She patted his chest and awkwardly pulled away, filling him with an irrational disappointment. With his handkerchief clutched to her chest, she sat straighter and finished her tea. Then she lifted her face to the east with a sudden serene beauty that took his breath. She gazed at the horizon with a wistful look.
“A new day to find some good,” she whispered.
“Aye, lass. I think ye will find good in this day when we arrive at Risk Manor.”
The vibrant reds and golds reflecting off the clouds cast an almost magical light across the camp. The in-between time when night handed the world to the day and whispered of promises to come.
“Risk Manor.” She pulled her attention away from the rising sun and settled it on him. “Tell me about your home so I can look forward to seeing it.”
He searched for the words to describe the place of his birth—a once impressive estate now badly in need of repair, a mere shadow of its former grandeur. Years of heartache, hatred, and war had taken their toll. “It is the place where I watch over those I have sworn to protect. My kin. My clan. Those who tend the Risk crofts and call them home.”
“You are their chief, then? Clan Risk’s laird?”
He clenched his teeth and pulled in a deep breath before answering. “No, mistress. That would be my younger brother, Jamison Risk, the Earl of Grampian.”
“I see.” Jovianna leaned forward and tapped her cup upside down to dump out the wet herbs.
“So, ye willna ask, then?” He knew she wondered why the younger son rather than the older was the laird.
She set the cup on the ground beside her and gave him her full attention. “I thought it rude to ask. Such things can sometimes be complicated.”
He snorted. “Aye, lass, that they can.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Dinna be.” He had hardened himself to the pain of being stripped of his birthright years ago. “I am still able to care for the people, and Risk Manor is my home.”
“Titles don’t make the man,” she said. “Actions do.” Her tone revealed more than her words. Loyalty rang in her voice.
He studied her for a long moment in the morning light. The fierce sincerity in her eyes touched his heart. “Ye are a rare woman, Mistress Jovianna.”
“Not really.” She combed her fingers through her long hair, flinching as she worked out snarls and tangles. “Ouch! I may have to cut this mess.”
“Dinna cut it,” he said before he could stop himself. Her silky tresses shone a rich, burnished bronze shot with strands of gold and copper. ’Twould be a sorry shame indeed to lose such beauty. “Mrs. Gibb can help ye with extra combs and ribbons.”
She flinched again as though that idea nettled her as badly as the tangles. “How will your people react to your bringing a pair of Englishwomen into their midst?”
“I am seriously considering leaving the one who plays dead here.” He waited for Mistress Amaranth to react. “Does yer mother often eavesdrop?”
Mistress Jovianna turned and poked her mother’s shoulder. “How long have you been awake?”
The woman snorted and flopped over to face them. “I was merely being polite and not interrupting.”
“Bollocks to that,” Mistress Jovianna said. “Do you take us for a pair of fools?”
“Out of my way.” The elder pushed out between them, hopped to her feet, then straightened her clothes. “You may carry on now. After I freshen up a bit, I shall see if Cade needs any help packing up the camp. I am very good at packing.” She stomped away with the haughtiness of a queen.
“I’m so sorry about her.” Mistress Jovianna rose from the shelter and stretched. Her obscenely tight clothing outlined every muscle, every delicious curve of her long, lithe form.
He hardened to the point of almost splitting the seams of his trews.
“I guess I should go wash my face too,” she said, “while my head is feeling better. Thank you.” She gave a shy twitch of her shoulder. “For everything, Tobias.”
Painfully aware of his bulging trews, he turned away as he stood, acting as if he was merely retrieving his hat from the ground. Rather than place it on his head, he held it in front of his roaring man parts like a shield. “Ye are quite welcome, Mistress Jovianna.”
“I really wish you would call me Jovianna. It’s what friends do.”
Friends? The word made his heart sink in a way it had no right to. Rather than belabor the feeling, he offered her a concerned tip of his head. “Then, as a friend, might I tell ye that yer clothing will cause issue at Risk Manor?” He wouldn’t mention the fact that it was already causing him issues right now. “Did ye bring nothing with ye that we might find upstream, where ye fell into the gorge—Jovianna?”
Her face lit up at his use of her name. Such an odd thing to please a woman. Wee lasses usually longed for the day they would be respectfully addressed as Mistress. With his hat still held in front of his crotch, he turned and eyed that direction. “Where exactly did ye tumble into the gorge?”
“That way.” She suddenly appeared uneasy. “But we didn’t carry anything with us. It was faster to travel with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
“I understand, but that doesna solve our current dilemma.”
“What about the carriage you procured? Did it have trunks that might have clothing?” She rubbed the center of her chest, drawing undue attention to her firm breasts that bobbled with a tempting jiggle every time she ran her knuckles up and down her breastbone. “The heartburn from the herbs is back.”
“Silas! An oatcake for the lady.” Tobias didn’t dare don his hat and fetch it for her. Not yet. The woman had fairly undone him. “Fitch.”
The yawning man looked up from adding more wood to the glowing coals to renew the fire. “Aye?”
“Have Donnor and Pag check the coach for any sort of clothing our guests might change into, ye ken?”
Fitch’s gaze slid to Jovianna. His eyebrows shot higher as he nodded. “Aye, seems like I remember a few trunks strapped to the back. I’ll have them fetch it.”
Strange how a new day, the realization that Jovianna and her mother did indeed appear to be in dire straits, and weren’t spies or a trap, made all the men more aware of their revealing clothing. That and the fact that Jovianna’s health was better. None of them would lust after an injured woman. But now Tobias wondered if he’d ever be able to wear his hat on his head again until they found her some decent clothing.
Silas handed her an oatcake and a steaming cup. “Tea, mistress. Always keep some on hand, no matter how short our trips from the manor house might be.”
“Thank you, Silas.” She breathed in the steam as if enjoying a rare perfume, took a sip, then smiled. “Very nice. And I’m sure the caffeine will help my head too.”
“Nay, mistress.” Silas shook his head. “It is tea. I swear it.”
Tobias noted that once again she became uneasy. “What is caffeine, Jovianna?”
She stared at him, frowning but chewing her lip as well.
“Jovianna?” Now that he had started using her first name unadorned, he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Caffeine is a part of the tea. Like the part of an herb that makes you feel better.” Her fretful air shifted to one of almost pleading. “It’s the caffeine in the tea that wakes you up and gets you moving.” She took another sip and turned away, as though trying to escape the conversation. Nibbling on her oatcake, she meandered closer to the ledge overlooking the gorge and stared down into it with an unreadable expression.