Claray peered down at herself again, and then tugged and fussed at the cloth until she was sure she was covered decently. Deciding that would have to do until her gown dried, she turned to head back out of the trees only to freeze when her gaze landed on the Wolf.
Conall, she corrected herself silently as she stared at the man. He had apparently finished cleaning his clothes and set them on the boulder while she fussed with her plaid. Now he was done bathing too and was coming out of the river, his front as fully on display as his behind had been as he’d gone in.
Claray’s eyes ran over his chest and arms, taking in his wide shoulders and bulging pecs, then cascaded down over his rippling stomach to—Gasping, she whirled abruptly away and covered her eyes as if she could erase what she’d just seen. Good heavens, that was really . . . a terribly undignified appendage, she thought with a shake of the head.
It wasn’t the first time Claray had seen a male’s fiddle. She had a little brother she’d helped bathe and care for as a bairn, so of course had seen his fiddle several times when he was young. She’d thought it funny looking then, but since men seemed so proud of the appendage, she’d assumed it grew some dignity as a male aged. It didn’t. Frankly, she had no idea what they were so proud of.
“Are ye ready?”
Claray whirled around at Conall’s grim voice, relieved and then confused when she saw that he was wearing the plaid she’d left on the boulder and was carrying her damp gown and shift along with his own wet clothes. It made her wonder how long she’d stood there thinking about his fiddle and fiddles in general, and then her gaze took him in and she frowned slightly. He’d pinned the excess plaid at his shoulders as men usually did, but those men usually had shirts on under it, and he didn’t. It left a great expanse of his chest, shoulders and arms naked where the plaid didn’t cover it.
For one brief moment, she considered offering him the shirt she wore, but while the plaid covered most of her at the top, the center between the sides gaped quite low, so she bit her lip on the offer and forced an uncomfortable smile and answered his question.
“Aye,” she said finally.
He barely looked at her, merely nodded and took her arm to escort her back to where the men were waiting. He was obviously still disgusted with her, she supposed, and could not blame him. Her behavior had been most shaming. Even more shaming was the fact that his light touch on her arm was enough to bring about tingling there, and she wished he’d kiss her and do all those lovely things again that he’d been doing to her in the water.
Obviously, she was shameless, Claray decided. She would have to spend the next two or three weeks on her knees praying for God’s forgiveness. And that was only if he didn’t kiss or caress her again, for she knew without a doubt that if he did she would respond just as she had the first time and may not stop him then. In which case, she would need to spend the rest of her life praying for her soul. Or maybe just her desires were enough that she was damning herself to hell by having them. In which case, she should probably just give it up and become a bride of God, because she was quite sure these thoughts would not stop so long as she was around Conall.
The thought made her sigh unhappily. Claray had never before even considered becoming a nun, but if it would save her soul . . . Of course, the fact that it would remove the problem of Maldouen MacNaughton from her life was an added bonus.
Although he could still cause problems for her sisters, she considered, and frowned over that. She would not like her sisters to find themselves in the same spot she had been in. But if she did take vows and become a nun, Claray was quite certain her father would finally agree to allowing her sisters to marry their betrothed would-be husbands. At least she hoped he would. Wanting her, as the oldest, to marry first was the only reason she had been able to come up with for why her father hadn’t agreed to her younger sisters marrying already. Certainly Allissaid’s would-be husband had requested the marriage take place twice now, but her father had apparently refused both times. And Annis’s betrothed had visited just this past year, though Claray didn’t know if he too had requested the marriage take place or not. Her father refused to speak of any of it to them. Not that she’d pressured him too much on the subject. The one time she’d asked if he intended to see to a new marriage contract for her since her betrothed was dead, he had reacted so poorly and been so short with her she’d never dared bring up the subject of marriage again. Not hers, and not her sisters’. But surely, if she took vows he would allow Allissaid and Annis to marry?
“Ye’re sighing up a storm there, Lady Claray.” Payton’s teasing voice stirred her from her thoughts. “What are ye thinkin’ on so hard?”
“Fleeing to a convent and taking vows,” she admitted absently, her attention on the fact that they’d reached the clearing and the waiting men. Conall’s fair-haired friend was standing just in front of the rest of the mounted party, holding the reins to both his horse and Conall’s. It seemed they would leave right away.
“What?” Payton asked with amazement even as Conall roared it next to her.
Blinking, Claray glanced with confusion from one man to the other, and then realized what she’d said. She supposed her announcement would be a little surprising, but didn’t understand this degree of dismay and what seemed to her to be outrage. It was not as if her decision really affected either of them.
Sighing, she waved them both off with a touch of annoyance, and pulled her arm free from Conall to approach Hamish where he sat his mount.
“Thank ye fer watching the wee beasties,” she said solemnly.
“Me pleasure,” the man responded, which she was quite sure was a polite lie, since he immediately leaned down to pass the swaddled fox pup to her. Even as he did, Squeak, who was sitting on his shoulder, rushed down his arm, across the swaddled fox and leapt onto Claray’s shoulder instead.
Ignoring the way the small stoat was chittering at her as if giving her hell for abandoning him for so long, Claray smiled at Hamish, said, “Thank ye,” again and then asked, “Do ye think I could ride with you from now on, good sir?”
Hamish froze in the act of unhooking the bunny sling from around his neck, and shifted wide, shocked eyes to her. Sounding almost horrified, the man asked, “Ride with me?” as if he thought he couldn’t have heard her right.
“Aye. I—Oh!” Claray gasped when she was caught from behind and found herself lifted and dragged up to sit sideways in Conall’s lap. It appeared he had mounted while she was taking the fox from Hamish. It also appeared he’d just given her the answer to her question.
“Keep the bunny with ye,” Conall growled the order at Hamish, and then turned his mount and urged him past the others and out of the clearing.
Not given any other choice, Claray settled against Conall’s chest with a dissatisfied huff and checked on the fox while Squeak climbed down to make himself comfortable inside her plaid.
“Why did ye ask to ride with Hamish?” Conall growled as she decided the baby fox was fine and let it sleep. “Do ye no’ like riding with me?”
Claray debated making up something that would be less embarrassing to her, but felt her earlier behavior had already put her soul in jeopardy. Lying didn’t seem the way to help save it. Humiliating as it was, she supposed she’d have to tell him the truth.