Page 5
“That wasn’t so hard,” she said. She waited a beat. “Or big.”
He made a strangled sound, and she felt a thrill of triumph.
“Och, aye,” she lilted. “Dinna think you’ll best me with lewd humor either. I’m nae English miss you can shock with allusions to yer winky.”
He went completely still behind her. For a brief moment, she wondered if he’d failed to understand her burr, then, suddenly, he was laughing, leaning forward, his murmur near her ear.
“You have no idea what I can do with my . . . winky.”
A shiver moved through her. Mercifully, it didn’t shake her voice.
“I can imagine,” she muttered.
“Imagine?” He spoke after a pause, softly, a queer note in his voice. “What do you imagine?”
She shut her mouth so quickly she nearly bit her tongue.
Dream images sprang to mind, sending scalding heat from her head to her toes.
Her resistance melting into ravishment . . . his smug dominance undone in a wild instant by uncontainable desire . . .
“Nothing.” She said it through her teeth. “I meant only that the variety in male genitalia is not so great, and such variations as do exist are not so significant. Whatever lads claim at the tavern.”
“Miss MacKinnon.” He was laughing again. “How very frank.”
“Farms are frank places. Are you shocked?”
“Not yet. Pray continue.”
“I have a tree to climb.”
“So you do. Go on, then. Climb. Down.”
“I’m nae climbing down. I’m climbing up.”
“I’m the one climbing up.”
Three and twenty years old. Why did they still quarrel like children?
Tib took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable.
“You’re too clumsy.” She could tell from his inhale he was about to argue. “And you’re heavier than I am.” Better. That was unassailable fact. “You’ll break a branch. I don’t want you damaging my roof.”
“Your roof?” His tone changed. “What do you mean your roof?”
Lord. This was what reasonable got her. She wished she could take back her words. She felt his weight shift. He was looking down at her cottage.
“That? That’s a sheep cote.”
“It’s not.” She executed an awkward turn, repositioning her feet, and swaying wildly.
“It is.”
She almost toppled, and he pulled her close, clamping her against his naked chest, steadying them both.
She glared into his face.
Perplexity and derision drew lines around his mouth. “I have records of every structure on this island going back to the 16th century. That is a sheep cote.”
