Page 53 of The Darkland

She kicked off the shoes in response, setting them by the cloak. As Kirk watched, she reached up her skirt and fumbled about, coming away with two ribbon garters. As he watched with increasing interest, she proceeded to peel off her woolen stockings.

They were wet and she lay them carefully on the warm stone. They were also full of holes. Kirk continued to watch her, distractedly removing his damp tunic, as she meticulously flattened out the wool so that it would dry better.

“I did not realize you had gotten wet,” he said softly. “Wrap yourself in the coverlet if you are chilled.”

She shook her head, her bare feet sticking out from beneath her surcoat as she knelt beside the fire. “I am used to the wet and the cold.”

She had made the statement without a hint of self-pity. Simply stating a fact. Kirk moved up behind her, tearing his eyes away from her long enough to glance at the saturated cloak, her worn shoes. Scratching his dark head, he fingered the cloak.

“I shall have to see about purchasing you some new clothes,” he said. “Bright colors, I think. Your coloring is far too striking for unspectacular shades.”

He seemed rather nonchalant in his statement, almost normal in fact. As if they hadn’t spent a day and a night in violent conflict. As Mara glanced up to reply, she noticed that he had removed his tunic.

Suddenly, it was very warm in the little room. Mara had never seen a man’s naked chest before, tanned skin as it covered bulging muscles and hair that matted his chest and trailed down his abdomen. She couldn’t help but stare at his trim belly and arms that were as large as oak branches. In fact, she was so involved in her observations of Kirk’s magnificent form that she had yet to notice his amused smile.

“What’s the matter, lass?” his voice was soft. “Have you never seen a man before?”

Her cheeks flushed a brilliant red and she looked away, fumbling with her hose once again. “You… you have removed nearly all of your clothing,” she stammered. “I was merely… what I mean to say is that… Oh!”

She grunted in frustration, angry that he had caught her staring at him and saw fit to laugh at her innocence. Kirk continued to chuckle.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave the wet garments on?” he gestured at her. “You yourself treated me to a titillating show when you removed your hose as if I was not in the room.”

Her gaze was fixed on the hearth, her cheeks glowing like the white-hot embers. “I…I simply wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I am not used to having men about. Only Micheline.”

He snorted. “No more, lass. Had you put your hands up your skirt in Niles’ company, the man would have attacked you in a fit of lust and I would have been forced to kill him.”

She pursed her lips with embarrassment, defiance. “I would have never done such a thing in front of him. I simply did not think, I tell you. It’s nothing to laugh over!”

The more agitated she became, the more he snorted. “Aye, it is. You are more comfortable with me than you care to admit.”

She rose abruptly, moving to the large bed and throwing herself on the coverlet. Annoyed with Kirk, she was in the process of wrapping her cold feet in the smelly warmth of the blankets when Kirk leaned over the bed, collecting both sides of the coverlet and winding them around her. Before Mara could protest, he had her snuggly swaddled in the linens.

“There,” he stood back, hands on his hips. “Is that better?”

Mara lifted a black eyebrow. Christ, how he knew that expression. “If I do not suffocate first, I suppose it is.”

A faint smile continued to play on his lips as he turned away, laying his tunic next to her hose. Outside, the rain continued to beat and the wind to howl, but the stenchy little room was remarkably cozy. And in spite of her aching head and irritation, Mara realized she was rather comfortable. And hungry.

But she was more interested in watching Kirk at the moment. On his haunches next to the fire, she watched his naked back as he stoked the hearth, coaxing it into a blaze. She could see every muscle as it moved beneath the tanned skin, shoulders so broad that they were wider than a door. As the warmth of the room and blankets saturated her, the harsh emotions, the churning of her stomach, seemed to fade.

“Kirk?”

He turned around, his face illuminated by the glowing fire. “Hmm?”

“Have you realized that Micheline is alone at Anchorsholme?”

He shook his head. “She is not alone. I left Corwin behind to see to her.”

Mara did not seem particularly comforted by his answer but remained silent. He returned his attention to the fire when she spoke again, softly.

“Why am I here?”

He gazed at her a moment, setting the poker aside. “Because it is raining.”

“Nay,” she shook her head. “Why am I going to Quernmore? Am I to be banished there?”

His brow furrowed as he rose. “Banished? Who told you such nonsense?”