Instead, he cleared his throat, and managed, “Mayhap I was looking for a place to bathe, myself.”
She nodded, and finally—finally, although he couldn’t complain—dropped his hand. Kenneth felt the loss keenly, which didn’t make any sense.
“I’m done, so ye’re welcome to use it. I had to scrub to get all the green paint out of my hair, but most of that should be downstream by now.”
She had already turned away and was splashing through the shallows toward the pile of her clothing he could now see on the bank.
He could see all of her now and knew the curls between her legs were an intriguing auburn color. “Green paint?”
She tsked as she shook out her chemise. Then, pulling it over her head, she called out, “Just a bit of an accident with a prank gone awry. One of my sisters decided to give me a taste of my own medicine.” As her head emerged from the white linen, her expression was twisted in thought. “Although that’s never made sense to me, for certes. Nicola’s medicine doesnae taste too terrible, but I’m willing to admit I’ve never been sick enough to warrant anything truly terrible.”
As she bent to scoop up her gown—a dark red color which seemed to match her lips—she chuckled. “I suppose ‘tis the price to pay for being as healthy as a horse—that’s another idiom I dinnae understand. Do ye?”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer as she slipped into the gown.
By all the saints, was he really standing here having such a nonsensical conversation with a wood nymph when he should be hunting for clues about McIlvain?
Apparently, he was.
“I’ve never kenned a sick horse, Leanna,” he admitted. “Who is Nicola?”
He knew he should bid her farewell and go on with his hunt, but he couldn’t seem to help engaging her with questions.
She hummed as she twisted to tie up her laces. “Oh, another sister. Do ye have siblings? Are they as much of a trial as mine? Once, Nicola gave me honey water for three months straight, telling me ‘twould cure me of my cramps. Have ye ever been truly ill?”
The way her mind jumped from topic to topic was…refreshing, in an odd way. Kenneth found a grin threatening his lips.
“Nay, milady. I have nae siblings, but I have been ill with fever following a sword wound.”
“Oh!” Her cheeks brightened, and her tongue peeked out from between her lips, as her gaze swept speculatively over his body, lingering just for a moment on the bulge in front of his kilt. “I suppose such a thing is a danger for a warrior like ye, eh?”
A warrior? He couldn’t help straightening further, preening under her interested gaze.
“I have faced many dangers.”
That boast brought a smile to her lips, and for the first time—ye can be forgiven, since yer eyes were quite occupied there for a while—he noticed her dimple.
Lord in Heaven, she had a dimple.
And Kenneth McClure found himself wondering if love at first sight really was simply something out of a folk song, or if it could truly happen in real life.
He took a step toward her, unsure exactly what his intentions were, but knowing he needed to be closer to her. He needed to touch her again.
She raised her hand, as if to reach for him, but changed her mind and placed her fingers against her neck. Unbidden, Kenneth’s gaze dropped to that spot, and he had the strongest desire to taste her there. He wanted to taste her everywhere.
Another step, then another, his eyes focused on the pulse at the base of her neck, imagining an increase in its rhythm as he moved nearer. Not in fear, nay; as her tongue swept over her lips, he saw genuine curiosity in her gaze.
“Leanna,” he began hoarsely.
But a noise from afar slammed into his senses, reminding him who he was, and why he was there.
It was Brodie’s signal.
Kenneth whirled about, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, wondering if he should stand and protect her from whatever danger approached, or insist she accompany him. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her
“Is that a sick goose?” she asked, striding to his side. “A colicky cow?”
Although he didn’t look at her—his eyes peeled for whatever Brodie was warning of—he was aware of her warmth beside him. “An owl,” he barked. “It means danger approaches.”