, before facing her. A mischievous smile curled the edges of her mouth and her eyes, eyes that were a deeper shade of blue than his own, twinkled. He tried to understand her expression—was this an invitation?
“A bit. But hungrier than wet,” he said, lifting one of the meat pies from the shelf and, having a care for any sauce that might drip from it, breaking it into two pieces. He offered her one and she approached him to get it. “As you must be?”
Her reply came in the form of action—she took the smaller half and bit into it, lapping the sauce from her lower lip before chewing. James watched her, fascinated by everything she did. If being tired, wet and hungry had not vanquished her good spirits, he wondered what would.
“Here, sit closer to the heat. You will never dry if you do not.” He pulled one of the stools nearer to the fire and stepped aside.
And he found himself praying both that the blanket around her would slip again and that it would stay in place. Elizabeth grasped the edges firmly as she sat down, arranging the heavy woven fabric around her. She finished the pie as he did, in only a few bites.
“Your mother is a good cook. I hope you have her skills.”
“I’ve learned at her side for years, though I would not suggest you try any bread that I bake,” she said, laughing softly. “That has long been my failure.” He eased himself down on the other stool, interested in learning more about this side of her.
“What is your favorite thing to make then? Pies like these? Or something sweet?” He had a weakness for the cakes and treats his family’s cook made. She blushed then and glanced away before trying to answer him. Now, he was even more curious!
“My father says that I make the best...heather ale of all the brewers in the Lairig Dubh.”
He leaned his head back and laughed. Not once had she mentioned such a thing during the times they’d talked. And he’d heard no inkling of her talent, but then he’d been betrothed to Ciara and most of the talk centered on her and her extensive—and rather formidable—skills and talents. Not on her shadow, Elizabeth, who’d grown up in the village and whose parents served the laird.
“And did your mother teach you that as well?” Though these Highlanders were known more for theiruisge beatha, ale was the favored drink of the Lowlands and the lands that had belonged, and some that did still, to the Norse in the north.
