Of course he was yet to meet Fair Ellen. The stories might vary in detail, but the captive lass’s beauty was never in question.
Unfortunately, at this moment, Fair Ellen felt like an insubstantial fairy tale, whereas Kirsty was here and within reach and staring at him as if she’d never seen a man before.
Her eyes were silver as the sea at dawn. Her skin was white as milk. Her lips were red and full, and parted to give him a glimpse of white teeth as she sucked in a shaky breath.
Lips that looks so soft and warm and kissable and…
Dougal blinked and realized he leaned toward his hostess as if he meant to seize her in his arms. What in Hades was wrong with him? This stay on Askaval was nothing more than a temporary delay on his journey. Great deeds and renown awaited elsewhere.
He straightened and stepped away, breaking the bond of attraction tightening between him and Kirsty. Because on his side, it was attraction. Much as he might wish it to perdition. He cleared his throat and turned away to look at his bo
at. The water in the hull had risen a few inches, he feared.
And it was imperative he got off this island as quickly as he could.
He cleared his throat again. "Aye, let’s take the boat around to the beach ye mentioned. I’m sure the damage is nothing serious, and I can fix it in a day." His voice sounded gruff, and he was too conscious of the hot blood pulsing through his veins.
He turned and smothered a groan. Kirsty had started to bundle up her skirts. Was he the blasted idiot who had suggested she do that?
Dougal closed his eyes, but it was too late. He’d got a good look at her shapely legs in green stockings with a sweet little yellow ribbon tied around her knee. The sight of that garter fluttering above the graceful curve of her calf would haunt him, he already knew. It was definitely time to leave, which was easier said than done when he had a boat half full of water.
He gestured for Kirsty to precede him down the stairs and told himself he would not stare at her legs. At least now her skirts covered her to the knees. But as she jumped into the Kestrel with a lightness that made his wayward heart lift, he caught another glimpse of the teasing silk ribbon.
His hands fisted at his sides. Only a cad would leap after her and untie those pretty garters and touch those legs and trace the line of her thighs above them all the way to paradise.
More slowly, Dougal followed her into the boat and held out the bailer. If he could manage without her help, by God, he’d send her back home. But unfortunately, without someone to bail, he’d end up swimming.
"Here." He hid a wince at his grim tone.
She cast him a curious glance but took the bailer and started vigorous work. Which was awful too, because soon she discarded her shawl and every time she bent and stretched, he noticed the jiggle of her breast or the way her skirt tightened over her hip.
He was a beast and a brute. At this rate, he’d be unworthy of Fair Ellen, even if he did find her.
It was only as he sailed the boat out of the wee harbor that a stray thought struck him. When he’d stared transfixed Kirsty, Kirsty had stared back just as transfixed at him.
Chapter 6
"Damn it, this makes nae sense!"
Kirsty looked up from where she packed supplies into the hold of the Kestrel. Dougal must have discovered where she’d loosened the rowlocks.
The boat had spent two days on the beach while Dougal worked on it. But he’d been so pleased with progress that yesterday evening, he’d rowed it around the headland and tied it to the quay in readiness for an early departure. Now he stood in the stern, staring with dismay at the offending damage.
"What is it?" She stood up and tried to look both concerned and innocent. The innocent part in particular was becoming more difficult to maintain by the day.
"I could swear I checked these rowlocks yesterday. Yet now they’re broken. And I’ll swear those boards were flush, too, yet now they’re out of alignment."
"It was a bad storm ye went through," she said, hoping she didn’t sound as disingenuous in his ears as she did in her own. "It’s nae wonder your boat needs work."
With a growl of frustration, he ran one large hand through his thick red hair.
Every morning before she met up with Dougal Drummond, Kirsty told herself she imagined his beauty, and he couldn’t possibly be as spectacular as she remembered. Then she saw him, and her heart turned cartwheels in her chest, and her knees dissolved to water, and she knew the man who filled her dreams each night hardly did justice to his glorious reality.
At this moment, with his hair ruffled and annoyance sparking in his blue eyes, he looked more like an angel than ever, if perhaps an avenging one. Kirsty hid a shiver as she wondered what he’d do if he discovered her treason. The idea didn’t bear thinking about. That rich red hair hinted at a temper, although he’d been the best of companions. She almost wished he had been bad-tempered. Every moment in his company just pushed her deeper into this morass of love.
"It’s been three days. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. And the Kestrel has always been a reliable wee boat. Brendan MacNeill is a fine craftsman. He wouldnae build a vessel that gave up the ghost after a spot of dreich weather."
"Is it really so bad to stay here?" she asked in a small voice.