Highlander's Faerie (Highlander Heat #5)

“Have you ever courted a woman?” She toed off her silk slippers, nabbed her nightrail from her trunk and eased behind the silk dressing screen hand painted with a beautiful field of heather.

“Nay, and usually a man has to prove what he can offer when considering marriage, either by the strength of his sword arm, or by the lands he owns.”

“Do you have any land?” He certainly had a strong sword arm and she’d admired his fighting form often as he’d trained with his men. The man had muscles on top of muscles.

“A small parcel on Argyll adjacent to my brother’s. ’Twas land we received upon our father’s death. ’Tis no’ much, but there is a castle, even as rundown as it is.”

“Then why are you here and not there?” She shimmied out of her gown, tossed it over the top of the screen and donned her white cotton shift.

“The Isle of Islay is the land of my kin, and I’m still earning enough coin to effect adequate repairs on the castle. ’Twill be a beauty one day, solid and strong.”

“I’d love to see your land.”

“If you wish it, I will gladly take you. ’Tis but a short sail, except that any trip there would have to wait until the current threat from the MacLean clan eases.”

She walked out from behind the screen.

Lathering soap, James stood before the basin on the side table, his leather pants molding his tight butt and providing a delectable sight. He smeared bubbles along his jaw as he bent to the task.

Smiling, she crossed and lifted his shoulder-length brown locks wisped with blond. “My mother used to hold my father’s hair whenever he shaved. It saved getting suds in his hair. I’m not sure why, but he preferred the old hand razor over an electric shaver.”

“What’s an electric shaver?” His golden gaze met hers in the looking glass propped before him.

“It’s a device which plugs into a power source and when turned on, has sharp metal rotating heads that slice the stubble off at the root. No soap and blade is necessary.”

“Is this the power source you called electri-city?” He twisted his tongue around the foreign word she’d mentioned a few nights ago when she’d explained how energy was contained and dispersed, how electricity brought heat and light into a room and how it powered devices big and small. She’d boggled his mind when she’d spoken of email, letters that could be sent with the press of one button to anyone in the world.

“That’s right.”

“Do you miss the conveniences of your time? Many sound miraculous.” He slid his dagger from ear to chin in one smooth move.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I will.” She leaned into his back and covered his hand holding the blade. “Can I try that?”

He stopped, one brow raised. “You wish to shave me?”

“I saw a maid doing so for one of the warriors yesterday in the great hall. Is it not the right thing to ask?”

“The warrior you’re speaking of is George. Three weeks past, he was hit by an arrow when Lachlan MacLean attacked Mary and Marie’s party as they returned to Dunyvaig from the village of Ardbeg. The arrow embedded deep into his side and he cannae yet lift his arm. The maid shaves him so he willnae tear his stitches.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

He faced her, rested his backside on the table and extended his dagger toward her. “Shave me. I dinnae have an issue with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, but take it slow.” He pressed his dirk into her hands, cupped her hips and held her steady between his spread legs.

“I promise I’ll do a good job.” Turning his cheek with one finger, she held the blade nice and close to his skin and ran it in a smooth line down. “I’m also a quick learner, and if I make a mistake, I’ll see it.”

“My blood’s red by the way.” He squeezed her hips.

“So is mine.” Grinning, she drew the dagger along the next portion under his chin and down his throat. “Goodness. It’s like slicing through butter. I thought your stubble would be rougher to cut.”

“I keep my dagger fastidiously sharp. Is that fire providing enough light?” His gaze darted toward it.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I wouldn’t move if I were you.” She ran the blade right under his nose. “You wouldn’t want me to nick this smart mouth of yours.”

“I—”

“Don’t speak either.” She tapped his jaw shut and giggled. “This is so much fun. I never thought I’d ever get one-up on you.” She shaved the bristles around his lips, not missing even one blade. “Mmm, that’s smooth.”

“Aye, there shall be no more whisker burn for the lasses after you’re done.”

“Then you can tell them to thank me.” She slid the blade along the last stretch of his neck then dabbed his skin dry with the cloth. “Take a look in the glass. What do you think?”

He observed his reflection, patted his jawline and traced around his lips. “You’ve done a better job than I ever could have.”

“Do you mind if I use your dagger to shave as well?” She wiped his blade clean on the cloth.

“Nay.” His smile died away. “You’re no’ to take a blade to your soft skin.”