Torn Between Two Highlanders (Sword and Thistle 2)

“Malcolm’s a little warmer,” she reported, approvingly.

“That’s good,” Davy said, with a forced smile. “Now maybe you can get some rest yourself. You needn’t worry; I’ll stand guard.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Arabella said, wondering how it was he so cheerfully took care of things. Though all Arabella wanted in the world was a good night’s sleep, she slid down next to him and said, “I’ll keep you company.”

“What’s the sense in both of us being tired, lass?”

“I couldn’t sleep anyway,” she lied.

She expected she was tired enough to sleep a dark, black, dreamless sleep.

“It must be hard to sleep with a broken heart…”

Arabella shrugged. “I never loved Conall. My heart isn’t broken. Just my reputation.”

“Good,” Davy said, with satisfaction. “About your heart, I mean. Not your reputation. Though…”

He trailed off in a way that made her curious. “Though, what?”

“Well, I always thought that if the faeries got up to some mischief and I had to be a woman, I’d rather be a ruined woman than a virtuous one.”

Arabella sputtered with unexpected laughter. First, because he was a grown man who worried about the mischief of the faeries. Second, because she could not imagine the muscle-bound, sword-wielding warrior as a woman, even if he did cook porridge. And thirdly, because of what he’d actually said. “Why, pray tell, would you rather be a ruined woman?”

Davy flashed her another of his dimpled grins. “Virtuous women lead such dull lives. Obedient to the man they marry, and dependent, too. I’d chafe under that and buck like a wild horse.”

So would I, Arabella thought.

But she hadn’t ever considered that there were other options.

“Don’t even let me start raving about the kertch,” he continued. “If I were a married woman, I couldn’t bear wearing a strip of white cloth upon my head. T’would be a crime to cover up al

l this glorious red hair of mine.”

She laughed again, as he meant her to. He said silly things and knew a heavy heart when he saw one. And it made her grateful to have something to laugh about when all she really wanted to do was curl up and cry. It helped, of course, that his mane of hair really was quite glorious, and she had the strange urge to run her fingers through those fiery curls. An urge she resisted, saying, “ I s’pose the dullness and the obedience and even the kertch is the price to be paid for a woman’s respectability.”

“Too high a price, if you ask me. More choices in being a fallen woman; more adventures to be had.”

Arabella raised a curious brow. “What kind of choices and adventures?”

Davy shared a bit of his plaid with her, to warm her where they sat, side by side. And she thrilled a bit when their shoulders touched. “Well, a virtuous lass can enjoy nothing without a man putting a claim on her. No sighs of pleasure for her that aren’t caught up in promises. She kisses only the man she marries without ever sampling the talents of any others. But a ruined woman can kiss whomever she chooses and claim whatever pleasure she wants for herself.”

Arabella raised an eyebrow at these wicked ideas, but all she could think to ask was, “…kissing is a talent?”

“Oh, aye,” Davy said, mirth in his voice. “But if you have to ask the question, your betrothed mustn’t have had any talent for it. Or did you never kiss him?”

“I did,” Arabella said, starting to blush at her confession.

He slanted her a very interested glance. “And how did you like it?”

Arabella’s blush grew hotter and swiftly burned its way across her cheeks. “It was pleasant…”

“Pleasant,” Davy scoffed. “It’s meant to be a wee bit more than that!”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, softly, her eyelids beginning to feel quite heavy, in spite of the fascinating conversation.

He must have mistaken her exhaustion for upset because he said, “I’m sorry, lass. I don’t know what the devil I’m thinking of to be speaking of kisses after—”

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”