She had no idea what she’d said that made him laugh so loud, but she reminded him that they had to be quiet or someone would hear them.
“I think I’ve made my lot worse,” he said as he reined his horse away and started going south, Cay right behind him.
Eight
Cay had been careful not to say another word about the Scotsman’s hair or the state of his body until they stopped to camp that night. When she’d lowered her lashes and asked sweetly that they camp by a stream or a river, he’d squinted his eyes, as though to ask what she was up to, but he said nothing, and that’s where they’d stopped. All through their dinner of dried fruit, crackers, and pickles, she’d said nothing.
It was only after they’d finished eating that she stood up and stared down at him. “It’s time for you to take a bath.”
“Too cold,” he said without looking up.
“It must be eighty degrees and you’re a Scot, so how can anything be too cold?”
“The river current is too strong.”
She didn’t have to look at the stream to see how gently it was flowing. “I have soft soap for your hair.”
“I don’t need it.” He still hadn’t looked up at her. “As for you, lass, I’m afraid it’s time to trim your hair. I brought scissors so I won’t need to use my knife, but I think we should get started on it.”
She knew he was trying to distract her, but it wasn’t working. “You smell so bad that I have to hold my hand over my nose and breathe through my mouth. Your hair is so dirty that I’ve seen cow tails that are cleaner. You stink, and I can’t stand it any longer.”
Alex kept his eyes straight ahead, looking at the water and the sun low in the sky, and not looking at her. The truth was that he didn’t want to remove the stench of the prison from his body. He knew he was being foolish, but he hadn’t been allowed to bathe since the day he’d married Lilith, and if he washed, he knew it would remove his last connection to her.
And then there was the fact that he was alone with a young woman whom he was beginning to see as being quite desirable. All in all, he thought it would be better to make her stay away from him. “I like the smell of me.”
“Well, I don’t. If we’re going to make it to Florida together, then there are going to be times when you need my help, and if you want me to give it to you, then you are going to be clean.”
When he just sat there, she turned away from him, went to her horse, and began to saddle it. He took longer than she’d thought he would before he stopped her, but he did.
“Why didn’t your father turn you over his knee and teach you to obey your elders?”
“My father would never strike a child, but my mother . . .” She glared at him. “Don’t get me started on my family! There’s the water and the soap is in the bag. And when you get through, I’m going to coat your hair in jasmine oil.”
Alex took a step back from her, his face filled with horror. “Nay, you will not.”
“The oil will kill whatever is living in there. Smother it.”
“But the smell, lass . . . I couldn’t bear the stench.” When he saw that she wasn’t going to give in, he looked back at the water. “No, I won’t do it.”
“Fine,” Cay said as nicely as she could manage. “But I am going to take a bath.” Turning, she slipped into the surrounding
forest and removed her shoes, cursing him with every breath. “I guess he wants turpentine,” she muttered. “Make him smell more like a man. Good. Then he can stay as filthy as he wants to and I won’t care. But he’s not going to share my cloak again, and he’s not going to sleep beside me ever again. He’s not going to—”
She stopped her tirade when she heard a big splash. It was either a huge fish, a bear coming to eat them, or . . . She stepped closer to the stream and looked to see the Scotsman’s head just above the water.
“It may be warm on land but this water is cold,” he said, and even in the fading light she could see that his face was already red.
“The water in Scotland is colder,” she said, laughing.
“Aye, but I don’t get into it naked. I have my plaid.”
Cay kept the smile on her face and stepped back into the trees. She was alone in the forest with a naked man who might be a murderer, but she was smiling. Even to her, that seemed odd.
“Will you no come in, lass?” He sounded like a old man calling to a young girl—which was what was happening, but she knew he was doing it as a joke.
His jest removed the awkwardness of the moment. “Use the soap. I just hope it’s strong enough to remove some of the dirt.”
“Could you not come in and show me how?” he called in a teasing way.