“Burn the witch and her ugly shoes, too.”
Braden held his breath, but still the laughter bubbled up until he had no choice but to laugh or choke. Throwing his head back, he gave reign to his humor.
Maggie balled her fists at her side as she glared at him. “You better be glad I’m a woman, Braden MacAllister, or I’d be taking a sword to you right now.”
And she probably could best him, too, especially in those ugly shoes.
The thought made him laugh even harder.
“You beast!” she said an instant before something wet slapped him upside his head.
“What the...?” Braden pulled it away from his head to see a damp cloth in his hand.
“You’d best be glad I didn’t have anything harder in my pack or else I’d have used it on you instead.”
“Just so long as it’s not your shoes.” He choked back another wave of laughter. “I could survive anything but that.”
“My shoes?” she asked, her anger wilting beneath her confusion.
Braden cleared his throat as he fought with himself. “I wasn’t laughing at your legs, little blossom. But rather at something Enos said earlier.”
Suspicion hovered in her eyes. “You swear it?”
“On my completely unrepentant soul, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m sure you’d find something harder to slap me with than that cloth, I’d be willing to show you just how unlike a chicken I think those legs of yours really are.”
Her cheeks pinkened at his compliment as she looked about bashfully. “Then, what were you going to say about my legs?”
“That they’re far too feminine to be exposed. We need to lower your plaid and pad your...” In spite of himself, he laughed again, “boots.”
“Oh,” Maggie said quietly. “I’m sorry about the wet cloth, then. I hope it didn’t hurt.” She came forward to take the cloth from his hand.
“It didn’t hurt.” He released the cloth to her.
Her hand gently brushed his and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything except the tender softness of her skin, fairy light on his own. Unbidden, his gaze dipped back to the exposed flesh of her legs, and his mind played through several interesting scenarios he’d love to experience with her.
Aye, as passionate as she was, he could just imagine her deep throaty moans as he taught her the true meaning of pleasure.
He lifted his gaze to her flat chest and the laces that drew her shirt closed. In his mind, he could imagine reaching out and unlacing them, exposing the binding on her chest and then freeing her breasts to his touch.
His body drew hot and hard.
“You know, Maggie...” Braden stopped himself before her propositioned her again. Any other woman would be his in an instant, but to get her, he would have to play the game more slowly. Subtlety.
She wasn’t the type of woman to just fall into his arms and demand his kiss.
“What?” She folded the cloth and returned it to an animal skin bag in her pack.
Change the subject, his mind warned. Now!
“Why are you carrying that?” he asked in a deliberate effort to refocus his thoughts.
“In case it’s needed. I always pack a damp cloth for washing and such.”
Braden didn’t understand that, but then there were many things about women in general he didn’t understand. And a lot of things about Maggie in particular that defied even his best cognitive abilities.
Letting the matter go, he dared a glance to those ugly boots. “We’ll have to find something to pad your boots with. Do you have—” he broke his voice off as he finally looked up at her head and noticed her hair.
The moonlight caught in the strands he had assumed she’d braided or twisted about her head. And it was only standing this close to her that he could finally see what the dark auburn locks really looked like.
