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Katarina was in their chambers, rummaging through the wardrobe, casting aside all the gowns that would not do for such a night as this. But they would all not do.
Her muscles were gloriously sore and well worked. Muscles she had not known she possessed were still sensitive and trembling. She felt aglow.
And she had nothing to wear.
She turned at the sound of Aodh’s voice, and almost caught her breath.
He stood in the doorway, his hair damp from a bath, fresh and windblown and smelling of vitality and spring and maleness. And wearing…velvet.
His broad shoulders filled out a black tunic, studded with rivets across the front. His dark hair fell down over it, melding with the darkness of the fabric. Black hose completed the ensemble, down to polished knee-high boots. He looked like danger incarnate. In fact, the only hint of color was his ice-blue eyes.
Magnificent indeed, a beast in his prime. And he knew it.
Over his arm hung…the red fabric from the tower. “The servants made it into a gown for you,” he said.
“Tandy,” Katarina said fondly. “She is a master seamstress.”
“She had helpers. You’ve a talented staff.”
Katarina touched the rich reds and pale yellows of the fabric. “They have had to be, for I am not.”
On his arms, in addition to the gown, lay a pale shift, with lace along the edges, and silk stockings, with silky threads falling from them, and a long girdle with hammered silver links, not hers. A gift, then.
“Wait outside,” she said softly. “I will change.”
He handed everything over and backed out.
She could have called for Susanna, or one of the others, but she did not want to share this moment. Aodh could help her finish. The silken gown fell in skirts of pale yellow and red, with wide, flowing sleeves edged in lace. It became a tumble of yellow and dark red, one color overfalling the other, a frothy concoction of bright sun and red shadow. It had an open, darted bodice, the tight yellow tunic showing through the red silk ribbons like a sun. The tops of her breasts rose up above.
The long, linked girdle banded her slim waist, double-looped in orbits of gold, and falling below her belly. She braided her hair and wrapped the long plait around the crest of her head, and pinned it. Over it she wore a simple, unadorned veil that flowed to her hips, banded by a circlet of gold around her head.
She bent and peeked a moment at her reflection, intending to pinch her cheeks, but they were already flushed with color.
Taking a breath, feeling oddly shaky, she opened the door and stepped onto the landing.
Aodh spun as if he’d been pacing and stopped short. His gaze trailed down the front of her, a long, lingering, and utterly male regard. Her body responded: washes of heat in her belly, prickles across her breasts, hardening her nipples.
Their eyes met.
“You are beautiful, Katarina.” The simple, unadorned compliment made her feel as if she’d been laced with gold.
“As are you,” she said despairingly.
The hard lines of his face relaxed, and a smile touched a corner of his mouth, and oh, it had the same impact as when he’d first smiled at her, in the bailey, when she did not yet know he was taking over her life, and they’d shared a smile over the stubbornness that made her hold a castle beyond the Pale with only ten men.
She felt quite battered by his smile, just as she had back then.
“Men are not beautiful, lass,” he informed her.
“You are.”
“Just don’t let Cormac hear you say it.” He reached up to her face and slid his hands under her veil, to the nape of her neck. His fingers were cool against her skin, as he clasped a necklace around her throat.
“A gift,” he murmured.
Her fingers flew to it, touched the hard, smooth, knitted metal.
“Come see.” He led her back inside.
