Unknotting the sash at her waist, she began to peel off the soiled clothing. “Were you hurt?”
He was silent for a moment. “Aye. You could say I’ve been hurt.”
She heard him breathing heavily, sounding something like a restlessly slumbering dragon.
She gave a dramatic pout behind the screen. She really couldn’t get a bead on the man.
It had been such a thrill—she’d made her wish, done her magic, and it had come true. She’d actually landed back in time—he’d said the year was sixteen-something—and been deposited with some Scottish hunk with a crazy Viking name.
He even believed her, which really was a sign. If someone were to plop into her life from out of nowhere, claiming to be from the future, she’d think he was nuttier than a fruitcake.
So why was he making this so difficult?
Time to try another tack.
She stood up on her tiptoes to pop her head over the screen. “Who are you running from anyway?”
Rollo’s eyes quickly flicked to her bare shoulders.
She was naked. He couldn’t see her, but he knew. Just on the other side of the screen, not four paces from him, this woman was bare. Utterly and completely naked but for what flesh would be concealed by that lovely, long, yellow hair.
He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Licking his lips, he made as if he were formulating something of import to say. What to say?
Her shoulders were pale and delicate, covered by that fine web of her hair, the color of sunlight.
He resolutely pinned her gaze with his. “Don’t you know where you are?”
“You said England. So, yeah, England.” She seemed to stand a little taller.
Her attempts at temper amused him.
Better amused than aroused. The thought gave him clarity.
“I am on the run from Cromwell. Who, by the way, would have my head on a stake for supper and your fine body on a pyre for dessert.”
Fine body? What was he doing speaking such phrases to her?
She’d caught the phrase too, and pink flushed along her skin like the blush of passion. He wondered if the color infused the rest of her body.
Rollo gave his head a shake.
He was not one for smooth dealings with women, his experience not extending beyond the sisters and wives in his extended circle.
If only he could have her fine body for dessert.
Rollo made a sound like a growl in his throat and turned to walk to the front of the shop. Would that he could do as other men and spin on his heel with haste and flair, but instead he shuffled forth.
“Wait.”
He stopped. Leaning on his cane, Rollo waited for her to finish. He kept his back to her, his hand jammed in his pocket. All these thoughts of Felicity’s naked flesh had him decidedly bothered.
“I can’t . . . I don’t . . .”
He heard the rustle of silk.
“I need you to help me,” she finally said. Her voice sounded muted, as if she spoke from under layers of fabric. “I don’t know how to put this thing on.”
“Simply place it over your head. Have you no dresses where you come from?”