She inclined her head. From the tone of his voice it wasn’t a question. She wasn’t about to dignify it with an answer.
‘Good. Raise your arms.’
‘What?’
He ignored the question, closing the distance between them in a few swift strides.
‘What are you doing?’ she spluttered as his fingers tightened over her forearms.
He was standing so close to her that their chests were almost touching. If she took a deep breath, surely they would touch. Not that she could. Something about his proximity made her breathing too shallow, too rapid. Could he tell? Towering above her, he seemed to be watching, waiting for something. For a fleeting moment she thought he was going to lean closer, and yet her body seemed to be frozen, unable to pull away...
Suddenly he hoisted her arms out to the sides, running his hands along their length, all the way from her shoulder blades to her wrists.
She felt her cheeks flush scarlet, too shocked even to protest. What on earth was he doing? Did he think he could insult her just because she was Saxon?
His hands swooped around to her back and she jerked against him indignantly. ‘Let me go!’
‘As you wish.’
He released her at once and took a step backwards, scrutinising the rest of her body.
Comprehension dawned at last. ‘Weapons again? There isn’t much room to hide a sword.’
‘You’d be surprised. Show me your feet.’
She stared at him, tempted to laugh, though judging by the look on his face he wasn’t joking. Far from it. With or without her help, he was going to see her feet. Tentatively she lifted her gown, just enough to reveal brown leather boots.
He crouched down, frowning with concentration as he felt around the rims of the leather. For a moment his fingers brushed against her bare skin, and she shivered as a new, tingling sensation raced up her legs and between her thighs. This was intolerable. What could she possibly hide in her boots? It would serve him right if she kicked him full in the face.
‘I wouldn’t.’
His voice was barely a murmur and she stiffened guiltily.
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘I wouldn’t do it.’
He sat back on his haunches, catching her eye with a look that she couldn’t interpret.
‘If I were you.’
She squirmed uncomfortably. He was still crouched down beside her, the top of his head level with her waist, his eyes speaking a language her brain didn’t understand. Only her body... Somehow her body wanted to respond.
She shrugged her shoulders, feigning innocence. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘No?’ He cocked an eyebrow as he stood upright again. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I had a feeling my head was about to be used as a football.’
She pursed her lips, swallowing an insult. ‘I thought you said we were in a hurry?’
‘We are, but I’ve found it best not to take chances where you’re concerned, Lady Cille. I never knew Saxon women were so violent.’
‘And I never knew Norman men were so easily frightened.’
His eyes flashed, though whether with humour or anger she couldn’t tell.
‘Can you ride?’
‘Yes.’ She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. ‘That is...’