“If this is what constitutes your sense of humor, Cormac MacAlpin, I don't much care for it. ” He merely shrugged, the barest ghost of a smile on his face, and it unnerved her. She glanced to his bare feet and decided if he was going to make himself so casually at home, then she could, too.
“Next time, I'll choose the names, and we'll see how you enjoy being called Lord Boniface Humperdinck. ” She bent to pull the leather slippers from her feet, though her fingers were trembling as she did so. She and Cormac would both have bare feet. Would they touch under the sheets? Would his warm hers? Finally, she managed to unknot her laces and stood. “I can think of a dozen—”
Marjorie's tongue froze in shock to see Cormac undoing the leather thong that tied his plaid at his shoulder.
“A dozen… ?” he prompted as the wool slid from his chest.
What had they been discussing? She cleared her throat. “A dozen other names. But what… Cormac, what, pray tell—” He unbuckled his belt, rolled it, and tossed it into the corner.
Her mouth went dry. She wanted to look away, should look away, but she couldn't bring herself to. Too vivid was the memory of him, emerging naked from the sea.
“Aye?” He slowly unraveled the breacan feile from his waist. All that wool fell heavily to the floor. Stepping from it, he gathered the handful of dark green, blue, and black plaid. “Pray tell what?” He shook the wool out, surely unaware of the slight tensing of his muscular calves as he did so. Unaware that the flex of his thigh was visible under the linen of his shirt.
Her skin felt stretched unbearably tight over her body. Was this what it felt like to want a man?
Because she wanted Cormac. She wanted to pull that shirt up and once again see the naked flesh of those thighs.
To run her hands over them. To feel them braced around her legs, his body heavy over hers.
But she felt a little frightened, too. What w
ould she do faced with a naked stretch of man? What would Cormac want her to do?
He bent to unfurl the plaid on the ground, unaware that she could see straight up into the dark shadows between his…
“What are you doing?” she blurted.
He looked up at her, seemingly oblivious.
And why wouldn't he be? His tunic reached almost to his knees. He was nearly as clothed as he'd been before he'd removed his breacan feile. No, she was the shameless one, with all these unseemly imaginings.
“Making a pallet. ” He pointed to the enormous swath of his plaid, laid in thirds at his feet.
“A… “ She looked down, and the fluttering in her chest thudded to a halt. “You're sleeping there?”
“Don't worry yourself,” he said with a laugh. “You get the bed, lass. But, aye, I'm setting a place for myself on the floor. ”
“Well… “ She put her hands on her hips, disgruntled. She'd imagined their kiss had been a preview of things to come. She'd been fantasizing about feeling his body next to hers for the whole night. “Don't be foolish, Cormac.
You can sleep on the bed. ”
“Och, and have you on the floor? What do you take me for?”
“No, not that. I mean… “ You could sleep by my side. She looked from the pallet to the bed, refusing to meet his eyes. She'd been disgruntled and was quickly becoming annoyed that she'd be forced to set aside her pride to put a fine point on the matter. “That is to say… “
Finally, she met his gaze, and her nerve failed her.
He stood stiffly, staring at her, waiting. His eyes were slate and indigo in the growing dark. The look on his face was hooded, and as unreadable as ever.
Even so, she tried to read him, desperate to understand. She saw the same shadow that always loomed there: his loss, his pain. She knew a part of it was the same anguished memory she carried with her always.
Was it resentment she saw there, too? She'd spent years blaming herself, and it had sown doubt deep in her soul.
And so, though they'd kissed, she couldn't help but wonder what was keeping him from being with her. Was she a reminder of bad times?
She fumbled for something to fill the silence. “I suppose you're used to sleeping on the ground. ” And then she realized how true that was. Though her memories of him were so vivid, and their friendship had been so close, those first ten years had been the barest fraction of his experience. After that, Cormac had become a soldier, something that'd marked over half his lifetime.
“Aye,” he replied simply.