Page 73 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Elspeth narrowed her eyes. “That sounded obedient. I mistrust it.”

“With good reason.”

For the first time all evening, Elspeth smiled fully. But later, when Skye had gone and the chamber grew quiet, her thoughtsturned to one impossible question: if pleasure was possible, what would it feel like?

And worse… what would it feel like with Colin?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Elspeth went to the kitchen with excellent intentions. She had a purpose. Several purposes, in fact. She meant to speak to the cook about oatcakes, broth, roasted meat, and whether sweetened apples might be managed without offending the present shortage of provisions. She meant to be useful, sensible, composed, and entirely occupied with matters of food. Then she passed the lower courtyard and Colin ruined everything by not wearing a shirt.

Elspeth stopped. Her feet simply refused to continue, because his shirt lay discarded over a barrel. That was her first observation. Her second was that no man had any business looking so severe while half-undressed.

He held a practice blade in one hand and moved with a speed that made his size seem suddenly unfair. Sweat gleamed across his shoulders and chest. His dark hair had fallen loose around his face, and each strike made the muscles in his arms and back shift in a way that made Elspeth’s breath catch.

A woman ought to be warned before encountering such things.

One of the men lunged. Colin turned, caught the blow, and drove him back with a force that sent mud spraying beneath their boots. Another came at his side. Colin ducked, twisted, and struck the man’s ribs with the flat of his blade. The man cursed. Colin did not smile. He only gestured for the next to come.

Elspeth swallowed. She was not admiring him. She was observing.

A lady might observe her husband’s form in combat for reasons of safety. It was practical to know whether he could defend the castle, or himself, or, if necessary,her. The fact that his skin was damp and golden in the light, and that his shoulders looked as if they had been built by a particularly ambitious sculptor, was entirely incidental.

Unfortunately, her body seemed not to understand incidental. Warmth rose beneath her bodice.

Colin turned suddenly, catching another strike before it reached him. His gaze swept the courtyard and found her. Elspeth froze. His expression did not change at first. Then, slowly, wickedly, the corner of his mouth lifted.

Oh, nay.

He said something to the men. They stepped back and then, Colin crossed the courtyard toward her, still shirtless, still holding the practice blade, still possessing far too much chest for civilized conversation.

“Me lady,” he greeted her.

Elspeth lifted her chin. “Me laird.”

His gaze moved over her face. “Lost?”

“Nay.”

“Then ye meant tae stand here.”

“I was passing.”

“Fer some time.”

“I walk slowly when thinking.”

“About what?”

“Food.”

His eyes gleamed. “Food.”

“Aye. The feast. A subject of great importance, though I can see ye prefer tae occupy yerself with striking men until they regret rising from bed.”

“They need practice.”

“So dae manners, yet I see nay one training those.”