Page 13 of Darach

“Darach shall look after Mistress Walsh for now.” The laird held out his hand. “Come, wife. ’Tis late, so you may speak with the lady on the morrow at the morning meal.”

* * *

Charlotte surreptitiously watched Darach as he rubbed the Fire sword with a cloth before hanging it on some wall hooks next to a row of other long blades. He didn’t like the sain, she thought, judging by his expression as he handled it. She imagined she would have looked the same if someone had handed her a live grenade. But once he turned his back toward her she could look at him openly without making him self-conscious, which he seemed to be because of the large birthmark on his face. The fact that he looked almost exactly like the Rose Knight she had drawn for Seona Kerrich’s book should have seemed eerie. Instead it made her relax, as if she already knew and trusted him.

He won’t let anyone hurt me again.

If Luthias MacRoss had told her the truth, and Charlotte had somehow landed in Scotland during the Middle Ages, then Darach and the other men she had seen were true highland warriors. For men of this time they all appeared young, handsome, strong and very clean. Like the laird, the chieftain had a well-developed physique, with wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs, but his upper body development seemed far more pronounced. The long, heavy muscles of his arms suggested he not only handled a sword easily but on a daily basis as well. Charlotte’s Rose Knight had been a little less muscular, and covered in tattoos, but otherwise they could have been twins, physically speaking.

Looking at him made her wish for her sketching kit, for once she’d stopped paying attention to the birthmark she could see how handsome the chieftain was.

Darach appeared as dark as she was pale, with deeply tanned skin and long hair the color of burnished bronze. His unmarked eye was a beautiful shade of caramel brown, and framed by dark lashes. His left eye looked lighter, almost golden, but it might have been the contrast with his birthmark. The mottling of his skin didn’t distract her from the masculine beauty of his features, which had perfect symmetry. That Fate had covered so much of his face with the port-wine stain seemed almost cruel, for without it he would have been the most striking man she’d ever seen.

Why does it matter? Charlotte had always thought perfection cold and inanimate, much like her own mother. I like him better with his flaws.

“Do I frighten you, my lady?” Darach asked without turning around.

“No.” He knew she’d been watching him, but then with his birthmark he must often get stared at by others. She wondered if he even realized just how attractive he was. When she’d painted his fictitious counterpart, she’d made him her ideal, with all the masculine attributes she admired. Darach embodied all of them. “Don’t you believe me?”

“I dinnae question your word, but I ken my ugly face.” He put away the polishing cloth and walked over to the fireplace to add some wood to the flames. “If you wish I’ll find a maid to stay with you.”

“Please don’t do that.” Afraid he would go, Charlotte rose and hurried over to him. “I won’t be any trouble.” She reached out for him before she realized what she was doing, and dropped her hands. She really needed to stop touching him. “You’re the only person I know here.” And trust, she added silently.

“’Twasnae my intent to oust you from my chamber,” he said. “You may stay here as long as you wish. We’ve many rooms in the garrison where I may sleep.”

“Could you sleep with me?” She shouldn’t have said it like that, but the thought of being left alone made her panicky again. “I mean, could you sleep in this room tonight, too? I’d be a lot safer with you close by.” When he didn’t say anything she added, ““I know there’s only one bed, but I can sleep on the floor. I don’t mind at all.”

“I’ll stay, and you’ll have the bed.” He looked all over her face. “You’ve but to say, and I’ll do as you need. Dinnae weep, lass.”

Only then did Charlotte become aware of the wetness on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” She turned away, embarrassed by her lack of self-control. “I don’t know why I keep crying. I’m never like this.”

“You’ve survived a terrible thing, and found yourself in a land and time no’ your own. I expect if I’d faced the same, I’d be wailing all the night.” He went to the hearth, and turned her coat on the rack where he’d hung it to dry. “You’re braver than most men I ken.”

If only he knew how cowardly she’d been ever since the killer had begun stalking her. “You promised you wouldn’t lie to me, remember?”

“’Tisnae that I wouldnae lie to you,” he said. “I’ve a weakness that shallnae permit me do so. I may speak only truth.”

What an odd thing to believe, Charlotte thought. “Is it something like the magic sword, then?”

Instead of answering her Darach took a pair of knitted socks from the chest where he kept his clothes and brought them over to her.

“My hose, they’re too big, but they’ll keep your toes warm for the night,” he told her. “I’ll see to proper boots for you on the morrow.”

“If you’re really unable to lie, then you would have to say nothing or change the subject to avoid telling the truth,” she said. “Like you did just now.”

He went down on one knee in front of her, looking exactly like one of her paintings from the fairytale book.

“I guess there’s more going on here than you want me to know. You don’t have to do that,” she added as he put one of the socks on her foot.

“I ken.” Darach didn’t look up at her. “I wish to. You’ve lovely feet.”

He touched her almost reverently with his big hands, and the rasp of the calluses on his fingers and palms against her ankles and arches made Charlotte’s toes curl. It had been almost a year since her last, disastrous date with Jack, but she’d never experienced such sensations with him even during sex.

All Darach had to do was touch her and her whole body wanted more.

With all the fear and death she had dealt with it should have seemed bizarre to experience such powerful desire for a man she didn’t know. Perhaps the arousal was some kind of hysterical reaction to what she’d been through, but she didn’t care. She’d always considered herself slightly frigid when it came to men; the chieftain had her sweating just by putting socks on her bare feet.