“Oh, aye, lass. As hearty as any stallion with a paddock full of mares.”
“A colorful description,” she murmured, and bent over to lift his blanket.
“Like what ye see?”
She trailed her fingers along the now healed wound on his thigh. He trembled faintly beneath the light caress. Jennet was sorely tempted to touch that part of him which boldly shaped the front of his braies. She dropped the blanket and straightened up before she gave in to that inclination.
“Your stitching will be removed today.”
“Fetch what is needed then and set about it.”
“Me? Ye dinnae need me to do it. Any fool can pluck out stitches.” She started to walk away.
“Where are ye going?” Hacon demanded.
“To fetch Dugald. He can tend to you when he has the time.”
“And what will ye be doing?”
“Oh, there is work aplenty to keep me busy.”
“Jennet!”
Her back to him, Jennet grinned as she pretended not to hear him. She found Dugald and told him what to do, then went in search of Elizabeth. Once those stitches were removed, Hacon would hunt her down. Jennet wanted to have a bath before he found her.
“I dinnae see her in camp,” Hacon said.
Dugald swore and lightly cuffed his fidgeting friend offside the head. “Sit still, ye great fool, or these stitches willnae come out neatly. God save us all, ye are worse than any stallion scenting a mare in season.” Dugald concentrated on carefully plucking out the tidy stitching across Hacon’s broad back.
“There—I am sitting as still as any rock. Now, tell me, where has the lass gone?”
“Am I her mother? I dinnae ken where she is.”
“Ye were supposed to keep a close watch upon her.” Hacon shifted slightly on his stone seat.
“I thought ye gave that chore to Ranald.”
“I dinnae see him either. Ye must have espied the lass some time today.”
“Aye, but a wee while ago, in truth. With Ranald and that mon Robert, she and the woman Elizabeth walked off through the trees just o’er to your right. I didnae take the time to ask what they were about. I would wager they went to bathe.”
“Weel, Elizabeth has returned, as has Robert.” Hacon scowled across the crowded clearing in the direction of the trees. “So what can the lass and Ranald be doing? Ye dinnae think she will trick the lad and flee, do ye?”
“Flee to where? We are still in England and we havenae spent all these weeks inspiring folk to love a Scot.”
“True, may God forgive us. Then what is the lass doing?”
“She may simply like a longer bath than Elizabeth. If ye would just set still, ye can see for yourself in a moment. Beleaguering me with your questions doesnae do much good.”
“When I set after the lass, I mean to catch her and hold firm. Ye had best ensure that we are left alone.”
“Oh? And mayhaps the lass will prove a verra fast runner.”
“Ibelieve she doesnae mean to run at all.”
Jennet hummed softly to herself as she rubbed her hair dry with a soft rag. It felt good to stand there in only her chemise, her damp hair cooling her fevered flesh. Wearing all her clothes, day and night, in the June heat was growing intolerable. It also felt good to be clean all over. The pace of the raid had made cleanliness a luxury. So too had the constant mud and dust churned up by the swiftly moving force. This day of rest was heartily welcome and long overdue.
She glanced back toward camp and shrugged. Dugald could not be taking so long to pluck out those stitches. It was beginning to look as if Hacon was not coming.
