by Lynsay Sands
“It is looking like she may, and hopefully letting her feet air in the sun will help,” Jetta said cautiously. “We shall have to see.”
“Oh,” Aileen said with concern. “But we are done gathering the flowers. At least, I think we are. I was just coming to ask if ye thought we had enough.”
Dwyn turned to glance toward the cart they’d brought with them as Jetta did, and felt her eyebrows rise. The cart was pretty much full of flowers. There was more than enough to cover the great hall floor, she was sure.
“Aye, ’tis more than enough,” Jetta said.
“I’ll take her back to the keep on me horse. There is no room in the cart for her now anyway,” Geordie pointed out. “We can sit in the gardens once there so that her feet can enjoy the benefit o’ the sun.”
Jetta relaxed and began to gather the used linens. “’Tis better I put fresh linens on when I rewrap her feet anyway. Rory says reusing bloodied linens can infect the wound.”
“Help me gather our flowers, Aileen,” Una said, bending next to Jetta to begin collecting the flowers they’d gathered. “That way Geordie and Dwyn can take the plaid to sit on in the garden.”
When Dwyn started to try to help, Geordie leapt to his feet and quickly bent to pick her up. He knew he’d startled her when she gasped in surprise and grabbed for his shoulders as she stared up at him with amazement.
“I did no’ even see ye stand up,” she murmured as he started to walk toward where his horse waited by the cart. “Ye’re very fast, m’laird.”
“If that were true, lass, I’d have had ye naked and under me the first morning we met,” he said with amusement before he could think better of it. Once he realized what he’d said though, he looked down at her face with concern.
While she had flushed a bit at the words, Dwyn didn’t get flustered or squawk with outrage. Instead, she merely tilted her head as she peered up at him and asked with curiosity, “And would I have enjoyed it?”
Dwyn’s question made him stop walking. He stared at her for a long moment with those words circling in his mind. Would she have enjoyed it? He’d like to think so. While he’d never taken a lass’s innocence before, he knew he would have enjoyed it, and that he would have worked damned hard to ensure she enjoyed as much of it as she could too. Come to that, he was pretty sure she would have enjoyed the beginning. It was the ending he was more concerned about. Breaching her maid’s veil. It was not supposed to be pleasant for any woman.
“Shall I put this on your horse for you?”
Geordie tore his gaze from Dwyn’s face and glanced around to see Jetta beside them holding the plaid. His gaze slid to his horse, and then to Dwyn, and he asked, “Will ye hold it, lass? I did no’ bring anything to fasten the plaid to me horse’s saddle.”
“O’ course.” She held her hands out and his sister-in-law passed the plaid to her.
“I shall see you both back at the keep,” Jetta said, before moving away to begin calling to the other women still picking flowers.
Geordie started walking again the moment Jetta turned away, his legs eating up the distance quickly. The women were just starting to move toward the cart with their bundles of flowers when he set Dwyn on his horse and then mounted behind her.
“Where are they going?” Catriona asked resentfully. “Why is Whinnie riding with Geordie rather than in the cart like she did on the way out?”
Geordie was just stiffening at the insulting nickname when he heard Jetta say, “Her name is Dwyn, not Whinnie. I suggest you try to remember that else you shall be invited to leave. And she is riding back with Geordie because he wishes it so. Besides, there is not enough room in the cart for her what with all the flowers.”
Because he wishes it so. Geordie smiled at the words as he reached around Dwyn to gather his horse’s reins, and then spurred the animal to a trot that took them quickly out of the clearing. Aye, he wished it so. At least, he had. Now though, with her back to his chest, and her bottom pressed snugly against his groin . . . Well, mayhap he hadn’t been thinking ahead like he should have, Geordie decided with a grimace. Their arrival back at the keep could be somewhat embarrassing now that his body was responding to her closeness in the predictable way.
“Ye said Conran was kidnapped by his wife last summer.”
Geordie glanced down at the lass in his lap, and recalled it had been the last tale he’d been telling her before Catriona had suggested he join the women in picking flowers.
“It was last summer, was it no’?” Dwyn asked now, turning and tipping her head to glance back at him.
