He dragged off the wet wig. His own hair underneath was just as soaked, sleekly black and plastered to his head.
“You look like a selkie,” Cait said.
He unfastened his cloak and let it drop to the floor in a sodden heap. “A what?”
“A selkie. A creature that takes on the form of a seal in the sea and a man on the land.”
“How flattering.” Amusement lit his eyes as they raked her from head to toe. “You on the other hand, look the picture of perfection.”
“Aye?” Laughing, she turned to shrug free of her cloak. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this gown weighs more than I do.” Bending at the waist, she gathered her hair and twisted it. Water streamed out onto the wooden floor.
As she straightened, her hair still bunched in one hand, Jason’s arms came around her from behind. She hadn’t even heard him move close. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.
Warm and soft. Her breath caught, and she stood stone still. She hadn’t imagined it the first time, she realized, a little thrill running through her at the thought. “What was that for?”
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I met you,” he said.
Quite unsure about this side of Jason and where it had come from, she turned to face him. His penetrating gaze was entrancing. “Well, I wouldn’t have stopped you,” she said.
“I don’t expect you would have.” He took a deep breath and looked away, the Jason she knew slipping back into place. “Let me fetch some dry clothes.”
Still stunned, she stood and shivered while he went through the portmanteau. One after another, their clothes came out, most of the pieces soaking wet.
She draped the garments on the floor around the room. “I hope they’ll dry,” she said on a sigh.
Finally, from the very bottom, he unearthed a pair of buff breeches and Mrs. Twentyman’s night rail and held them both up triumphantly. “Dry. Almost. Which do you want?” He waved the breeches with a grin.
Surprised and a bit unnerved by his playfulness, she snatched the night rail from his other hand. “This will do, thank you. Turn around.”
Thankfully, he obeyed. One of his feet impatiently tapped on the wooden floor, the wet boot leather squeaking with each motion.
“No peeking,” she admonished. Quite adept at removing stomachers now, she did so in all haste.
“Are you finished yet?”
“Nay. Stay put.”
His foot kept tapping while she wiggled into the night rail. Reaching beneath the hem, she pushed everything down and off, leaving her shoes in the wet pile when she stepped out of it.
“Now your turn.” She faced away to wait.
“I hate that night rail,” he drawled from behind her. “I think we ought to burn that thing.”
“You haven’t got a fire,” she said crisply. “And I haven’t got anything else dry to wear. Are you changing yet?”
“Of course.”
Wondering if he was watching her, she yanked up on the night rail’s sleeves, which fell well past her hands, and tightened the lacing at the collar. “Are you freezing?”
“Are you?”
She was goosebumps all over, though it really wasn’t too cold now that she was out of the wet gown. “Not since I changed. I’ll just take these clothes”—she bent to retrieve them—“and lay them out while you dress.” She started spreading the garments over what little floor space was left. “Don’t worry—I promise not to look.”
She made long work of squeezing the water from the brocade gown and wringing out its chemise. Her shoes were alarmingly soggy, but she sat them on the floor and hoped for the best. The stomacher was soaked, yet still just as stiff. Apparently Jason hadn’t been fooling when he said there was bone inside.
“Ready,” he called.
She turned, then whirled back away. “You’re still half-naked!”
“Shall I wear a soaking wet shirt?”
“Oh, never mind.”
Averting her eyes from his bare chest, she fetched the backgammon set and removed it from the burlap bag.
“Sit,” she said, plopping the drenched board onto the table. “It’s wet, but I reckon it’ll survive, seeing as it’s made from a cow that likely got drenched in its day.” She lined up the markers on their respective pips.
“I reckon it will,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. Taking the dice cup, he rolled two sixes.
She sat across from him, trying not to notice the way his muscles rippled when he leaned across the board to make his moves. Though still a livid pink, his wound looked all but healed. Rain beat down on the roof, and thunder and lightning disturbed her concentration.
She lost three matches in a row.
“I’m hungry,” Jason complained as she reset the board.
“There’s some bread left in the pocket of my cloak.”
He rose to fetch it, treating her to a view of his broad shoulders and back. He returned with a handful of white mush. “I don’t think so.” With a groan, he tossed it into the empty fireplace.
“Maybe it will stop raining so we can continue on to Welwyn before you waste away of starvation.”
He snorted.
But the weather didn’t let up.
By the time Cait had lost two more matches, the rumbling was directly overhead and nearly constant. Dark was falling. Brilliant flashes of lightning lit the room through the ill-fitting shutters, but the sporadic brightness wasn’t adequate to play by.
Caithren squinted at the dice, trying to see what numbers she’d rolled. With a sigh, she rose and headed for the entrance, picking her way around the clothes that littered the floor. She pried the door free from where Jason had propped it within its frame, just enough to see outside.
The rain pounded down, assaulting her ears. “I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere,” she yelled over the noise.
“I expect not,” Jason said softly, right beside her. When she jumped, one of his arms came around to steady her. The other hand reached to shove the door back into place, blocking most of the sound.
She could still hear the
