Page 72 of Highland Spy

Instead, he took a step back, putting even more distance between them. “Yer hands should be thawed enough now to untie yer laces, aye?”

Her eyes opened and found his, her brows lifted. “Depends. How quickly do an old woman’s fingers thaw?”

She rubbed her hands together and laughed.

He’d missed that sound, he realized, the soft tinkling of it, the sweetness of it.

He’d done neither one of them any favors by keeping his silence these last two days.

“Get into yer dry clothes, then we’ll eat and get some sleep.” He turned away.

“Why here?” she asked.

Something wet slapped to the floor, followed minutes later by another splat of sodden fabric on wood.

“What do ye mean, why here?” He counted the items in his head.

The woolen plaid.

The jacket.

The bodice and skirts.

The petticoats.

The sark.

She stood behind him, fully nude.

An image rose forefront in his mind. Ariana naked with firelight dancing over her body and the delicate sheen of rainwater.

He could lick the droplets of moisture from her smooth skin. Cold silk ready for him to warm.

He breathed deep and jerked his léine over his head, intentionally forceful to throw his thoughts from anything but her beautifully naked body.

“Why are we staying here?” Her voice was muffled by something against her face. Her sark, perhaps.

The rustle of dry fabric sounded this time and he knew she was pulling her clothing on.

And waiting for an answer to his question.

“The castle is near Loch Manor, where MacAlister will be staying,” he replied. “I assumed staying here would keep us from being recognized, but put us nearby.”

His own sodden kilt dripped to the floor like a puddle of wasted wool. He knew it would dry well enough, but for now it was in sorry condition.

The clothing in his bag was gloriously dry and he quickly pulled it on lest Ariana turn to find him still naked.

Not that he’d mind.

He gritted his teeth against the thought. This was not what the trip was for. This was not why they were at Urquhart.

The last reminder was a splash of vinegar against a fresh wound.

No, he was not here to seduce Ariana. He would never do anything of the like regardless of where they were. But he was allowing her to remove his mind from the pressing ache of pain.

Surely a distraction was not so terrible a thing.

Connor turned and they met each other’s gaze across the small room, which suddenly seemed much smaller. Her sark and gown were rumpled from being packed so tightly into the bag, and her hair hung in thick wet ropes down her back.