She lay on her side, her hands pressed palms together, resting under her cheek. Her hair lay strewn behind her, and curls that shone light brown in daylight spread across her pillow, streaking behind her like a dark wing. Her, an angel in flight.
Slowly, he reached out. Gingerly, he traced a lock of hair from her brow. He froze, waiting, but she didn't rouse.
Then Cormac smoothed his hand over her hair. It was coarse but somehow smooth, too, skeins of uneven waves tickling his palm.
And still her breathing didn't alter, and so he grew bolder, bringing his hand to her shoulder. Her bones were sleek and delicate, too fine for the weighty burdens she bore. He'd always thought of her as such a dauntless, braw thing, but truly she was a fragile creature.
He stroked his hand lower, and his groin tightened at the feel of her torso, the soft curve of it, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He imagined the bare skin beneath the fabric. Her breasts would be pale and perfect.
They'd fill his palms, neither too big nor too small, and he'd bury himself between them, a man come home.
He stroked lower still, his body humming now, alive. If before he'd imagined he was asleep and dreaming, there was no fooling himself now. He was awake, alert, and entirely aroused.
He dragged his hand over the blanket covering her legs, and the wool rasped against his fingers. He remembered those damned trews. They'd outlined her curves, hugging her legs, clinging in the cleft between. It had been all he could do to keep his wits about him and not come at the sight.
He stroked along her thigh. It sloped elegantly down, to bended knee, then to lean calf. Carefully he cupped her ankle, and the bone seemed perilously frail. Never before had she struck him as more a woman than she did in that moment. Never had she seemed more exquisite, more precious.
A vision came to his mind of taking both his hands, gripping those calves. Flipping Marjorie flat on her back, spreading her, mounting her.
He pulled his hand back as though burned.
The game he played was more dangerous than any wartime spying or any dockside brawl.
Hissing a breath, Cormac took up his plaid. Wrapping it about himself, he curled on the floor once more, where he'd wait for the sun to rise and the angry flesh of his body to retreat.
Marjorie woke strangely energized. She stretched, and despite the tension of the past days, her muscles felt invigorated, her mood light.
She flipped onto her back, staring at the wood beams overhead. She flexed and pointed her toes, thinking it was no wonder she was in such high spirits. They were to go to the docks today. Cormac was helping her, and they had a plan.
Cormac. A little flare of excitement ripped through her belly. She rolled onto her stomach, looking over the edge of the bed. He was gone. She knew a rush of disappointment and tamped it down at once. He was his own man, who surely had business in need of tending, concerns having naught to do with her or Davie.
Unfortunately, she had well over an hour to consider that fact, and she was dressed, staring idly out the window, and feeling just on the brink of impatience when he finally returned.
“We need to discuss the plan,” he said baldly, bolting the door behind him.
“And a fine morning to you as well, Cormac. ” Moving from the window, Marjorie gave him her best dazzling smile.
She wasn't about to let him sully her curiously bright outlook. “I'd thought we were enacting our plan. Posing as a wealthy lord and his lady. ” She stepped closer to him, wondering if he was immune to the tease in her voice.
Pretending to be Cormac's wife was already proving to be quite the diversion.
“I've made inquiries,” he said, looking away quickly. “I've identified a contact at Justice Port. ”
“Did you go back to that smugglers' boat?” Her voice grew sharp. She didn't know which she felt more: fear for his safety or resentment that he'd leave her out of something. “Without me?” Disregarding her question, he continued, “We will go, claiming we'd like to purchase a boy. ”
“That sounds… “ She shuddered.
“A horror. I know it, Ree. ” He was silent for a moment, and just when she thought he was done speaking, he inhaled deeply and said, “But I've thought on this long and h
ard. It's the only way. ” She turned her back to him and leaned against the windowsill. Pretending to buy a boy. Did people really do that? It was unthinkable.
His voice gentled. “Listen, Marjorie. There are many horrors out there, which I fear you're not ready to face.
You must consider this and tell me truly. Will you be able to—”
“Able to do my duty here?” Did he doubt her? She spun to face him, hands on hips. “I can be just as strong as you are. You aren't the only one capable of subterfuge, Cormac. Just because I find this whole business dreadful does not mean that I cannot do what's necessary to find and save Davie. ” He merely shrugged and, maddeningly, seemed to be fighting a smile.
“What is it?” she asked, in no humor to brook any more of these inscrutable shifts in mood. And to think she'd started the day so cheerfully.