Page 41 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“Why did ye run like that?” he asked, quizzically, watching her closely.

Teasag took the parchment and scrunched it into a ball before thrusting it towards the fire, still burning despite the fervent wind’s attempts to blow it out.

“Wheesht!” exclaimed Neacal. Without any warning, he caught the sketch. “By God’s bones, what are ye doin’ lassie!”

“It’s pure jobby,” said Teasag, despondently. “I should have burned it straight awa’!”

Gently, Neacal took the parchment from her, unfolding it carefully and looking closely. Behind him, Teasag felt her airways stiffen.

She hated it when anyone saw her work.

“Rubbish ye say? Ye bum’s oot the window, lass, this is braw!” Neacal lifted the small portrait up into the air to get a better look at it. “I’d say ye’d got me just right there, altho’…,” here, he winked at her conspiratorially. “I am even more handsome in the flesh, o’ course…”

Neacal smiled, making Teasag buzz with pleasure, but deep down, she couldn’t really believe the words he said.

“Noo, yer just saying that,” she said, self-consciously. The wind had blown her hair all over, and suddenly she was aware of how she looked. Teasag’s fingers battled the raging winds to try and tame her billowing locks inside her small, linen caul. The wind was winning.

“Nae, I’m nae lassie. I would ha’ told ye if I thought it were nae good,” he said, but Teasag couldn’t help feeling he was lying.

Now Neacal looked at the sketch again, as Teasag squirmed beside him. “I should have told ye straight awa’ instead o’ playing wi’ ye,” he said, his wide blue eyes opening wide.

Gazing straight into his eyes, Teasag was amazed to discover his irises had changed a darker shade of blue rather than the vivid brightness of a few moments earlier.

Immediately, it made Teasag wish she could reach for her paints and put down the color as she saw it, but she was too caught in his glare to even try to move. Something about the way he was looking at her disarmed her.

Suddenly, she was ashamed of her earlier outburst. “Nae, dinnae be a daftie. I’m the one who should be sorry, running oot on ye an’ nearly takin’ yer horse!”

Teasag reached for Neacal with an instinctive brush of his arm. It was meant as a friendly gesture, but before long, the pair were almost clamped together, held in each other's gaze.

Teasag’s hand reached against Neacal as she stumbled on a tree root.

“Watch it there, lass,” said Neacal, offering her his hand. Teasag took it as she straightened her arisaid and adjusted her hair in the errant breeze.

“So then,” he added, looking tenderly into her face. It seemed like his eyes were searching through her, seeking out something, but she didn’t know what.

Teasag’s heart started pumping quite dramatically. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a voice was whispering, he’s going to kiss me.

In actual fact, Teasag wanted to be the one to kiss him first but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Even out here, she still didn’t want to be seen as too forward. And anyway, what if she was wrong?

Although his eyes granted her permission, Teasag’s heart still quivered. Neacal moved his face closer, pressing into within a hair’s breadth of her mouth before brushing past her cheek and returning to the parchment in his hands.

“This is braw,” he said, looking genuinely pleased with his sketch. Glancing at it, Teasag could see that it hadn’t turned out too badly after all, although she would have liked to spend a bit longer perfecting it.

“I would like to do it again someday, properly, in colors…,” said Teasag shyly. “That’s if I ever can, an’, ye want me to…,” she added.

“Paints?” said Neacal, looking up in surprise. For a few minutes, it felt as if they were in their own private universe, nothing there in the world except those two.

Neacal grinned. “Ye, paint me, in oils, like some sort o’ bigwig?”

Teasag couldn’t help giggling at his reaction. He looked utterly awestruck. “Aye, why ever nae, ye dinnae see many ordinary folks in paintings… I mean, at least nae in the few I’ve seen at the keep an’ Blackness Castle…. och!”

Teasag laughed out loud as Neacal pouted and posed, throwing his hands in the air in a succession of theatrical gestures and scowling or smiling in equal intensity as if he were in a portrait.

“Will ye stop it!” she giggled. It took some time before Neacal stopped playacting and came back to stand beside her, with puppyish eyes.

“Sorry,” he said sweetly. “It’s just, nae one’s ever wanted to paint me afore! Have ye got any more pictures?”

His fingers indicated the small cloth sack that Teasag had clamped to her side. She had been reticent to let him look before, but suddenly she relaxed. With a grin, she opened the knapsack to reveal a shoal of papers.