"I thought I was well accustomed to riding,” she muttered once her embarrassment had eased.
"It takes years to grow accustomed to riding for days at a time."
"Days?"
"Aye. Days. Unless the need is dire, we ride straight for Dubheidland. The only allies I have on that route are my kinsmen the MacFingals. If Harold isnae too hard on our tails, we may rest there for a wee while."
"How far away are these MacFingals?"
"Four more days of hard riding, if we and our mounts can endure it."
Four days like this one and Jolene was sure she would have to be carried into the MacFingal keep on a litter. Her legs were finally acting as they should, but now she became all too aware of how badly her backside ached. She heard Reynard giggle and saw Nanty playing a game of tug-o'-war with the child. The sight did not soothe her pain, but it stilled her complaints. That boy was the future of the Gerards of Drumwich. A little physical discomfort was a small price to pay for that.
"Better?” Sigimor asked as they stopped by the fire.
"Aye. Some. Is there enough water for me to wash away a little of this dust?” She was disturbed by how reluctant she was to step away from the man, to put some distance between herself and his big, strong body.
"The angels smile upon ye, m'lady. There is a wee burn nay far from here. Ye can have yourself a bath, though ‘tis certain it will be a cold one."
"If ‘twas frozen solid, I would chop a hole in the ice just to have a thorough wash."
"Fetch what ye will need then and I will take ye to it."
"You need only to point the way and I—"
"Nay. Ye willnae wonder off alone."
"But, I cannot bathe in front of a man!"
"I will turn my back to ye. Tis the only concession I will make. Ye and the lad willnae be left alone, unguarded, until Harold is no longer a threat.” He crossed his arms over his chest and silently dared her to argue.
Jolene opened her mouth to strongly protest, then caught the look in his beautiful green eyes. He would not be swayed. Unlike some men, he was willing to argue with her, but it would be a waste of her time to do so. She had asked for his aid and protection and he obviously had some very firm ideas about what that included. Since he had already proven himself a man of his word, she decided to accept his promise not to look and quickly collected what she would need to bathe away the dirt of travel and the lingering scent of days spent hiding in the bowels of Drumwich. After looking at Reynard to assure herself that he was content in the care of the men, she hurriedly followed Sigimor.
The man had very long legs, she decided, nearly running to keep up with what, for him, was undoubtedly just an easy stride. Long, well-shaped, strong legs, she mused. Although she had never been one to study a man's form too closely, she had to admit that it was pleasant to watch Sigimor's taut backside move as he walked. He was dressed in the English fashion, though not very richly, but Sigimor's clothes fit him a lot more snugly than any other man's she had seen. Either Sigimor was a little vain or he simply had no idea of how tightly his hose fit his legs or how much of his well-formed backside was revealed by the short jupon. Jolene was a little shocked at how much she liked to watch him move. It gave her a strange feeling, one both odd and pleasing.
The moment she had had the light to do so, she had studied him as they rode away from Drumwich. He did not have Liam's beauty, but he was still a very handsome man. His hair was thick, hung just below his shoulders, and was a rich, dark red. He shared many features with his too-handsome cousin Liam, but Sigimor's long, straight nose was a little bolder, his jaw a little stronger, and the shape of his face a little harsher. Liam was heartbreakingly beautiful, in a way that immediately caught one's eye, whereas Sigimor had the sort of handsomeness that took a little longer to cause that stirring effect in a woman. His eyes were a startling true green, set beneath faintly arched brows, and surrounded with brown lashes thick and long enough to make a woman envious. Sigimor also had a very attractive mouth, neither too small nor too big, and his lips holding enough fullness to stir thoughts of kisses. Jolene decided his was a face she would never tire of looking at, then felt a little alarmed by that thought.
When they reached the water, Sigimor just pointed at it, then turned his back. Jolene wasted no time in shedding her clothes, hoping the cool water would be as refreshing as it looked for she was suddenly feeling quite warm. That heat fled the moment she entered the chill water, barely swallowing a gasp of shock. Her bath would be a quick one, she mused even as she began to scrub away the dust of travel. She had been jesting when she had said she would make a hole in the ice just to have a bath, but this water felt as if she had done just that.
