Aye, because shite like this doesnae happen in real life!
Either she was some sort of fairy, intent on luring him to her realm to steal his seed, or a glaistig, determined to drag him to his watery death, or an altogether new folk song in the making.
Actually, the idea of this particular maiden luring him to her realm didn’t sound so bad, and Kenneth decided he’d be more than willing to give her however much seed she wanted.
However, if a chorus suddenly jumped from the undergrowth, complete with lute and pipes, and began singing, “Whack-fol-rol-de-diddle, whack-fol-ra-de-dah!” Kenneth was going to have to stab something.
He was a grown man, and this was ridiculous. Things like this just didn’t happen: the waterfall, the hair, all that glorious skin…
Folksong,he reminded himself.
Right, he wasn’t going to have any of this.
Decision made, he straightened, thrusting himself into the maiden’s line of sight.
He expected a scream. He expected her to try to cover herself, or to toss blandishments his way, or to sink down into the water to hide her body from his eyes.
He didn’t expect her to prop her hands on her hips, or for her eyes—a warm brown, with more than a little twinkle of amusement—to drop to the front of his very obviously tented kilt.
“Well, hello there,” she said with a sassy sort of smirk.
He had to clear his throat.
“Who are ye?” he managed to croak out, ashamed of how her boldness affected him.
Her grin grew, and she began to splash through the water toward him. “I’m Leanna. This is my favorite place to bathe, and I’ve never seen ye afore. Are ye some sort of forest sprite, come to carry me off to the realm of the fairies and make me his slave forever?”
The realization she didn’t seem at all upset about this possibility—in fact, she looked downright intrigued at the thought of becoming some satyr’s sexual slave—sent another burst of desire through Kenneth. But it was the similarities in their thinking which had him swallowing and forcing himself to speak.
“I thought the same as ye. This”—he gestured weakly around the almost-mythical pool—“seemed too perfect to be real.”
And then she was standing before him, within arms’ reach, all wet and glistening…and nude. “Och, it’s real. I’m real.”
Kenneth did his best not to drop his gaze further than her chin, although he’d already gotten an eye-full of her glorious body while she bathed. It really wasn’t too difficult, because her face was just as arresting.
She was beautiful, aye, but no more so than the women he’d met at court, or the women back home on McClure land. But there was something else about her, something which drew him in a way no other woman had ever done before.
He suspected it had something to do with the way her dark pink lips seemed to be permanently curled into a half-smile, or the teasing twinkle in her warm brown eyes, as if she were moments away from telling him a naughty joke. This close, he could see flecks of gold in their depths, and could almost swear that was the humor he was imagining. Her nose was turned up adorably, her cheekbones were high—and saints help him—but even her ears were kissable.
Kissable, aye, that was it. She was immensely kissable, and he wanted to taste her. Taste all of her.
“So, mysterious stranger, if ye’re no’ one of the wee folk—or,” she hurried to correct herself, as her gaze flicked briefly over his wide shoulders, “no’ so wee folk—ye should ken ‘tis proper manners to introduce yerself when asked. I’m Leanna,” she prompted again, holding out her hand.
And saints protect him, but he unthinkingly took her hand. “I’m Kenneth.”
He likely would’ve said more, but when his skin finally touched hers, a rush of warmth filled him, not sexual, but—
Well, aye, ‘twas sexual, but it was also more than that.
All he knew was that he wanted to wrap this woman in his arms and hold her.
Forever.
Suddenly, he was finding it hard to breathe.
“Well, Kenneth, are ye just out for a wee bit of exploring, and ye just happened to stumble across my pool?”
I’d like to do a bit more exploring of said pool.