now. Instead, she built a little nest of blankets for him and sat him up. He was able to sit himself up for short periods of time now—which enabled him to entertain himself—but the blankets helped to protect him and hold him upright for even longer.
Then, without turning back to the hearth, she hurried to change her own clothes. She kept her extra chemise hanging inside the boxbed, where it was free from the smoke which often circulated, as Robert had been no stone mason either. But her second gown hung from the wall, and she pulled it down and tossed it on the bed.
Then she peeled her sodden gown from her shoulders and dropped it at her feet. It was already filthy and would need to be washed. She bent to pull off her slippers, then took a deep breath and reached for the ties of her chemise.
Her hair hung heavy down her back, having escaped from its braid sometime during her unintentional swim. She knew the damp waves would shield her back, but still, she shivered as she peeled the wet linen from her arms and shoulders, then shimmied it down over her breasts and waist. She stepped out of the chemise, not wanting it to get muddy from the floor.
And then she froze.
On the bed, wee Tomas burbled happily up at her, likely fixated on her breasts, heavy with his milk. But it was the gaze of another male which had her breath catching.
Oh, she couldn’t see Malcolm, but she could feel his eyes on her as surely as if it were his fingers skimming across her skin. From his angle, he’d be able to see naught more than her bare arse, her legs, and some of her back. But the knowledge he was looking at her—looking at her bare skin—sent a shiver through her.
But she wasn’t cold.
Nay, the thought of him staring at her made her hot. Hotter than Robert had ever made her feel, that was for certes.
Swallowing, she reached for her chemise.
Was it her imagination, or did she hear a little sigh as she pulled it over her head, hiding her body from his sight?
Evelinde hurried to pull on her drab brown dress, her fingers fumbling with the ties.
She then lifted her hair out of the way and squeezed out the last of the water, before braiding it as quickly as she could.
Clothed again, she reached for the bairn and snuggled him against her chest. He smelled so sweetly of milk and the lamb’s wool she lined his basket with. And to think how close she’d come to never holding him again!
This time her shiver wasn’t one of desire.
The memory of how close she’d come to death just a short time ago sent the cold coursing back through her, despite the knowledge she was safe at home, dry, dressed and with her babies.
How must Malcolm feel?
She turned to find him standing at her table now, a little fire crackling merrily in the hearth. He’d removed his boots to stand beside the flames, and although she’d never considered a man’s bare feet to be attractive, she couldn’t help admiring the way he didn’t seem fazed to stand in the mud.
His bag was open beside him, and he was pouring something from a flask into two of her cups. As she approached, he held one out to her with a soft grin.
Without thinking, she took it from him and took a sip.
Fire spread down her throat, and she gasped, then choked. After her coughing fit, as Tomas pushed himself away from her shoulder and tugged on her hair, she peered into the cup. “Whisky?” she managed, her throat hoarse.
“In warm water, aye.” He nodded at the cup. “Drink up. ‘Twill warm ye.”
He was right.
She took another swallow—more carefully this time—and could feel the liquid warmth spreading through her limbs.
She sank down into the chair with a sigh and realized the bairn was nuzzling at her neck. Feeling deliciously at ease, thanks to the whisky, she shifted him to one side and reached for the gown’s ties. She purposefully had kept them loose, knowing Tomas was often hungry after his nap.
As she bared a breast and let the wee lad nuzzle his way to her nipple, she watched Malcolm watch her.
His gaze was on her breast, aye, but she had the feeling he was watching the bairn as much as he was examining her bare skin.
Then he cleared his throat and looked away. “Are ye hungry?”
She felt