“Aye,” he agreed, returning his attention to his horse and the path through the trees.
“And yet ye’ve only just returned from aiding Conran and his wife to settle her cousin, Gavin, as laird at MacLeod,” she pointed out. “How long were ye there? Surely no’ this whole past year?”
“Nay,” he said on a laugh. “I am no’ that good a brother.”
“I suspect ye just might be,” Dwyn countered, and he wished he could see her expression to tell if she was teasing or not. If she wasn’t, she thought highly of him indeed. Although, Geordie admitted if only to himself, he probably would have stayed a year had he been needed. Fortunately, that hadn’t been necessary.
“Gavin only became laird o’ MacLeod six weeks ago,” he explained. “Conran, his wife, Evina, and Gavin had to petition the king, and get him to hear his case. That took some time. Mostly because none of them, not even Gavin, wanted to sit about at court awaiting the king’s pleasure to see them. So, they wrote and requested an audience. Six months passed before they got a response, and then the date for the audience was three months after that. Once he’d listened to their case, the king sent one o’ his trusted men out to MacLeod to demand the will. Conran, Evina and Gavin had to wait at court for him to go there and come back, which took longer than necessary because Gavin’s uncle insisted on riding back with the man, and he brought a slow-moving caravan of soldiers and wagons rather than ride alone. And then they had to wait a couple more weeks for the king to actually see the will.”
“Weeks?” she asked with dismay.
“When his man didn’t return in the expected length of time, the king thought he’d met with foul play and sent a garrison o’ soldiers out to find him and get the will . . . and then he went on a hunting trip.”
“What?” Dwyn asked with disbelief.
“Aye,” he said dryly. “Apparently, it was planned ahead o’ time though, so . . .” He shrugged, jostling her a bit in his lap. “The worst part is they all arrived back at court—his man, the uncle and the garrison—the day after the king left. The garrison ran into their traveling party that morning, and rode back with them. But ’twas too late—the king was gone, so they had to await his return to have the matter resolved.”
“Oh, dear,” Dwyn said with amusement. “I suspect yer brother would no’ have liked that. I would no’ have.”
“Nay, he didn’t,” Geordie admitted, and then asked, “But why would you no’ have liked it?” He suspected he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.
“Because I canno’ think of anything less pleasant than to be stuck at court for weeks on end, awaiting the king’s pleasure. No’ if ’tis full o’ lasses like—”
Geordie grinned when Dwyn cut herself off. He was quite sure the lasses whose names she was thinking of but wouldn’t say were Catriona and Sasha. From what he’d heard, the two women were often at court, which perhaps explained their behavior. Court was a place of excess, where cruelty was common. He’d never cared for it himself either.
“Oh, look! There is Buchanan,” she said brightly.
It was such an obvious attempt to distract him from what she’d stopped herself from saying that Geordie found himself grinning down at the top of her head and squeezing her affectionately with the arm around her waist. He only recalled the effect that would have on her neckline when he heard her mutter something under her breath and raised her hands to work at pushing
her breasts back into the top of her gown. He glanced down as she pushed at the round globes, and it made him think of Cook kneading dough for some reason, which just struck him as ridiculous and made him laugh.
“’Tis no’ funny, m’laird,” Dwyn said, tossing an exasperated glance over her shoulder. “How would ye like it if yer brothers shortened all yer plaids so that yer pillicock kept showing?”
Geordie grinned at the fact that she would even refer to his cock, but was even more amused at the suggestion, and hoping to fluster her, he said, “Well, I guess that depends on whether ye’d be looking or no’.”
“Of course I’d be looking,” Dwyn said in somewhat distracted tones as she now tugged on the neckline of her gown, trying to pull it up to cover what she couldn’t push in. “What lass with half a wit in her head would no’ take the opportunity to see yer pillicock?”
Geordie burst out laughing anew at her honesty, and unthinkingly gave her another affectionate squeeze.
“Arggh!” she growled with frustration. “Do ye no’ stop doing that I’ll be giving the men on yer wall a fine show as we ride by.”
