Page 13 of Outlaw Ever After

“Have a care what ye vow, songbird,” he warned, letting his thumb drop.

He squatted, his shoulder brushing down her sage satin as he shifted her slippers forth. He shivered at the fragrant rosewater that wafted from her and filled his nose. Tanned lambskin, her dainty shoes were stitched with delicate patterns.

He took her foot, gently, as if shoeing a nervous filly.

Her breath hitched, bosom rose and fell, but carefully, she braced his shoulders— The burn of this lass’s tentative trust scalded . Her bare toes peeked out from the hem of her skirt.

A breeze rustled, like encouraging whispers.

Had he ever truly looked at the artistry of a woman’s toes? His thumb brushed over them. Her hands gripped his shoulders tighter and his muscles jumped, radiating sparks down his arms. She was clearly well manicured, yet her soles were dirt-stained as if she loved to frolic barefoot in the sidh beyond the veils.

He suddenly wanted to know everything about her. Her past, her future, her dreams and…aye, her fears, too, for she was guarded.

Silence swallowed them as he touched her so…intimately . Like a husband helping his wife. Want pinched his chest for a life he couldn’t offer anyone. Branded an outlaw whose very name incurred wrath, and stripped of all inheritance, ladies weren’t lining up at the altar for a lifelong commitment. He offered a good time. Not a betrothal contract. The void that remained hollow within him had always been filled with meaningless swives as if a moment’s pleasure might heal a wound, yet making it fester more instead.

In this lady’s presence, for the first time, jealousy that he didn’t have those things to offer took root. He had no way of enticing someone like her.

But ye have yer certificate. And a new employ. Soon, he’d be carving out yet another new life. It wouldn’t make him rich. But it would be so rewarding to review Freuchie Castle’s charter and find a chink in its contract to exploit.

He picked up her lyre and stood, towering over her. Her fingers enclosed on his as she took the instrument while he brushed a tendril over her ear.

Again, sparks shot through him like a lightning strike.

They both froze.

Leave this lady to her life. She’s too good for ye.

Carefully, his fingertips brushed hers. How had a lady so fine earned these calluses?

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Those sparks burned his fingertips and he indulged in the heat.

“I must go. I promised my sister I’d visit and…” She bit her lip.

He arched a brow. “And?”

Her gaze darted askance and her brow twisted with dislike. Now she did pull away. “And I have to meet a suitor.”

A twist wrung in his chest. Flashes of some nameless man rutting her, debauching her, stabbed like rib slitters.

She swallowed. Glanced up at him as if ashamed, as if she thought he wouldn’t be interested anymore—

“Meet me here on the morrow,” he rushed out.

He brushed his thumb across her lip again, unable to resist. He never kissed the lasses. But this mouth that had sung such a song… Christ if he knew what he was saying, for she was telling him where he stood.

Blush raged pink on her cheeks.

“Surely many of the lasses would indulge ye,” she hedged

He stepped closer to her for another dose of rosewater, bodies nearly brushing.

“That depends on what I need them to indulge.” He toyed with a lock of her hair, inspecting the brown nuances. “I nay think they can meet my expectations on this account.”

He’d never worked so hard for a measly scrap of a lass’s attention. His fingertips traced her empty ring finger and her breath hitched. He shouldn’t try to imagine a bond existed between them. But that song …

He leaned into her ear. Breathed in her fine milled scent as he felt her tremor from his beard tickling her collarbone. “Ye’re nay married yet, songbird.”

She hurried away.