She held up Murdoc, who dutifully pressed an inept wet kiss on Hacon’s cheek. To her surprise and amusement, Hacon gave the baby a loud smacking kiss on his soft cheek, making Murdoc giggle. As she returned the child to his seat on her hip, Hacon eyed her with a half smile.
“That wasnae exactly what I had in mind,” he drawled. “I was thinking of a kiss that would put fire in a man’s loins, not the smell of goat’s milk on his face.”
“Ye think on what is in your braies far too much.”
“I cannae help it when I am set upon the rack every night, stirred to hunger yet coldly rebuffed.”
“I dinnae even touch you,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself against what sounded like an accusation.
“I ken it. There is the real pity of it all.”
He pulled such a doleful face she was unable to suppress a giggle. There was the real danger of the man. He teased, he smiled and laughed, and he made her want to do the same. She wondered if he knew how easily he was seducing her simply by revealing that part of his nature, then tensed. Could that be his deliberate intention?
“’Tis a torture ye bring upon yourself,” she said, “and one ye can end at any time.”
“Aye, though ye seem to forget that.”
She decided it would be wise to retreat. “I had best see if Ranald needs any help.”
“He said he had no injuries.”
“I ken what he said. Whether it was the truth or not, weel, that is another matter entirely.”
Hacon watched her join Ranald, then with Dugald’s help began to shed the clothes he had worn to battle. “I almost have her,” he said, keeping his voice low so that only Dugald could hear. “Weel, I do,” he muttered when Dugald made a scornful noise of disbelief.
“Oh, aye, I can see it clear. She fair wastes away for the wanting of you.”
Deciding he would ignore Dugald’s snide remarks, Hacon confessed, “I kissed her ere I went off to battle.”
“Such great progress after eight long days.”
“She wants me. ’Twas there to feel in her kiss.”
“Weel, ye may see it or feel it, but I cannae. If ’tis there, she does a fine job of keeping it to herself.”
“Aye, but that she would do. I have learned that much about her nature. Then, too, her being a virgin keeps her fighting it.”
“She is a virgin?” Dugald straightened up from helping Hacon out of his hose. “Are ye sure of that?”
“As sure as any mon can be without bedding her. Didnae ye think she was?”
Dugald shrugged. “I dinnae give it much thought but, nay, I guess I didnae, despite where we found her. ’Tis not a suspicion born of how she acts or the like. ’Tis just that from what little I ken of her, she has often been near or at some battle or raid. She is a woman and not hard to look on. And she was a Scottish maid in an English house. I just assumed she would have lost that maidenhead by now. I will get ye some water to clean off with.”
Watching as his cousin saw to that small chore, Hacon frowned. There had been a distinct change in Dugald’s manner when Jennet’s maiden state had been revealed. When Dugald returned, he stood there staring and frowning as Hacon washed himself.
“Weel?” demanded Hacon, unable to tolerate any more of Dugald’s staring. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Whatever it is that has ye standing there staring at me.”
“Mayhaps ye ought to leave the lass be, give up your plan of bedding her.”
“And just why should I do that when I have thought of little else since first setting eyes on her?”
“Because she is a virgin. She doesnae come from the finest stock. She was but a handmaiden. If she was but seeking refuge with the nuns and didnae mean to join them, then her only chance to make a good marriage is to stay a maiden. Ye plan to take that dower away. I cannae feel ’tis right for ye to use her as ye please, then toss her aside. Ye would be stealing her future.”
“And who says I mean to cast her aside?”