That ended his amusement rather quickly, and Geordie scowled toward the men posted on the wall ahead. He then released her to yank her top up himself. It didn’t really help much, he decided as he peered down over her shoulders at the tops of her breasts on display in the pale blue gown she wore today, so he took the plaid from her and let it drop open, then tucked it around and over her shoulders until she was fully covered up to her neck.
“Better,” Geordie judged then, and Dwyn sighed and nodded as she leaned back into him.
“Aye. Much better. I feel properly clothed fer the first time since coming here,” she admitted wryly, and then added, “I do love me sisters, but truly, this was no’ their finest idea.”
Geordie merely smiled. To his mind, it had been a brilliant idea. While he didn’t care for everyone else being able to look on what God had gifted this lovely lass with, putting her beautiful breasts on display had certainly caught his attention. Although it wasn’t the only thing that had caught his attention. There was much more of merit to the lovely Dwyn Innes than just her fine breasts. And he did find her lovely now. At first, he may have agreed that she was nothing special when it came to her face, but that was before she’d smiled. When she did that, her blue eyes widened and sparkled, her whole face lit up like a candle, and she was honestly and truly lovely.
One of the men on the wall hailed them as they rode across the bridge and Geordie slowed his horse to hear the news that his brothers were returned and in the keep. He thanked the man for the news, and then continued forward, riding to the corner of the keep rather than the steps.
Spying Drostan, the stable boy, running toward them, Geordie peered down at Dwyn as he tried to decide the best way to dismount. Should he scoop her up and dismount with her already in his arms, which might jar her? Or should he dismount and lift her down and swing her about to get her in his arms without her feet touching the ground?
Dismounting with her, he decided. There was less risk of her wounded feet brushing the ground that way.
“Are we waiting for— Oh!” Dwyn gasped when he lifted her into his arms, his seat on the horse making him hold her high enough he could have licked and kissed her breasts were they not covered with the plaid.
“Hold on to me, Dwyn,” Geordie instructed gently, and waited until she’d wrapped her arms around his neck before lifting his left leg over the horse and saddle and then dropping to the ground. He managed the landing without too much of a jolt, but the plaid Dwyn had been holding on to fell to the ground.
“I’ll get it fer ye, m’laird,” Drostan said as he reached them, and rushed to his side to snatch up the fallen plaid. The boy’s eyes went to Dwyn’s feet as he straightened though, and he paused, clutching the cloth as his eyes widened. “Gor, m’laird. The lady’s feet are cut up something awful.”
“Aye, Drostan,” Geordie agreed solemnly. “Dwyn, this is Drostan, a fine young man who works in the stables. He’s going to be stable master one day when old Fergus retires.”
As Drostan beamed at the prediction, Geordie continued. “Drostan, this is Lady Dwyn Innes. The finest lady ye’ll ever rescue a plaid fer.”
Drostan turned his attention to Dwyn and gave an awkward half bow. “M’lady. ’Tis a right pleasure to meet ye.”
“Thank ye, Drostan. I’m right pleased to meet you too,” Dwyn assured him.
Geordie smiled at the pair of them, and then glanced to the plaid when Drostan held it out. After a hesitation, he said, “Can ye bring it along and come with us fer a minute, lad? I promised Lady Innes she could rest in the orchard fer a bit and enjoy the sun, but I canno’ hold her and lay out the plaid at the same time. I’m thinking I’ll need some help to get her safely situated.”
“O’ course, m’laird,” Drostan said eagerly, and fell into step with him as Geordie turned to head around the keep.
They hadn’t gone far before Drostan tugged at his plaid to get his attention. Once Geordie glanced to him in question, he asked, “Can I ask how the lady got her feet so cut up? Or does it pain her to talk about it?”
“Asking is fine,” Dwyn assured the boy before Geordie could respond. “Ye canno’ learn anything if ye do no’ ask, right?”
“Right,” Drostan agreed, smiling.
Dwyn grinned at him, and said, “I fear ’twas naught but a silly accident. Someone broke a goblet in the upper hall and I stepped on the pieces o’ glass when I came out o’ the garderobe.”
“They did no’ warn ye or anything?” the boy asked with dismay.