Sigimor sternly told himself that it would be ungentlemanly to try to catch a look at a bathing Jolene, then inwardly shrugged aside that pinch of conscience. He had only said that he would turn his back. The urge to see if he could catch a glimpse of the body he craved was too strong to resist. There was always the chance that one good look at her slender form would remind him of why he had always preferred buxom women and cure him of this strange, inconvenient lusting.
Just as he turned his head enough to see her, she stood up in the water. Sigimor caught his breath so quickly he nearly coughed and gave himself away. One look had not cured him. Instead he had to fight the urge to tear off his clothing and join her. Reminding himself that she was a highborn lady, probably a virgin, and that such an abrupt approach would undoubtedly send her screaming into the hills, only tethered his lust a little. He found himself wondering why, and when, he had blinded himself to the beauty of a smaller woman.
Her skin was beautifully pale and unmarred. Sigimor did not think he had ever seen such a small waist. Yet the gentle curve of her hips and the tight, round shaping of her backside was womanly enough to stir his blood. Her thighs were slim, leaving a space at the top that had him aching to nudge into it. Thick ropes of wet black hair clung to the slender line of her back, enhancing the delicate paleness of her fine skin. When she turned slightly, he caught sight of the curve of her breast. It was somewhat smaller than he was accustomed to, but it was perfectly shaped, firm, and tipped with a rosy nipple made hard by the cold water. When she washed her flat stomach, he watched the water trail down to the delicate little triangle of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs and nearly groaned.
Hastily, he turned away. He needed to bring his pounding lust under control. The fashionable attire he had worn for the journey into England hid little and he did not wish to shock her. It took several moments before he felt he had cooled his ardor enough to be seen in a lady's company again. He was glad he had brought a change of clothing for he was going to need a plunge into that chilled water to fully douse his ardor. Since he suspected he would be unable to banish the image of her pale, slender beauty from his mind, he would welcome the looser fit of his breeches and longer, padded jupon. Lady Jolene might be too innocent to notice the all too obvious signs that he was feverishly aroused, but his men were not. Sigimor had no wish to rouse their amusement.
"That was just what I needed,” Jolene said as, once dressed, she used the shift she had changed out of to rub her hair dry. “Quite cold, however, but it was worth it."
The way she smiled at him sent Sigimor's desire soaring again and he ordered, “Turn your back,” even as he strode toward the water, shedding his clothes as he went.
Jolene gaped at the man, startled by his growled command. Her eyes widened almost painfully and she felt a blush heat her cheeks as she watched him fling off his clothes, but she could not make herself turn away from the sight. She bit her lip to halt a gasp as he bared his torso. His shoulders were broad, his back smooth and straight, and his waist narrow. His skin was not as pale as she would have expected of a redheaded man, but faintly golden in tone. The muscles of his arms were obvious, yet sleek, not bulging somewhat untidily as she had observed on some other men, and there were bands of intricate designs etched into his skin around the top of each arm. Then he yanked off his hose and she felt almost dizzy from the heat which flared to life within her. That faintly golden skin covered his whole body. His backside was as well formed and taut as she had imagined it would be and his long legs held the same sleek strength his arms did.
Suddenly realizing how easily she could be caught leering at him, Jolene turned away, fiercely resisting the urge to try and catch a glimpse of the front of him. The man was turning her into a shameless, wanton creature. Never before had she been so keenly interested in a man's form, or so intensely affected by the sight. It was not comforting to discover that some redheaded Scot was the first to truly stir her womanly interest and desire. She was daughter, sister, and aunt to English earls. To allow her blood to heat and her heart to pound over a Highland laird was pure madness. Her dead kinsmen were probably spinning in their graves.
It puzzled her. How could she go so quickly from having little interest in men to being so keenly interested, so fiercely aware of, a big red-haired Scot? She had had the usual maidenly dreams of a handsome, gallant lover, ones that left her with a faint tickle of delight, but this was no mere tickle to be briefly smiled over and then forgotten. This was a strong feeling, fierce and unbiddable. It was a very poor time to be suffering such a fascination, perhaps even a true lusting.
Control was what she had to strive for. She could be facing many long weeks at Sigimor's side, without the protection of a single kinsman. She would have to guard her chastity herself. That could prove difficult if she was stirred into a witless fever every time she looked at the man. At the moment, Sigimor revealed little interest in her as a woman, as one he might wish to seduce. Jolene decided she must use this time to smother her interest in him. She had spent three-and-twenty years unmoved by any man. It should not be too difficult to cure herself of this sudden affliction.
