He needed to get her more clothes. A nice, sturdy wool cotte would do.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
Realizing he was scowling, he schooled his features into impassivity. “Nay.”
“Did you want something?”
You. Angry at the intrusive thought, he said curtly, “To check on Thomas. Where is he?”
Ellie pointed to the opposite end of the room, the place where bed nooks had been built into the side of the wall. “He’s resting. Meg said ‘tis the best thing for him now.” Anticipating his question, she said, “Mhairi finally had her babe last night, and Meg has gone to check on her. A boy. Alastair, she’s named him.”
“A good name,” Erik said.My father’s name. Many islanders honored their chieftains by naming their children after them. After years of MacDougall rule, the gesture touched him.
She was watching him with a pensive look on her face. “You look different,” she said finally. “I’ve never seen you without your armor.”
Self-consciousness was something Erik had never experienced before, but under her steady hazel gaze that didn’t miss much, he flirted with it now. He’d bathed and changed tunics because of the seal grease he’d lathered all over him for the swim—certainly not because of anything she’d said.
“Alas, no gold to plunder or maidens to rescue tonight,” he said with a grin. “Even pirates take a night off every now and then.”
One side of her mouth lifted.
A start, he supposed.
She took a few steps closer, and then to his shock, reached out and took the sleeve of the colorful dark-red silk tunic between her fingers. “It’s beautiful,” she said admiringly. For a strange moment, looking down at her tiny face in the firelight, she looked beautiful, too. His chest felt odd, as if his tunic had grown too tight. “The embroidery is exquisite.”
“My sister made it for me,” he said, his voice oddly rough.
“You have a sister?”
“Notasister, five.”
“Younger?”
He shook his head. “All older.”
“Brothers?”
“Only me.”
“Ah,” she said with a nod of the head, as if suddenly understanding something.
He didn’t like the sound of it. “What?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. It just explains some things.” Before he could think of what to reply to that, she shocked him again by reaching up to flick a lock of hair at his temple. He sucked in his breath, his body stiffening at her touch—allof his body. He could smell her again. Hundreds of women used lavender-tinted soap—why did it smell different on her? And that long, silky-soft hair … he wanted to bury his face in it and watch it spill over his chest.
Women touched him all the time. It was nothing he noticed. But he was noticing it now. His entire body was noticing it. God, he couldn’t breathe. Heat pooled in his loins and his pulse pounded hard and fast. He was seconds away from sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her against him. He could almost feel the dart of her nipples raking his chest.
Unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on his senses, she said carelessly, “You’ve something in your hair.” She removed her hand, enabling him to think again, and rubbed it between her fingers. “It’s some kind of black grease.”
“Probably soot from the campfire,” he said blandly.
She wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t look like soot.” She was looking at him so intently, he thought she was going to question him about the grease some more, but instead she said with a smile, “You wear your hair so short. I thought Highlanders preferred long hair and beards—like your Viking ancestors.”
He laughed. “Some do.” He rubbed his chin. “I don’t like the itch.” Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Don’t you like it?”
She rolled her eyes, not realizing his question had been serious. Hehadbeen serious, he realized, not sure what to make of that.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you are looking for a compliment from me. From what I can tell, you’ve heard enough to last most people a lifetime.”
