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“I believejobbyis the word you’re looking for?” I asked, keeping my voice serious, though every ounce of my being wanted to laugh at her discomfort.
“Jobby! Yes!” Sophie all but screamed. She turned away from the toilet and stomped up the path to where Archie stood with his back to us, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Erm, just so you know, Sophie, it’s not really polite to say you’re away for a jobby, either. It’s akin to saying you’re taking a shite,” Agnes supplied.
“Thanks, Agnes, just keep heaping salt into my wound, why don’t you?” Sophie seethed, and then I lost it. Bending over, I laughed until I gasped for breath, Matthew clapping me on the back as I did.
“Well, she gave it a good try,” Matthew said, wiping his eyes as I straightened.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so hard,” I admitted, following a furious Sophie up the hill. “Och, but I needed that.”
“Here? Does this translate?” Sophie turned and held up her middle finger at us, and I laughed once more.
“We use two fingers here, darling,” I called, just to infuriate her further. When her growl of frustration echoed across the hills, I shook my head.
I was well and truly gone for this woman, and that was the truth of it.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
sophie
By the time we’d finished the rite and returned to the castle, I’d mostly recovered from my embarrassment. And, if I’m being honest, part of my reaction had to do with the way my entire body heated when Lachlan had leaned into my misunderstanding, his eyes heavy with meaning. He was all broad-shouldered and muscular and masculine and his nearness was starting to bring me to distraction in general, let alone when blow jobs were on the table.
Which they weren’t, to be clear.
Or on a toilet, for that matter.
To also be clear.
Now, we found ourselves in the weapons room, with Matthew exclaiming over the display of swords and knives and other sharp instruments that I couldn’t possibly know the names of but understood would be rather painful if taken to the face.
“See anything you fancy?” Lachlan asked, his voice warm at my ear, and I shivered. This man’s presence was becoming a liability, I decided, and surely I couldn’t take on challenges when all I could think about was having another taste of his mouth.
It appeared Scottish Sophie was a wanton woman.
And, since I’m being honest, I kind of liked this side of myself. Back home, I was always convinced that men wouldn’t really take a second look at me or, as I’d told Lachlan earlier that day, that I was just an afterthought. Sex, and the perusal of it, had sort of taken a back seat in my life, yet now it was like someone had flipped a switch, and lusty thoughts flooded my brain. Which, I’ll admit, came at a slightly inopportune moment as I was supposed to be picking my weapon of choice and not bringing to mind the image of Lachlan in his kilt yesterday.
What was it about a kilt that just about made my mouth go dry? I suspected it was the easy confidence of the men wearing them that made them appealing.
Or the easy access, Slutty Scottish Sophie whispered in my brain, and I felt heat rush to my cheeks.
“They’re all very pretty…and terrifying,” I said, refusing to look up at Lachlan lest he guessed where my thoughts had wandered to. “These are nothing like a fencing foil. I mean, these are pretty heavy-duty swords…”
“What’s a knight without his…er…hersword?” Agnes asked.
“Sharp-witted, I suppose,” I said, and warmth bloomed in me when Lachlan laughed. He’d only laughed a few times since I’d arrived, typically defaulting to his surlier nature, and I had to admit that it made me feel good to bring a smile to his face. Not to mention, it transformed his visage from almost overwhelming intensity to much more approachable. Not that I planned to approach him, or touch him, or…
Down, girl.
The weapons room was a large room with stone walls, low ceilings, and lights that mirrored the old-time torch look, like the ones that lined the hallway to our apartment. It had a cozy and intimate feel, as though we were there to share our secrets, and I supposed in some ways the room was doing the same with us. Indescribable amounts of history were woven into the craftsmanship of these blades, with each sword having different etchings and emblems carved into the hilts.
“How do I choose?” I asked, looking up at Archie. “Are there any that are off-limits?”
“None are off-limits, lass.” Archie rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “Pick the one you want.”
“But…” I nibbled my lower lip as I surveyed the vast array of weaponry before me. I hated being put on the spot to decide, particularly in an area that I wasn’t well-versed in. When it came to my job, I trusted my instincts and made strong choices. Asking me to pick which two scoops of ice cream I wanted on my cone was a whole different challenge and often resulted in me having odd flavor combinations like mango with pistachio. I didn’t like feeling pressured when I knew I could let down an entire village of people, and now my gut twisted as I tried to figure out which sword most “spoke” to me.
“Hear what he said, Soph.” Matthew came to my side, sensing my distress. “Pick the one you want. Period.”
