Page 29 of The Refuge

“Before we go, you must admit you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”

“I certainly did not. I was merely… allowing you to share your warmth.”

He returned her a small laugh. “If you insist.” He picked up her wet shoes from the ground and offered her his hand. “Come, I will see you back to the tower.”

She pulled away and stared down at her wet gown. “I cannot go back like this!”

The gown clung to her slender curves in a most provocative way. He did not want other men to see her so. “No, I expect not. We will take the back way to the mews and you can wait there while I retrieve a cloak for you.”

“If you ask a servant, she can fetch my cousin, Fia, who will get one.”

He chuckled. “’Tis probably best you not be seen wearing one of mine.”

They walked back together on the sun-dappled path. Despite the summer day, she shivered with cold. Taking her hand, he let his warmth flow to her, relieved she had not asked about the sword sheathed on his other side. He was not ready for any save Rhodri to know of his practice in the woods.

* * *

Catrìona sneezed. Beneath her robe, her skin was chilled and looked like a plucked goose. Her shivering would not stop. “I can… cannot seem to get wa… warm.” In truth, she had not been warm since the scribe let go of her hand.

“What were you thinking that you would run alone in the woods?” scolded Fia.

In Catrìona’s mind, she pictured them as young girls. “Remember when we were children, those sun-filled summers when we ran barefoot in the woods near Atholl?”

“Aye, I remember.” Her cousin looked at her askance and, with a disbelieving shrug of her shoulders, chided, “But you are nineteen now, Cat, no longer a child.”

“I was missing those days, Fia. I just wanted to be free and without the sad memories or the limitations of life as a lady of the queen. I was enjoying myself until I tried to cross the burn.”

“You are fortunate ’twas the scribe who found you.”

Yea, very fortunate. She raised her hand to her lips, remembering his mouth on hers. It was her first real kiss. She paled at the thought it was not Domnall who had given it to her, but instead, the handsome scribe. Still she did not regret it. The kiss had awakened a part of her never stirred before. She did not think it a sin to have allowed him to kiss her, but remembering her response, she would not share what happened with her cousin.

“I hate to think what Angus would say if he knew.”

Catrìona averted her eyes, not wanting Fia to see the flush she could feel rising in her cheeks. “Like you, he would scold.”

“And rightly so.”

Catrìona ran her fingers through her wet hair feeling Fia’s eyes upon her. “How can you be younger than me and still act the older sister?”

“Hmm. Possibly because I would not be so foolish. You had better get dressed or they will be upbraiding us for being late to the evening meal. Here,” said Fia, picking up a drying cloth. “I will help you dry your hair.”

Fia placed the cloth over Catrìona’s head and rubbed vigorously, soaking up much of the remaining water. Catrìona’s thoughts turned to the scribe and the way his eyes had lingered on her lips. When he had drawn her into his warm embrace, she had melted into the heat of his muscular chest. Even through her wet gown she had been very aware of his body touching hers. His strength had surrounded her. She should have pulled away but, excited by his touch, she had allowed his masculine scent and towering height to engulf her. She had not wanted to flee; she had wanted to stay and draw upon his warmth. She had wanted him to kiss her.

How could that be when I am intended for Domnall?

She and Domnall had yet to experience such intimacy, but there was a shared respect between them and the knowledge he was the man her father had chosen. Surely her father had chosen well. She remembered the proud look on his face when he told her Domnall was a Leinsterman of noble blood worthy of a mormaer’s daughter.

Steinar was only the king’s clerk and an impudent one at that. But when his arms were around her, his lower status did not seem to matter.

Catrìona handed Fia the drying cloth and shook out her hair, stepping close to the brazier and the heat from the coals. Once warmed, she donned the crimson velvet gown she had chosen to wear.

“Will you plait your hair?” asked Fia.

“If you would help me, I would plait only the sides and secure them in the back. The rest of it I would wear free. ’Tis still not entirely dry.”

“That has always been my favorite way you wear it. I imagine Domnall will like it as well. You have such beautiful hair.”

“If you like red…”