“Bet on horses? Surely you aren’t thinking of marrying a gambler!” Holding a thick strand of her hair, he made the first cut. As the glorious red hair fell to the ground, he stared down at it.
When Cay felt her hair being cut, she was determined not to cry. “But he makes me laugh and he comes up with wonderful games to play. I think maybe he’s the one I should marry. He’d think it was a great adventure that I ran across the country with a convicted murderer.”
“What kind of man is he that he cares naught about what you’ve been through?” Alex cut more of her hair. “What if I were guilty as everyone thinks I am? Do you have any idea what I could have done to you by now?”
“But you haven’t, and when I get back, I’ll tell Ben all about everything. He’ll even laugh about the jasmine oil I put in your hair.”
“Will he now?” Alex asked, frowning as he cut more of her hair. “He won’t be jealous?”
“Ben says that being jealous is a stupid emotion and when we’re married I must never be jealous of him no matter what he does.”
“He sounds like he means to run off with other women while you stay home with a passel of brats.”
“Isn’t that what a wife is supposed to do?”
“No,” Alex said. “I think a couple should work together to raise a family.”
“So you’re saying that a man should be jealous?”
“I think—” He stopped because he realized she was teasing him. “You’re a bothersome bairn, is
what you are. There now, I’ve finished.”
When Cay stood up, the cloak fell from her shoulders, and for a moment she just stood there looking at him, afraid to move her head. What would it feel like to have so little hair? Slowly, tentatively, she moved her head to one side, then the other. Actually, it didn’t feel so bad. He’d cut it until it hung just to her shoulders so she could tie it back at the nape of her neck as her brothers did.
She moved her head to one side, but this time faster. With about a foot of her thick hair gone, it was surprisingly light. She began to shake her head, and her hair flew about her face. When she stopped, she looked at Alex. He was watching her with wide eyes, the scissors still in his hand.
“I do believe that I rather like it.” She put one foot on the log and held an imaginary pipe in her hand. “So, tell me, sir, what do you think of the price of wheat today? Do you think it will go up again or have the English ruined that for us as well?”
He’d never seen anyone look less like a male than she did. Her hair swirled about her shoulders in thick curls and her long lashes made shadows on her cheeks. “I think you should let me do the talking.”
She stood up straight and swung her hair about her some more. It really did feel wonderful.
“Will you stop doing that!” Alex snapped.
“Why?”
“It bothers me, is all. You should go to sleep.”
“And what about you?”
“What I do is my own business,” he said, knowing he sounded grumpy. He knew he was still in love with Lilith, but it had been a long time since he’d been alone with a woman, and Cay was . . . He searched for the right word. Enticing. She was indeed enticing.
She was standing there staring at him, and he knew what she wanted. She wanted to know where he was going, what he was going to do, and when he’d be back. He wanted to again tell her that what he did was his concern, not hers, but he didn’t. “I’m going to wash this vile oil out of my hair,” he said at last. What he was really going to do was take a long plunge in the icy cold stream.
“You can’t do that,” she said. “You need to leave the oil in at least until morning to smother whatever’s in your hair. You can wash it out before we leave tomorrow.” She picked up the cloak and wrapped it around her. “But do what you want. I’m going to sleep now.”
She stretched out on the ground near the fire and lay there in silence for a moment, then she flipped one side of the cloak away from her. It was an invitation to him. It wasn’t much, but the wool would be separating them, and for her, she felt safer when he was nearby.
For what seemed like a long time, Alex didn’t move. It was as though he was making a decision. Finally, she heard his soft chuckle—a sound she was coming to know—and he stretched out on the grass next to her and pulled the side of the cloak over him.
“Good night, Cay,” he said.
“Good night, Alex,” she answered, and when she felt the heat of his body through the wool, she went to sleep.
Nine
“It still reeks,” Alex said as he sat down on the log and lowered his head, his fragrant hair hanging about him. “I can’t get rid of the stench of it. I soaped it three times, but all I can smell is . . . is flowers. I smell like a bloody flower!”