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“It’s pouring outside. I’ll be soaked,” he whined.
She shot him a look that spoke volumes.
“All right. Come on, Gordon,” he said, gesturing to the dog.
“That’s not funny.” Tears choked her throat, but she refused to let him see her cry. That would be the final humiliation.
For a moment contrition surfaced in his gaze. “I’m sorry. Stupid joke. He doesn’t answer to it anyway. Prefers ‘Killer.’” The dog leapt to his feet, wagging his tail. “See?”
Elisabeth hiccupped and sniffed, a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. Brendan wasn’t supposed to be charming. He was supposed to continue being rude and bossy and arrogant. It made hating him so much easier. “Well, take Killer outside. I’ll holler when I’m presentable.”
“‘Presentable’? We’re not going to visit the queen.”
“Out!”
Killer trotting at his heels, Brendan kicked open the door, growled an oath, and darted into the downpour.
Alone, she slid out of her robe. Studiously avoiding thoughts of its previous owner, she took up the cleaning rag posing as a dress and wriggled into it. Whoever Brendan had bought it from had been considerably thinner, flatter, and a good four or five inches shorter. The side seams barely held together, while the bodice threatened to explode if she so much as breathed deeply. And the whole thing smelled like sweat and stinky cheese. She wrinkled her nose, reminding herself it was a temporary evil. Once they reached Dublin, she’d burn it before scouring herself clean in a long, hot bath.
“May we come in now?” came an aggrieved voice. “Killer’s floating away, and I’m growing gills.”
She straightened from adjusting her stockings. “Killer’s allowed. You can drown for all I care.”
He squelched inside, drenched from head to foot, hair plastered to his head. “It’s a bloody mess out there.”
She bent to lace the worn leather half boots. Small miracle—they fit. Stood up, shaking out the skirts, adjusting the apron strings as if any amount of primping could turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse. “Do I pass inspection?” She did a slow turn. “Grubby, sooty, and smelly enough for your unscrupulous, villainous self?”
A smile broke over his tired face. “That’s my girl. When you stop insulting me is when I’ll begin to worry.” His gaze traveled over her new outfit with obvious skepticism. “Not exactly an Ackermann’s fashion plate, but you’ll do.” He remained staring at her for long moments before quickly clearing his throat, suddenly spinning on his heel, agitatedly gathering up their scattered belongings. Stowing them in his saddlebag.
Grabbing up Brendan’s greatcoat, she pulled it over her shoulders; the scents of travel and sweat and an exotic woodsy aroma clung to the wool. “When you stop insulting me is when I’ll begin to worry.”
He flashed her another wicked smile, and with a strange ache in her heart she turned away.
“Don’t you dare,” Elisabeth hissed as Brendan started to assist her onto Onwen. “Last I checked I was still able to mount a horse on my own.”
He stepped back with a wave of assent. “Be my guest. Hoisting you about’s not the easiest of tasks.”
She flashed him a thunderous look as she gathered the reins and swung herself aboard. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
He mounted behind her, the mare sidestepping and tossing her head, but a firm hand and a gentle word quickly settled the horse. They hadn’t left the farmyard but already rain soaked through the overcoat he’d scavenged. Dripped off his hat to slither down his neck. The calendar might have said April, but the cold felt more like February, and the rain pelted in torrents. Mud sucked at Onwen’s feet, the road beyond a quagmire.
Killer watched them from the doorway with interest, his sodden fur spiky with wet. As Brendan urged the horse forward, the terrier followed.
“Stay,” Brendan commanded.
The dog paused, its expression almost contemptuous before it once more began tagging behind.
“I think you’ve gained a friend.” Elisabeth’s amusement was evident.
“I don’t want a friend. Or a dog. Or a woman.” He shifted in his saddle. “Stay, Killer. Go home.”
The dog sneezed but remained just behind them. Dodging puddles. Leaping over fallen twigs. Pink tongue lolling in a clever doggie smile.
“Too bad.” Elisabeth chuckled scornfully. “Looks like you’ve got them whether you want them or not.”
He glared at the back of her head, choking down a properly sarcastic response. Tried not to notice the way she nestled back against him. Or the way her rear was dangerously positioned between his legs. Or the heady sway of her body in his arms.
It had been that damn dress. It was hideous. Probably the ugliest rag he’d ever seen on a woman.