“There was no one there to warn me when I came out into the hall,” she explained.
“Oh. Well.” Drostan scrunched up his eight-year-old face with disgruntlement. “What kind o’ bampot leaves broken glass on a floor and does no’ clean it up, or stay to warn others o’ its presence?”
“Someone as silly as I was when I left me chamber in me bare feet,” Dwyn said wryly.
“Going barefoot is no’ silly,” Drostan assured her. “I am always barefoot. Unless ’tis winter,” he added. “But I’m always barefoot when ’tis warm like now. I would ha’e got cut up too had I no’ seen the glass and walked into it. Nay, ’tis no’ you who were silly, m’lady. Whoever did it was though. Or mean enough they just did no’ care if someone got cut up walking through the mess they’d made.” He tsked with disgust and shook his head. “I do no’ ken what Scotland is coming to with that kind o’ goings-on takin’ place.”
The boy had sounded like an old woman when he’d said that and Geordie felt a smile split his lips, even as he saw Dwyn grin. They shared their amusement with a look, and then Drostan said, “Well, I’m sure sorry ye’re suffering fer someone else’s folly, m’lady, and I’d be pleased to help in any way I can while ye’re healing.”
“Ye’re helping right now by agreeing to bring the plaid and lay it out fer us,” Dwyn assured him solemnly.
“Speaking o’ which,” Geordie said now, coming to a halt. “This is the spot, lad. Go on and lay out the plaid fer us, please. But try to make sure the bottom quarter of it is outside the shade cast by the tree—Lady Dwyn’s feet need sun.”
“Aye, m’laird.”
Geordie noticed the way Dwyn glanced around as Drostan quickly shook out the plaid and spread it on the ground. She seemed surprised that they’d reached the orchard already, but she smiled when she took note that he’d chosen to have the boy lay out the plaid beneath their tree.
“There ye are, m’laird,” Drostan said, stepping back once he’d finished his task.
Geordie turned to inspect the lad’s work and nodded with approval. “Thank ye fer yer help. Now ye’d best go see to me horse ere he wanders off to the stables on his own and upsets Fergus.”
“Oh! Aye,” Drostan gasped, and whirled around to hurry off.
Dwyn chuckled as she watched the boy rush away, and then turned her head up to Geordie. “Drostan is an
adorable lad.”
“Aye,” Geordie agreed as he stepped forward onto the plaid, and then knelt before setting her down. “But do no’ let Fergus hear ye say that, else he’ll have a fit.”
“Why?” she asked with amazement as she watched him settle on the plaid beside her.
“Because Drostan drives him mad,” he admitted on a grin. “He says the lad talks from sunup till sundown and is like to drive him to drink does he no’ cease his incessant chatter.”
Dwyn threw her head back on a laugh at that, and Geordie found himself searching for something else to say to keep her laughing. He loved her laugh. It was so honest and open, not the silly twitters most ladies employed in an effort to appear ladylike. Dwyn laughed from the belly, or perhaps the heart. It was a sound full of life and joy, and made him want to wrap her in his arms and squeeze tightly. And if her breasts popped out during the squeezing, all the better.
That thought made Geordie smile again, and he wasn’t surprised when his face muscles complained about the action by aching a bit. They were not used to the workout they’d been getting the last day or two, but especially today. Geordie knew for a certainty that he’d never in his life laughed or smiled as much as he had since meeting Dwyn.
“Oh, m’laird, I shall miss ye,” Dwyn said with a shake of the head as her laughter began to ease.
Geordie stiffened, a frown tugging at his lips as her words raised alarm in every inch of his body. “Why would ye miss me, lass? I’m no’ going anywhere.”
“Well, nay,” she agreed with amusement. “But once you and yer brothers pick brides from the selection Lady Jetta arranged, or reject all o’ us, I and my sisters and father shall return to Innes.” Shrugging, she added, “Much as I love me home, I have never laughed so much there as I do in yer company. I shall miss that, as well as talking to ye . . . and yer kisses,” she admitted on a sigh. “Thank ye fer making this all so much more enjoyable than it started out. I shall look fondly on the memories ye’ve given me.”