“Close.”
He flipped back the hides and stared in stunned silence at the gift at his feet. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bending down, he inspected it closer, paying particular attention to the unblemished grain from end to end. There wasn’t a knot or twist in sight.
Unbelievable. Maybe she was the one who should be called a sorcerer. How else could she have procured such a treasure?
She watched him with increasing anxiousness, her hands twisting in her ruby-colored, velvet dressing robe. “It’s a stave of yew,” she said, obviously worried by his silence.
He knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t just a stave of yew; it was a nearly flawless stave of yew. The kind of flawless that was perfect for making a bow and had been nearly impossible to find since the war broke out. With the demand for bows so high, much of the good yew had been felled in both Scotland and England.
His voice was low and full of awe that bordered on reverence. “Where did you get this?”
“From the merchant who brings your wines from Bordeaux.”
Gregor frowned. “He told me he couldn’t find anything like this.”
She grinned. “Well, I encouraged him to look a little harder.” Gregor knew better than to ask how. “The opening of the trade routes has helped. It comes from Spain and was cut last winter, so it will only need a bit more seasoning.”
He didn’t say anything. He was too overwhelmed to do anything other than stare at what had to be the most generous, thoughtful gift he’d ever received.
“Do you like it?”
The uncertainty in her voice knocked him from his stupor. “I love it. I don’t know what do say.”
She beamed. Lifting on her tiptoes, she slid her arms around his neck. “Perhaps you might think of another way to thank me?”
His arm slid around her waist, as if there was no other place it belonged. “I was trying to be good.”
Her dark eyes danced with golden sparks of mischief in the candlelight. “You are good.” Her hips rubbed teasingly against his. “Very,verygood.”
“Naughty lass.” He gave her bottom a little swat. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I can think of a few things, and I’m sure you could help me think of a few more that I’ve never tried before.”
He groaned, feeling the heat swell in his groin. He sure as hell could. Would he shock her with his requests? Probably, but knowing Cate it would not be for long. He’d been fantasizing about her mouth on him for too long. Just the thought of it was enough to make him hard as a rock.
“You sure know how to shoot my good intentions to hell.”
Her eyes lit up excitedly. “I do?”
He nodded and kissed her again. “I used to have a little self-control.”
He slid his hands under the shoulders of her robe to slide it off. She had already started to work the ties of hiscotunbut smiled up at him. “And you don’t now?”
“Apparently not where you are concerned.”
To prove it, he ripped the chemise she was wearing right off her. It was old, plain, and in his way.
“Gregor!” she screeched, still shy enough to try to cover herself. But the lass had absolutely nothing to hide—nothing. “Not another one,” she groaned. “I will have nothing left to wear.”
“What a pity. I suppose I will just have to keep you naked in my bed.”
He stopped further protests by jerking his tunic over his head, pulling off his boots, and quickly dispensing with his breeches.
She stared at him, taking in every inch of his nakedness. He’d never been self-conscious in his life, but standing there while she studied him came pretty damn close. He wanted her approval. When she eventually looked up at him, it was clear he had it—and more. She was looking at him as if she couldn’t wait to devour him. “Tell me what do to. Tell me how to please you.”
“You already do.”
Just standing there she brought him to his knees. She was adorable—small, compact, and strong, with the sleek grace of a wildcat. Outwardly unimposing but dangerous, with the raw instincts of a fighter. She made every other woman who’d come before her seem flimsy and insubstantial.
