"On the anvil."
She giggled and drawled, “Nay on the forge."
"No mon wishes to get that warm."
"Weel, we dinnae have an anvil, either.” She ran her hand over his strong thigh and saw his eyes darken with desire.
"We have a blanket."
"Aye. That we do."
She watched her hand move over his abdomen and was deeply stirred by the sight of his lean naked form. There was a playfulness about him, nearly a carefree air, that she had not seen in a long time. She felt her hopes rise. It could be that he had decided to put an end to much more than his abstinence, that perhaps he was ready to make their marriage a full one.
"This fine blanket is the perfect place for a mon to tumble his wife."
"Why, I think ye may be right,” she said, biting back a smile as she knelt by his side.
"There is a wee problem though."
"Aye? And what is that?"
"Just that the husband is lying here as naked as the day he was born..."
"And a verra fine sight it is, an I may say so."
"Ye may,” he said haughtily, smiling when she laughed. “As I was saying, the husband is naked and,” he glanced down at himself, “quite ready but the wife is still clothed. What do ye think ought to be done?"
"Someone best undress her then,” Islaen said softly but her words ended on a shocked gasp.
Suddenly there was a sword point at Iain's throat. She stared at it in horror then cried out as a hand painfully grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet.
Islaen felt her blood turn cold as a smooth voice murmured, “Oh, please, allow me to do the honors."
