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seen after midnight? “What woman takes such risks with her person?”
She coaxed a spark to warm the twigs in the circle of stones, then huffed on the pile until a small fire crackled brightly. Fragrant smoke told him the wood was from a fruit tree of some sort.
“I began the rumors that the woods were haunted in order to keep people away. The stories of ghosts and beasties help discourage travelers, and we’ve had fewer thieves and outlaws since we began the tales.” Sitting back on her heels, she tugged off the neck cloth that she hadn’t been able to keep in place in the great hall. “I am not convinced there is a killer in our woods, despite the body. I think people were simply more prone to believe that because of the tales I’d begun. I had the help of the local wise woman. She’s like a mother to me.”
He draped the damp linen over the stones near the fire and did not bother hiding his surprise.
“That’s where you went tonight.” He’d peered in through a window while Violet had been inside the hut. “To see the wise woman.”
“Yes.” Violet gathered her long hair and squeezed the excess water from it. The water hissed as it fell on the makeshift hearthstones. “I wanted to warn her about you. That you might try to drive everyone from the woods in an attempt to find a killer that may not exist.”
“You think I cannot tell the difference between a cold-blooded backstabber and a harmless old woman?”
“That is what Morag said.” Violet eased off her boots, presumably to dry them. “Although, you will recall the body showed now wounds. Perhaps the man was a victim of disease.”
Yet the action—strangely intimate no matter how necessary—reminded him they would be in close proximity for as long as the rain lasted. Did she know what it would do to a man to watch her remove her shoes?
He recalled the way she’d kissed him and thought it possible she had every intention of seducing him. He’d never met such a sensuous maid.
“Morag knows me well, it seems.” His throat cracked on a dry note as he watched the play of her hem over her stocking-clad foot.
The delicate turn of her ankle.
“She believes you were destined to come here.” Violet shrugged. “She fancies herself a Seer, but I think she is merely a woman of strong opinions. I told her you were from the Highlands and she assumed good things of you, since her grandparents are of that stock.”
Finn tore his gaze from her legs, the shape of which he could discern beneath the heavy, damp folds of her skirts. His own clothes seemed to dry quickly, his body heating them from the inside. He would not make it out of this shelter without touching her. Tasting her. He knew it as well as his own name. Had the Seer informed Violet of those intentions?
“Destined? Perhaps I was.” He leaned back to pull the woolen blanket from its place on the trunk. Unrolling it, he moved to wrap the warmth around her, but she shook her head.
“I am warm enough. Despite the rain and cold, I am still feverish from before.” Her cheeks flushed with color as she spoke, and he realized that heat probably accounted for her removing the shoes and the other clothes.
“Did Morag give you anything for it?” He reached for her, touching her cheek to test the skin.
“It is her fault that I am…unwell.” She frowned, but Finn could see her pulse fire rapidly at her neck.
The warmth of her flesh enhanced the clean scent of her, the rain-washed skin still carrying a hint of roses. She swallowed hard. Licked her lips. Signs of awareness? Or more signals of this curious ailment? His attention went back to her ankle, where it would be easy enough to skim a hand up her bare leg and under the heavy skirts of her kirtle and surcoat.
“How so?” He swiped aside a damp curl where it clung to her throat, his body taut. Tense.
Ready for her.
“She gave me a potion earlier. It was foolish of me to ask her for it.” She tilted her chin to one side when he touched her neck, as