Page 18 of Leila’s Legacy

“You’re skilled with lady’s clothing then?”

His brows furrowed. “Get on with it.”

“Why?”

“Because ye’ve been told to don it.”

“Why am I wearing it at all?”

Something flashed in his eyes, something he hid quickly behind a blank stare.

Leila took a step closer to him, so she was directly in front of him. She let her stare wander from the center of his chest up to his face. “Why do they want me to dress as a lady?”

His hazel eyes were dark in the dim light, all those wonderful flecks of color muted into shadow. He studied her with a shielded expression before finally answering. “They wish to walk ye through the village to the prison at its center.”

Lord Armstrong’s intent did not come as a surprise to Leila. Humiliation was exactly the kind of thing a man like him would afford a prisoner. The Lion’s honesty, however, did surprise her. He could have threatened to send Alban down to do the earl’s bidding. Instead, he had trusted her enough to tell her the truth.

Leila reached for the carefully folded garment.

“Ye’ll wear it?” he asked.

She drew the kirtle toward her. The wool between her fingers was fine, tightly woven yet soft. It would be warm, especially beneath her cloak. “I’ve never been one for threats and lies.”

The corner of his lip lifted. Or mayhap it was only her imagination, for as soon as she thought she’d seen it, his mouth was set in a firm line once more and he had turned his back to her.

She rested her hands on the ties of her trews. “You trust me enough to put your back toward me for a length of time?”

“I can care well enough for myself, lass.” The confidence was back in his tone, sure and unmistakable.

She took advantage of the moment to let her eyes trail down him, to take in all of this man she would love; the man who would betray her. His shoulders were broad with muscle, his waist trim. The edge of his golden hair fell to his shoulder blades, imprinted with a slight wave.

Leila pulled at the first fastening of her trews and realized she was trembling. This time, however, she knew for certain it had little to do with the cold and everything to do with the man.

Niall found himself grateful for the chill in the air as Leila undressed behind him. Though he kept his back to her, he could imagine well enough what she looked like.

And with her wearing men’s attire, clothing he was intimately familiar with, it was all too easy to imagine exactly what she was taking off. The drag and pop of the ties of trews slipping free. Three so far.

Shhhk…pop.

Make that four.

Niall shifted his weight. The thick rustle of leather being peeled away from skin filled the small cell.

Her legs, long and lean, were now bare. That pert arse of hers no doubt peeking from beneath the hem of her oversized leine. Niall gritted his teeth and tried to force the image away. Not that it worked. He’d have a better time swallowing a mouthful of Murdock’s dark hearty bread without a bit of ale than he did shoving those lusty thoughts aside.

The cloth that followed was quieter, a whisper of temptation as the leine was lifted over her head and discarded. His heart pumped loudly in his ears, nearly drowning out the sound he shouldn’t have been straining to hear. She was naked behind him. Without a stitch of clothing on.

Were her breasts bound?

Surely, they were beneath the loose leine, or he’d have seen the pink of her nipples showing through the fabric. He had the sudden desire to cup her breasts in his hands and close his mouth over the cloth covering her nipples, to lick and tease until they pebbled beneath the wet fabric. Hard. For him.

Like he was for her.

Damn it.

He adjusted his trews. This woman was a witch.

The reminder was a douse of icy water to his lust. A witch like the one who had cursed his father. That wretched old woman had taken a life of a good man; the best man in all of England, Scotland…the whole world for that matter.