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"How big can he be?" Viktor asked.
Lysander stretched his arm over his head and stood on his tiptoes. "He's a giant. No one said anything
about kidnapping a giant."
Bavel nodded furiously. "We'll need a bigger wagon to hold him."
Cat exchanged an amused look with Pagan, who continued to watch them in silence.
Viktor stroked his gray beard as he considered their words. "I was told he drank much. Was he not in
his cups?"
Lysander shrugged. "All I know is he had an ax and I watched him cut down a tree twice the size of me
with only three strokes. I wasn't about to get between him and that ax to figure out if he was drunk or
not. And if he could do that drunk& Well, I'm thinking he's a mighty fine terror."
Suddenly, all three men looked to Pagan, who arched a brow at their attention.
"You won't be involving me in this madness. If you want him, you'll have to get him on your own."
In unison their gazes moved on to her.
"Oh," Catarina said snidely. "Now why you be staring at me, huh?"
Lysander cleared his throat. He looked at the others, then back to her. "What's your idea, woman?"
"Sonow you be facing me for ideas, eh? What makes you think a simple, brainless woman like myself
would have any idea on how to accomplishmen's work? Why, I feel faint just trying to think any thought
at all."
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Lysander curled his lips.
"Please," Bavel said, moving over to stand by her. "You've no idea what we've just seen. If you be
having any more ideas, I'm willing to listen." He shot a look at Lysander over his shoulder. "And if he
insults you again, it'll be his noggin we conk."
Nora woke up early, even before the brewer and his wife did. As quietly as she could, she left the small
cottage to attend to her needs.
It was barely after dawn, with the light just creeping through the village. This was one of her favorite
times of the day. She almost always woke up before anyone else, and she treasured the times where she
was alone in the world.
But she wasn't alone, she realized as she neared the small stream that ran behind the cottage.
Ewan had beaten her awake and to her spot.
She froze the instant she saw him in the early morning misty light. His black hair slicked back from his
sculpted face, he was waist-deep in the water, holding a knife to his throat as he shaved himself.
Her gaze feasted on the sight of his tanned flesh. On the way the waves of the water lapped against his
bare, tawny skin, caressing and teasing it to a fine sheen.
She traced the line of his muscles with her eyes, watching the way his body bunched and flexed with
every move he made.
Aye, Ewan MacAllister was the finest-looking man she'd ever beheld.
Always sheltered at home, Nora had never known such desire for a man, but she felt it now. Felt it in
every part of her body. Her heart that raced, her lungs that struggled to breathe, her legs that threatened
to buckle.
What was it about this unrefined ruffian that he appealed to her so? He wasn't the kind of man to woo
her with poetry. Nor the kind of man who would sit for hours with her while she listened to a bard sing.
Like as not, he'd be like her father, ever impatient with a minstrel. She couldn't count the times her father
had forced her mother up to their room rather than sit and listen to a bard's tale.
Her father was ever quick to bellow for her mother and never content to sit and listen to others.
Her mother, God bless her soul, was ever patient and caring as a wife should be. Whenever her father
wanted to retire for the night, her mother went, even if she was in the midst of something else.
But Nora wanted more than that.
She didn't want to be the dutiful wife who lost herself to her husband's bidding. She wanted to live her
life on her own terms.
When she closed her eyes, she saw her perfect man. A man of culture and thought who would read with
her and compose poetry and songs.
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Not one who stormed off to attack trees with an ax every time he became angry.
But as she stared at Ewan's bare form, she had to admit that attacking trees had certainly done fine
things for his body. It had given him powerful shoulders that bulged with strength. Thick, muscular thighs
that were dusted with dark, curly hair, and a chest that rippled with masculine beauty.
Suddenly he turned around and caught sight of her standing in the middle of a circle of trees.
Nora froze, unable to move.
Unable to breathe.
Time seemed to have stopped as they stared at each other. But what struck her most was just how
gorgeous his face was when clean-shaven. The graceful lines of it& [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]