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Chapter Seven

With legs made of jelly and a distinct reluctance to move, Emeline sighed. She took the towel from around her shoulders and wrapped her hair. Summoning her nerve, she bent her lips upward shyly and faced him. “Thank ye, Liam.”

To her utter astonishment, and a delighted skip of her heart, he dipped into a courtier’s bow. “It was my pleasure, my lady. Now inside with ye. I’ll bring the chair.”

“Aye, sir.” Giving him another radiant smile over her shoulder, she dutifully filed into the cottage.

He might be reluctant to admit it, but no man washed a woman’s hair if he didn’t feel something for her. She wasn’t sure what or where it might lead, but happiness like warm molasses burbled behind her ribs.

Setting her teeth against the waves of shudders rippling through her, she squatted and added two logs to the fading fire. She prodded the coals until flames snapped and crackled, sending heat radiating outward into the room before removing the linen from her hair.

Shaking the long tresses down her spine, she hauled a chair before the hearth. She’d positioned herself far enough away so that she’d not overheat but close enough her hair would dry when Liam entered. He shut and bolted the door then set the kettle in the corner.

Wordlessly, he carried the other chair to where she sat. “Em, stand up for a minute.”

Giving him a curious look, and declining to remind him again that her name wasn’t Em, she stood.

He positioned her chair just so, and once he’d collected a blanket from her bed and draped it across the back of her chair, situated himself beside her. “Now ye can sit.”

Slowly lowing herself, she gave him another inquisitive glance. “What are ye about?”

“Ye can rest yer head against the chair’s back without risk of a crick in yer neck. I should’ve thought of that outside.” With a big palm to her shoulder, he eased her backward. “I’m sorry I dinna have a comb or brush.” He gave her another one of his charming, heart-stuttering grins. “But I wasna expectin’ to entertain a lady.”

The way he said, entertain a lady sent a secret thrill through her. To wrangle her wayward musings and bring her leaping pulse under control, she asked, “So conditions are safe for us to travel tomorrow then?”

“Aye.”

He combed his fingers through her hair, and she stifled a groan. This was pure heaven. Who knew having someone attend to her hair could be so sensual? So evocative? So addictive?

“I’d like to leave at dawn. We’ll take it slow, but I still think we will reach Eytone Hall by midafternoon.” Another slow drag of those long fingers to her hair, gently tugging at her scalp, and a zip of pleasure skittered down her spine.

How was she to sit behind him for hours and hours, her arms around his solid torso, and her breasts brushing his muscle-ridden back and maintain her poise? She didn’t suppose he’d let her walk.

Don’t be ridiculous. She bit her lip. Of course not. His home was too far.

She’d have to clench her teeth and think of unpleasant things: Liver. Mushrooms. Beets.

That wasn’t working at all.

Something darker and more dire then: What am I goin’ to do now that Aunt Jeneva is gone? Who wants me dead?

The latter two sobering thoughts didn’t produce the desired results either.

How could they when Liam still touched her?

“I dinna ken if the usual roads and pathways are accessible. So we may have to take alternate routes.” Again and again and again, he spread his fingers through her hair, each a hypnotic caress that had her all but melting on the chair.

Did the nearness affect him, too, or was a man of the world such as he immune to such provocations?

He nudged her shoulder. “Em, have ye fallen asleep?”

“Emeline,” she murmured drowsily, too comfortable to bother opening her eyes. “We have bread left, and some of the rabbit meat, too. I’ll wrap the food in the mornin’.”

“Aye, and I’ve already filled my canteen.” Yes, his voice held a distinct rasp. As if he, too, struggled to control this uncontrollable desire sparking between them.

“Liam?”

“Aye?”