The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(50)

“Do you need me to light a torch?”

She gazed up to the sky and shook her head. “There is enough light left for me to change. I won’t be long.” She shivered. “It’s too cold to linger. It feels like it could snow.”

He suspected she was right; the next few days wouldn’t be comfortable by any measure. But at least the cold would help control his other constant discomfort.

He gave her a short bow of his head and started to move away, when she stopped him.

“Wait!”

He turned around slowly—reluctantly.

She bit her lip, looking embarrassed. There was just enough light left to see the blush high on her pretty cheeks. “I-I,” she stammered. “I need someone to help me loosen my kirtle.”

Ewen stilled, every muscle in his body tensing. He’d thought about undressing her too many times for the image not to leap immediately to the forefront of his mind, where it would not be dislodged. He pictured the gown sliding down her shoulders, revealing the pale, velvety skin inch by inch. He could see the high, silky roundness of her br**sts, the slim back, and the smooth curve of her bottom.

He clenched his fists. God’s blood, it was his bloody fantasies coming true!

Which was exactly why he couldn’t do it. “I’m not a damned handmaiden.”

She lifted one delicate brow. “If you don’t think you can manage, I will ask one of the others.” She bit her lip, apparently considering. “It’s hard to figure out which one would have more experience with ladies’ gowns.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “They are all rather handsome, don’t you think?”

He didn’t think anything of the sort. The muscle in his jaw jumped. His veins bulged as fire surged through his blood. If anyone was going to touch her, it would be him. All three of his brethren were married—two of them contentedly—but damned if he would throw that kind of temptation in their path. The lass had a body that could make a man weak. Hell, he was doing them a favor. He was bloody paragon of selflessness.

He stormed over to her, trying to get a rein on the sudden blast of anger. “I’ll do it.”

She looked up at him with that innocent expression on her face. “If you think you can manage?”

His eyes narrowed. Even through the veil of anger, he realized the lass was trying to provoke him. He met her challenging gaze with his own. “If you’ll remember, it’s nothing I haven’t done hundreds of times before.”

The purse of her mouth told him his strike had been well placed. He wasn’t the only one angry now. “I remember.”

She didn’t bother waiting for him to open the door and walked inside. He followed her in.

A cold, musty smell filled the air. It was really only the shell of a building, with little in the way of personal belongings left inside. But he found a table with one of its legs broken off, brushed most of the dirt and dust from the top, and propped it up for her to have something to put the pile of clothing on.

Despite the dank bleakness of their surroundings, Ewen was painfully aware of the intimacy of the situation. They were alone in a small, dark building, no more than ten feet square, alone in the dark. He could hear the softness of her breath and smell the faint scent of bluebells.

He needed to get out of here. “What do you need me to do?” he snapped.

She payed no mind to his obvious impatience. “I would think that after so many times you would know.”

The lass was provoking him all right, but why? He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave her was warning enough.

Ignoring him, she began to pull the pins from her veil and wimple. His heart began to pound as he half-anticipated, half-dreaded the moment that was coming. He didn’t think he was breathing when she finally finished. Pulling the last piece of cloth from her hair, she shook her head and made a sound of such pleasure, it sent a surge of heat rushing to his c**k that no amount of loyalty and duty could hold back.

“Heavens, that feels good!” She sighed.

It felt more like hell. His entire body was shaking as he fought the urge to sink his hands through the wild, mane of golden curls that bounded down her back in a silken veil. The scent of bluebells intensified, and he wanted to bend his head and sink his nose into the silky warmth.

He didn’t realize he’d made a sound until she turned to him. “Is something wrong?”

Other than that he wanted her so badly, he didn’t trust himself move? “You can’t wear your hair like that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s the wrong color.”

Her eyes widened, and he realized his sharply spoken words had wounded her. “Is there something wrong with blond?”

It wasn’t blond, it was honey brown with flecks of silver, copper, and gold. It was a crown fit for a queen. It was beautiful.

But he could hardly tell her that. “It will reflect the moonlight just as much as your veil.”

She brightened. “I think I noticed a cap in there. I can tuck it up inside.”

She removed her mantle next. He stood stone still, staring at the wall, telling himself not to be affected. It didn’t work. She let the black wool drop to the floor in a puddle at her feet and he flinched.

This was too close to his fantasies. Was she trying to torture him? Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

Despite the guileless expression, he suspected that she did. What the hell game was she playing?