Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Claray suddenly surged to her feet and carried the dress to shore, wringing it out as she went. Apparently, she was done cleaning it, he decided when she stopped next to a large boulder, finished wringing out the gown and then spread it over the large stone before turning to walk back into the water.
Conall tensed with concern, but she didn’t venture far. Claray was only knee-deep again when she stopped and lowered herself to sit in the water. She then reclined on her elbows until she could dip her head back into the river. Leaning on one elbow, she used her other hand to swish her hair around under the water, removing the mud that had caught in it when she’d fallen in the puddle.
It was about the sexiest thing Conall had ever seen. While her gown had hidden most of her as she’d carried it out of the water, and she’d turned away quickly after laying it over the boulder, there was nothing hiding her assets now. Her shift was as good as useless, the nearly transparent material clinging to her curves as her position thrust her breasts into the air. Her nipples were small pebbles peaking the cloth. They looked to be as hard as they had been when he’d caressed her and now he wondered if it had been him or the cold that had brought on that result earlier.
The snap of a branch drew his head around and he straightened as he spotted Payton approaching through the trees. His cousin was walking in his direction, but his eyes were locked on Claray with an interest and admiration Conall didn’t care for at all.
“She’s a beauty,” Payton said in a hushed tone when he reached him, but still hadn’t torn his eyes away from Claray.
Teeth grinding, Conall stepped between the other man and the river, blocking his view of Claray. Once Payton focused on him, he asked shortly, “Is that for her?”
Payton glanced down at the material he carried as if he’d forgotten he had it, and then nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said, but didn’t sound sure and his voice was a tad gruff. Giving his head a shake, he cleared his throat and then nodded again more firmly and held out the cloth. “Aye. Hamish sent a plaid, a shirt and a length o’ rope fer her to use as a belt, but only a fresh plaid and no shirt fer you. He apologizes for that, but said ’twas the best he could do.”
Conall grunted at the claim, knowing it was true. Hamish always did his best, and truth be told, he was surprised the man had been able to supply the shirt and two plaids. Most men didn’t carry much with them on the trail. A sword, some oats and a sgian dubh was all many bothered with. Hamish was the exception, of course, but even he had his limits. Conall hadn’t expected him to have a dress or anything.
“I guess I’ll head back,” Payton said once Conall had taken the items of cloth.
“Aye,” he said dryly. “Tell the men to get ready to leave. We should no’ be long.”
Payton nodded, and turned to head away but then glanced toward Claray and paused to turn back. “If ye’re no’ going to claim her to wife, ye should break the contract and set her free to find someone who will appreciate her.”
“Someone like you?” Conall suggested, his ire rising at the very thought of Payton or anyone else having the right to touch Claray the way he had.
“Mayhap,” he said, and then turned to peer at her again. “As I told her, I’m no’ betrothed. And it would be no hardship to fill her belly with a bairn or nine . . . Aye, no hardship at all,” he said solemnly as Claray finished with her hair, stood up and turned to walk to shore again, her transparent linen shift clinging to her curves.
Her breasts were full and high, her hips curvy, and the triangle of curly strawberry blond hair at the juncture of her thighs was as visible as her dusky rose nipples.
Conall heard Payton move away, but didn’t take his eyes off Claray. She was a sight to make a man’s mouth water and his cock spring up, ready for action, and he was experiencing both right then. He wanted to taste those dusky nipples rather than just touch them, and he wanted to bury his face between her legs and sample her sweetness.
But he couldn’t do either, he reminded himself firmly, and took a couple of deep breaths before heading out of the woods to give her the shirt and one of the plaids.
Claray paused at the foot of the boulder and stared down at her gown with a small frown. She really had no desire to pull it back on. It would be cold and wet, difficult to don and uncomfortable to wear. The very idea was about as appealing as letting the blacksmith pull a tooth. But she didn’t really have much choice. It was all she had to wear.
Sighing, she bent to pick it up.
“Ye can no’ wear that. Ye’ll catch a chill and sicken ere we got ye back to MacFarlane.”
Claray gave a little start, and drew the dress to her chest to cover as much of herself as she could as she watched the Wolf approach.
He smiled crookedly at the action, and set the stack of material he held on the boulder where her dress had been a moment ago. “Hamish managed to find me a fresh plaid, and ye a plaid, a shirt and a length o’ rope fer ye to fasten it. ’Tis no’ perfect, but’ll do until our clothes dry.”
When she nodded and murmured a quiet, “Thank ye,” the Wolf grunted and started to walk past her, but then stopped and swung back.
“Me friends call me Conall,” he told her.
“Conall,” Claray echoed, but he had turned away again to continue down to the water’s edge. She stared after him, her eyes widening when his plaid suddenly dropped to pool around his feet. He then tugged his shirt off over his head, bent to grab up the heavy plaid and strode into the water carrying both.
Claray knew she should turn away, but couldn’t seem to manage that as her eyes slid over his wide, muscular back and then down to the round curves of his derriere. They stopped there briefly before moving on to his strong thighs, and shapely calves. Claray had never thought she would call a man beautiful, but Conall was, and she found herself fascinated by the play of muscles in his back, buttocks and legs as he moved.
Claray continued to stare right up until he stopped walking and dropped to sit in the water. When he then slung his shirt over his shoulder and started working on cleaning his plaid, she let out a shaky breath and turned to the clothing on the boulder. The top plaid was a mix of blues, greens and reds, the lower one blues, reds and yellows. Claray took the top one, the shirt and the rope. She then tossed her wet gown over the boulder next to the remaining plaid before hurrying into the trees to dress.
She took a moment to briefly debate the merits of keeping her shift on, but it was wet and clinging to her uncomfortably, so in the end, she whipped it off and pulled the shirt quickly on in its place. Claray had no idea whose shirt it was, but it was huge on her, drooping off one shoulder, and the sleeves hanging well past her hands. Big as it was though, it didn’t reach even to her knees. She felt terribly exposed in it and quickly set about pleating and donning the plaid. Once it was on, she adjusted it to be sure it reached past her ankles, and then straightened the pleats the best she could. She then considered herself, and frowned.
The shirt was much too large, of course, falling off her shoulders and threatening to slide off her arms if she let them hang at her sides. Aside from that, she didn’t have a pin to finish wearing the great kilt the way the men did. That being the case, she gathered up the extra cloth hanging down the back and drew it over her head and pulled it around her like a shawl. She then caught the ends at the front, tied them together and slid that over her head to rest around the cloth at her neck.