onto my lands—”
“Your lands?”
“Aye, my lands!” She pounded a fist onto the table. “That day I raced back to Gran ready to poison the burn—to kill Argyll’s grandson and heir.”
His gut squeezed as he gulped. “But instead you brought me the rose.”
“Gran’s idea, mind you. But she…” Alice pushed back the bench and stood.
Quinn tried to follow, but when his knees buckled, he remained where he sat. “Go on…”
Alice busied herself with tending the fire. “Obviously she had different ideas. Which…which, were completely misguided.”
“Hmm.” Quinn again scratched his stubble as he studied the damned rose. The old woman might have had good intentions, but most likely for the wrong reasons. No matter if he wanted to court the lass, the odds were not in their favor. But the old woman needed to atone for her actions. Was the rose supposed to be a trick—some sort of medieval spell? Was the old seer indeed a witch?
He needed to think. He needed to breathe. And with the air in the wee cottage growing tenser by the moment, the only thing that made sense was to hasten outside. “Where might I find the well? I’m in need of a shave.”
And a healthy dousing in cold water.
“Merciful fairies, I’m daft.” Alice had collected a razor, soap and drying cloth for Quinn, but now that he’d gone outside with the blanket wrapped around his waist, he’d left his clothes still draped across the back of Gran’s rocking chair. Surely he’d want to don his shirt and kilt after his he washed and shaved. Tiptoeing to the garments, she smoothed her fingers down the wool of her skirts. No, it hadn’t escaped her notice that the Highlander appeared quite comfortable marching outdoors with her plaid hugging his hips.
Although, it wasn’t as if Alice hadn’t already seen his chest. She’d spent the past few days trying to cover him up, only to have the man shove the bedclothes back down in his fitful sleep.
Making up her mind, she collected the clothing and marched outside. At the corner of the cottage, the memory of the look in his eye when she’d told him her clan name made her stop. “Lord Quinn?” she called, clutching the clothing tighter. Was he angry?
When he didn’t respond, visions, not of his fury, but of the man weakened by loss of blood, possibly collapsed in a heap and unconscious emboldened her. I knew he was up and about too soon.
But as she darted around the corner, the last thing she expected to see was…
Oh my.
Alice froze. She forgot to breathe.
Beautiful, pure, braw, and a very naked Highlander stood bent over a basin, ladling water atop his head. With a grand shake, Quinn straightened while he pushed his hair away from his face. Streams of water trickled down his body, making gooseflesh stand proud…his every muscle flex.
Too stunned to avert her gaze, Alice took it all in. Chestnut locks dripping onto shoulders powerful enough to pull a horse cart. From there rivulets of water streamed to a lean waist—lean but sturdy. She squeezed the bundle of clothing tighter as her gaze continued down Quinn’s sculpted form. Aye, his buttocks were smoothly chiseled like marble—but clearly not hewn of stone—hewn of dimpled, muscular, irresistible flesh.
Without noticing her presence, Quinn splashed under his arms, the sunlight making the water glisten as it trickled downward.
Alice’s mouth went dry. If only she could touch him—trace her fingers over every defined muscle flexing beneath his skin. She took a step forward, a twig snapping beneath her toes.
Snatching the razor, he faced her in a crouch, eyes blazing.
Within a heartbeat, she took a step back. But she didn’t avert her gaze, unflinching she couldn’t help herself. He was long and sleek—potent and oh, so very male. Something deep inside filled with longing. Her breasts grew heavy, making the need to touch him grow tenfold. “Um…” Was he as delicious as he looked? Was the hair on his chest soft or coarse?
She managed to shift her stare to his face. “Oh my.”
“Alice?” In the blink of an eye, his mien softened as he set the razor on the table and covered himself with the blanket. “You brought my things,” he said, his voice soft and incredibly deep.
The tone alone made her tremble, excruciatingly aware of what she’d just seen—of every inch of his formidable body. Alice gulped and stared at Quinn’s chest, heaving with his every breath. One of the roosters from the chicken yard crowed, serving as the slap she