“Och, all right.” Grinning, he had done as she had asked.
“And definitely nay peepin’ his time!”
Though surprised she would allude so directly to their time at the pond, he could not resist teasing her. “Och, why so bashful? ’Tis naethin’ I havenae seen before.”
“Ye-ye…!”
“Just get on with it, will ye? We havenae got all day,” he commanded her in his sternest voice, hiding his smile. With growing excitement, he listened to the sounds of rustling, imagining the clothes coming off and the dress going on.
“All right. Ye can look now.”
“At last! I could feel me beard growin’, ye took so bloody—” he was saying as he turned in his chair to look. But the final words fell by the wayside as he took in the vision standing just a few feet away from him. Judging by the rich fabric, he guessed the gown must have been expensive, and it could have been made for her.
It highlighted every curve of her slender, lithe body, from the nipped in waist and flaring hips to the pearly half-moons of her breasts, which the gown’s pretty front lacing pushed upenticingly. Her bright golden hair was loose, and it flowed down her back to her waist in a cascade of tiny curls.
“Will it dae?” she asked, twirling on the spot so the skirt flowed gracefully around her legs and brushed the floor. Ewan, transfixed by her radiant beauty once more, swallowed hard and nodded.
“Aye,” he managed to croak, crossing his legs to hide any hint of his sudden embarrassing arousal. “It’ll dae.”
“It feels so strange wearing a dress again. It’s been quite a while. ’Tis a shame I have nay stays or petticoats tae go with it though,” she mused, smoothing the skirt gently. “Ye’ll havetae turn around again, so I can take it off.”
Dinnae take it off,a part of him wanted to shout.Let me dae that!The other part, however, told him to pull himself together and focus on the mission in hand. Torn, he sighed and turned away again, as she had bade him to. He could only listen to the tantalizing rustle of silk taffeta, picturing her in his mind’s eye as she disrobed, while he fought down his arousal and wished to God he knew who the devil this woman was, for she was slowly turning him inside out.
A mile or so from Killicragie, they halted so Annie could change from Harris’ clothes into her feminine garb. Ewan waited patiently, not allowing himself to get too excited this time. He knew the full-length, hooded cloak would just about cover her from her neck to her feet, pretty much obscuring the gownbeneath. He thought it just as well, for he wanted to keep his wits about him and not get distracted.
Eventually, she reappeared from the trees, her shape completely hidden by the voluminous cloak. They clasped hands as he helped her to remount. “Why, ye couldnae even tell there’s a woman under that thing,” he remarked when she was back in her spot behind him and he gently urged their horses onwards.
“Well, it was yer idea fer me tae wear it,” she pointed out. “And it still stinks. I hope nay one comes too near and thinks ’tis me.”
He felt a flash of possessiveness at the thought. “That’s nae gonnae happen. Ye’ll stay by me the whole time and nae wander off on yer own, understood?”
“Aye, m’laird,” she muttered. “Och, look, lights up ahead. I think that might be the inn.”
She was soon proven right when they rode into the surprisingly busy cobbled courtyard of The Thatcher’s Arms. The inn was a two-story, sprawling, whitewashed cluster of buildings, with leaded windows that gleamed in the moonlight, and a bowed thatch roof . Lamps shone a welcoming glow from inside the windows. The big, worn door swung to and fro with a squeak as a variety of people passed in and out, releasing infrequent bursts of animated chatter, laughter, and fiddle music in to the night air, as well as the smell of stale beer, roasted meats, and unwashed humanity.
“It seems quite a lively place,” Annie remarked as Ewan handed the horse over to a stable lad. Ewan ruffled the boy’s hair and tipped him a few groats. The youngster led the horse away, grinning as he pocketed the coins.
“Aye, it does. Seems like the type of pace where ye get all sorts comin’ fer a drink or a meal. ’Tis ideal fer our purposes.” He held the door open for her, and they entered a long, L-shaped room with a low ceiling. A massive hearth was blazing against one wall, and a bar festooned with pewter tankards, ceramic pint mugs, and crude glasses ran the whole length of the place. It was quite crowded with people waiting to be served their drinks. Others sat at tables or stood about, intent on their talk, hardly sparing them a glance as they entered. A thick pall of tobacco smoke hung in the air along with the smell of cooking.
“Lord, ’tis so noisy in here!” Annie said, having to raise her voice for Ewan to hear her.
“Aye, let’s go tae the bar and get somethin’ tae drink. Now, remember, we’re husband and wife, eh?” He offered her his arm, and she took it as they went over to the bar.
She nodded. “Aye, I remember. Mr. and Mrs. Mackintosh from Oban.”
“That’s right. Now, look cheerful, as if ye’re the talkative type.”
“Och, I’ll make sure tae laugh uproariously at all yer jokes, Husband.”
“Is that nae part of yer wifely duties?” he asked and burst into peel of false laughter that drew glances for the other punters.
“Wheesht, ye fool!” she said, laughing herself and batting at his arm.
They reached the bar, and people politely moved out of Ewan’s way to let him through to order. He leaned a massive elbow on the counter and smiled down at Annie, enjoying her company in her feminine guise in this new setting. “Now, Mrs. Mackintosh, what’ll ye have?”
“What dae ladies drink in such establishments?” she asked, eyeing the bottles and flasks ranged behind the bar with curiosity from beneath her hood.
“Anythin’ they like, I should think. Wine?”
