“What? So it’s big?—”
“Big, sweeting? You might as well wear a gown for how you’re swimming in that tunic!”
Gaira was right, the garment falling to Rowen’s ankles and so voluminous that she wondered if she would be able to cinch her leather belt around her waist.
No wonder with Alec standing taller than her by a head and so powerfully built a man that his tunic swamped her—och, but what did she care? She was going riding, excitement swelling inside her to see her beloved mare that she had named Snow at birth.
If only Alec wasn’t accompanying her, then the day would be perfect. Yet she doubted he would ever allow her to venture out alone from the castle, though she intended to find a way.
Otherwise what else was this place to her than a prison? Just as she’d felt when she first arrived with her father and brothers, the high walls closing in around her…
“Dinna think of it now,” Rowen bade herself as she managed to fasten her belt and then thrust her feet into her boots, nearly tripping over the extra fabric that caught under her heels.
She ignored Gaira, too, who was cackling again, and rushed out the door, startling servants who scattered out of her way.
Why were they looking at her as if she had sprouted horns? So she wore a man’s tunic, ill-fitting, aye, and smelling faintly of wood smoke and something more masculine that told her Alec had worn this one before, which didn’t bother her. She had been raised with four brothers, after all—and what did it matter if the servants stared?
Soon she would be outside in the wind and sunshine, Rowen deciding she wasn’t so hungry that it couldn’t wait until later. She ignored the servants’ snickers as she hoisted up the tunic that threatened to trip her and raced down the tower steps.
Startled warriors and more servants moved aside as well as she hastened through the foyer and pushed open the heavy door to the bailey, her boot catching on the hem and sending her sprawling into the mud.
A fearsome oath erupting from her that blistered the air as male laughter came from behind her…och, God, Alec!
CHAPTER6
“Isee my tunic fits you well,” Alec couldn’t resist teasing her as he leaned down to help Rowen to her feet, though she ignored his proffered hand and glared at him over her shoulder.
A moment more and she stood facing him…her cheeks flushed pink and splattered with mud, and the oversized tunic faring no better, a grubby mess from collar to hem.
Rowen’s stunning blue eyes filled with a mix of humiliation and blazing temper that silenced any urge for more laughter, Alec sobering to nod at the stable where their saddled mounts had been led outside.
“Our horses await?—”
“I can see them, Mackay!” she blurted before swiping the mud from her face, though it only smeared it further.
Without thinking, Alec reached out to run his thumb across her cheek only for Rowen to slap his hand away and step backward, nearly stumbling again at the garment hindering her movement. She didn’t appear daunted, though, but narrowed her gaze as if daring him to say a word as she hoisted the tunic up above her knees to mid-thigh.
Alec staring in spite of his best effort to keep focused upon her face as shapely white limbs were revealed, though her muddied boots marred the tempting vision—for which he was actually grateful.
What was it about this lass that could render him speechless and gaping like a raw youth at the sight of her bare legs? A gruff cough above him made Alec glance up to see guards gaping, too, from the ramparts, which made him scowl at the men, his hands clenching into fists.
At once, to a man, they turned back to their duties of surveying the countryside for anything amiss while Rowen whirled around, her tunic still lifted, and began to traipse toward their horses without a backward glance at Alec.
Her back ramrod straight and her footfalls defiant as her boots made squishing sounds in the mud, Alec forcing himself again to suppress his urge to chuckle.
How could she so fascinate him, too? He knew she wasn’t doing anything purposely to amuse him; on the contrary, it appeared as if she intended to ignore him altogether as he strode after her.
Rowen must have given a quelling look to the stable hand who waited to assist her, the young man handing her the reins to her horse and quickly stepping aside. With one deft movement, she reached up to grab the pommel and hoisted herself into the saddle, the muddy tunic bunched beneath her as she sat astride her snorting mare.
Her upper thighs now bared against the dark leather of the saddle, which made Alec swallow, hard.
“Are you just going tae stare at me?” she queried tightly, glancing down at her leg and back at Alec. “How else do you expect me tae ride? Sidesaddle like some simpering lass from King Robert’s court?”
Alec didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His tongue grown thick as he imagined those creamy thighs astride him and hugging his hips as tightly—ah, God.
Without a word, he mounted his gray stallion, who must have sensed his discomfiture and sidestepped nervously until Alec tightened his hold on the reins to control him.
Rowen seemed not to have noticed—or more likely, not to care as she urged her mare into a spirited canter toward the gates, which his men had already opened.
