Page 28 of The Refuge

On his way back to the tower from his sword practice, Steinar spotted what looked like a tree nymph darting past him. Running on the path with the abandon of a wild thing, she had not seen him hidden among the trees. But he recognized the slim figure in the leaf-colored gown, her auburn hair, like a crimson banner, flying out behind her catching the sunlight filtering through the trees.

A free spirit alone in the woods.

He could not help wondering if, like his sister, Catrìona had been indulged by a loving father who allowed her pursuits more properly those of a son than a daughter. Mayhap because she reminded him of his sister, Catrìona called to some part of him long dormant. A part of him he did not want to lose.

Intrigued, he decided to follow her.

When she started to cross the stream, he remembered the moss he had seen growing on the fallen tree. She must not have recognized the danger under her feet.

He opened his mouth to warn her just as she gave out a shriek and fell into the water with a loud splash. It had to be cold. But he could not resist a chuckle for her dazed expression as she sat in the shallow water.

“Surely your father does not allow you to run barefoot in the woods and dance across logs.”

She whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes. Her long hair fell around her shoulders like a dark crimson shawl, dripping water onto her gown. And still she was beautiful.

He emerged from the trees to stand before her.

“That is none of your concern, Scribe.” With a muffled curse, she struggled to rise. He reached out to help her just as she added somberly, “My father is dead.”

The look of anguish in her eyes told him she still mourned her father’s loss. Mayhap his death had been recent.

“Here,” he said reaching toward her, “take my hand and allow me to help you out.”

There was fire in her eyes but she took his hand while clutching her dripping shoes close to her body.

He pulled her from the stream, sodden and shivering. It was the first time they had touched and even dripping wet, the feel of her skin caused a surge of desire to course through him. The wet gown clung to her body, revealing her curves in vivid detail. Wet, she was even more alluring than before. He wanted to pull her close, to feel her softness, but instead, he merely steadied her with his hands. “Did you not see the moss growing on the log? ’Tis quite apparent.”

Her brow furrowed. “You might have warned me.”

Given her reckless run through the woods he wondered if she would have listened. “You fell before I could.”

She brushed the water from her face and looked up at him, her eyes the green of the forest around them. Light filtering through the trees added a soft glow to her pale, damp skin. His gaze dropped to her lips, the color of wild roses. He ached to kiss them.

Bending his head, he moved his lips closer to hers.

Water suddenly dripped from her hair onto her nose, causing her to sniff and step back.

Still holding her shoes in one hand, she shivered. “I… I must look a mess.”

“Indeed not, but you are pale.” Recognizing her predicament, he said, “I wear no cloak to offer you, but I can give you the heat of my body.” He took the shoes she carried and dropped them to the ground, pulling her into his arms, ignoring the water soaking into his tunic. Her breasts pressed into his chest, warming him as his body responded to the nearness of the woman he could not dismiss from his thoughts.

She might be innocent but she possessed a natural seductiveness that promised passion to the man who would claim her. And he wanted to be that man. Every warrior in the king’s hall had noticed the girl. Of all the queen’s ladies, she was the most talked about. They had taken to calling her the Rose of Dunfermline, a coveted prize for the man who would gain her hand.

He stared into her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers, waiting for a sign he should stop. She may have been too dazed to remember the rules. Or mayhap she did not care. Her breath came out on a soft sigh, telling him she, too, was affected by their closeness. He allowed himself the briefest touch of her lips. They were cool and soft. Then, drawing her more tightly into his embrace, he kissed her.

She responded tentatively, not with practiced movements but with an enchanting innocence.

He tasted of her, inhaling her scent, not unlike the clean, fresh scent of the woods around them. When the kiss ended, he raised his head. “Can it be the kiss of the king’s scribe does not offend the mormaer’s niece?”

As if she was rousing from sleep, she blinked and placed her hands on his chest, then pushed. “’Twas not at all proper.”

He stepped away, his lips twitching up in a smile. “Ah, but that is not what I asked you.” For a moment he was lost in the green pools of her eyes. He wanted more of her, all of her. But when he moved toward her, she backed away.

“I shall say naught of our encounter,” she said shivering, “and, please, tell no one.”

“I would not speak of this to anyone,” he said slightly affronted she would think it of him. “After all, ’twas only a brief sharing of my body’s heat to warm you, naught more.” He lied, of course, and the flicker of surprise in her eyes told him they both knew it. But mayhap she needed the lie. He grinned. “I cannot speak for you, but ’tis certain I am warmed.”

“You are impudent, Scribe,” she said as water dripped from her hair to her face and down her lovely neck.