A
feeling, half-familiarity, half-lust, swept over him. Her hair, short and curly, gleamed with dark
fire among its mahogany strands. He knew
her. He’d never seen her before but,
somehow, he knew her. He knew the
tiny scar under her left eyebrow. He
knew those full, sensuous lips, that determined set to her jaw. Aye, he knew her. He just didn’t know how he knew her. “I dinna ken, lass. Whyn’t tell me what you ken is going on?”
Planting her small fists on her hips, she
surveyed the beach again. Her jacket
gaped to reveal a striking red shirt that served her fair complexion well. She said, “I don’t know.”
Her
voice was pure silk even edged with the frustration and anger she so clearly
felt. He wanted suddenly to hear it
while she was in the throes of passion, to hear it breathe words of desire into
his ear. To stop that train of thought,
he inhaled sharply. That was a
mistake. Her scent, jasmine mixed with
morning rain, teased his senses. The
heat of her body touched his, made him want to gather her into his arms, and it
stoked an uncomfortable heat in his roger.
He took a step backward, away from the intoxicating smell, the drugging
heat of her and fought wildly for his bard persona. “Well then.
Shall I take ya hame?”
“Hame?”
“You
ken. Where you and your family live?”
She
wasn't a fabled Amazon but there was strength in her body that reminded him of
the warrior-queen, Boudicea, who had fought and lost to the Romans so many
centuries ago. She leveled a frown at
him. “You’re trying to be funny, aren’t
you?”
“You
must admit, ‘tis unusual to find a woman alone in the midst of nae where.” He spent a moment adjusting his jacket and
shirtsleeves. There was only one
explanation for why she was here and alone.
Casually, he asked, “Have you, by chance, run away from the Bounty?”
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