“I daenae think anyone else has ever called me a faerie. Just plain,” Jeane mumbled, looking down at her new hand as Fergus dealt the cards.
“Plain?” Fergus’ voice came out more incredulous than he imagined. “Who called ye that?”
His blood seemed to heat with anger that someone might call Jeane plain. All that white-blonde hair, her doe brown eyes—how could anyone think her plain?
“Me father, mostly,” Jeane admitted, discarding two cards. Fergus dealt her two more.
“Yer father doesnae have a thought in his head,” Fergus said derisively.
“Ye daenae think me plain?” Jeane asked, leaning toward him, and if she weren’t so full of ale, Fergus would have kissed her soundly.
“Nay,” Fergus said quietly. “I daenae think ye plain.”
They played long into the night before she finally fell asleep, on her side, clutching her last hand. Fergus could not help but smile, even though she could not see it, pushing her hair back from her face.
He did not sleep but watched her.
She had captivated him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jeane woke up the next morning to the sound of Fergus pulling on his boots.
She sat up with a start, checking her body to make sure she was not in any state of undress, and a sharp spike seemed to go through her temple.
She groaned, and Fergus glanced at her.
“Good mornin’, lass,” he said easily, clearly not even remotely affected by all the ale they’d ingested the night before.
Jeane herself had nothing but sparse memories of eating rabbit stew and playing cards.
“Daenae ye worry,” he said with a lilting, teasing tone. “I didnae ravish ye in yer sleep.”
She scoffed. “Ye ken better.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I want ye beggin’ for it before I touch ye.”
Jeane’s cheeks flushed, and her stomach swirled with heat. She ignored him, though, ignoring her headache too as she stood, sliding on her shoes and helping to gather the supplies they’d bought.
She remembered now what she had meant to ask Fergus before the balding man had assaulted her, and she inwardly groaned. She was not exactly feeling up to dress shopping, but she also did not want to have to squeeze into Lottie’s clothes.
“I need some dresses,” she said finally, her voice quiet.
“Oh, aye,” Fergus said simply, nonplussed. “We’ll go by a dress shop before we head back.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeane said, not sure why she was apologizing.
Fergus looked at her, a bold eyebrow raised quizzically.
“Why are ye apologizin’, little mouse?”
“I… I daenae ken.”
He hummed in the back of his throat again, stepping closer to her and trailing a finger along her jawline.
Her breath caught in her throat, but she did not speak. Could not speak.
Then he just took his knapsack and walked out of the room. She followed him.
