way, but she was leaving? Women didn’t react so to him. Never. Well, mayhap the Sassenach taxman’s wife had, but she’d been worshipping gold rather than the flesh. Then again, she’d had poor eyesight.
Vincent pulled his feet free of the muck, ignoring his wet boots, and moved around this female, blocking her path.
“You’ve a reason for staying me?” she asked, directing her question to the region of his knees.
The wench was diminutive, barely reaching midchest. Vincent put his hands on his hips and regarded her. “Someone has to speak for the poor devils,” he replied, finally.
“Who?”
“Me.”
“I mean, who are the poor devils?”
“Oh. Toads. Nary a one has done aught to receive treatment such as you give. I’m protecting them.”
She giggled again. Then she lifted her head, tipped the edges of her cloak open with her hand and met his gaze. Vincent regarded her solemnly, waiting for the reaction. And missing any. His world didn’t rock. It didn’t even shiver. Nothing. This wench had nothing to recommend her and nothing to tempt him. It was a good thing he was being paid, he told himself.
“I’m na’ harming them,” she said.
“That is na’ what they tell me.”
She cocked her eyebrows up, showing a glint of silver in the light blue of her eyes. That caught his attention for a moment. She had pale perfect skin and very black eyebrows. He wondered if that was the color of her hair or even if she had any to claim. He tipped his head to one side and waited.
“What is it they tell you?” she asked.
“That a pond is meant for swimming and catching sup. Na’ for the torment of a wench’s hand.”
He reached out and grabbed for her hand, surprising her with the swiftness if her intake of breath was any indication. Her hands were fine-shaped and delicate. Her entire form looked to be that way. He’d been ordered not to touch her or make her his. The warning wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t his type, she wasn’t the right size and she was too easy. Even without his fee.
Her hand trembled within his. Vince stepped closer and dipped his head slightly, looking at her with dark eyes through black lashes that had always looked incongruous with his blond hair. He knew it made women swoon. He’d been told often enough of it. That was why he’d made certain the lashes were each separated and defined.
“Torment?” she whispered.
“Aye. And shaking. Such things belong…elsewhere.” His voice deepened exactly when he wanted it to. He licked at his lip, too.
Her mouth quirked, and then everything on her features went bored and disinterested. “You need a bath,” she replied.
Vince straightened slightly. “I bathed this morn. In the loch.” He kept the defensive tone from the words with difficulty. Much difficulty. And then he was mentally doubling his fee.
“You forgot to wash your mouth.”
She shocked him further by slipping her hand free and tipping her little chin in a gesture of dismissal. His mind was blank. He didn’t know what to say. She didn’t act like she was expecting him to say anything. She picked up one side of her skirts with the hand he’d recently claimed and used the wad of material as a buffer between them as she passed right by him. His mind was stalled, his mouth was dry and made drier by the slack-jawed effect of being so summarily passed over. His eyes were still focusing on the spot of ground she’d barely made a dent in, while he was making water-filled holes the size of his boots from standing in sodden ground.
That lasted four or five heartbeats. Since he hadn’t been counting, he couldn’t be sure. No wench treated Vincent Erick Danzel in such a fashion. And if they did, they could just reap the punishment for it. Wenches didn’t turn him down, they didn’t tell him nae, and they didn’t ignore him. It was a matter of pride now.
He reached her with little more than a lope of movement, crossing ground with strides she couldn’t possibly match. He blocked her path again, ignored how the ground was even marshier here, causing him to sink more quickly, and folded his arms to make it official. She wasn’t getting past him that easily! And certainly not without an explanation.
“What is it now, Sir Knight?” She had her head cocked backward and wasn’t moving the shawl to make anything more easily seen. That posture shadowed her upper face and highlighted her lips. They were pursed sweetly and appeared to have the color and texture of a ripe plum, he decided.
“You,” he replied.
“Me?”
“Aye. You.”
“You are determined to disturb me?”
“Disturb. Aye. In a word.”
“Why?”
“First, tell me why you shake toads.”
The spark of interest was back in her eyes, making them look akin to liquid silver again. Vince sucked on one cheek while he considered that.
“I need their sweat,” she said finally.
“Toads…sweat?”
She giggled again. He could grow fond of that sound, he decided. If he kept his eyes closed to the rest of her.
“A toad releases a substance when it’s frightened. ’Tis akin to the strongest of brews.”
“It does?”
“Aye. And ’tis a powerful thing, too. Makes a man weak and seeing things that could na’ be.”
“Truly? What does it do for a woman?” he asked, matching his whispered tone to her own.
“Makes labor easier to abide.”
“Labor?”
“Bringing a babe into the world is labor, Sir Knight. A woman suffers. I assist with relieving it.”
“This toad sweat…is that powerful?”
She smiled and raised her eyebrows several times. Then she stepped nearer to him as if they were conspirators of some kind. She was also closer to his height for some reason. Vince didn’t notice the reason was that he was sinking farther into mud that was thick with pond water.
“That and more. ’Tis also known to create a thrill.”
“Thrill?” he asked. The center of her eyes wasn’t silver at all, but an aqua blue. Vince found himself staring into that center…being drawn into it, singed and yet enthralled by it. He shook his head once to clear it and stepped back. His feet didn’t make the move; only his body did.
The spray from his fall glittered in the air for a moment before it started settling, acting like it was applauding him. Vince sat, stunned, knees bent and feet stuck solid, nearly to his calves. The ground was just as wet and slimy and muck-filled as it had looked while standing atop it. Now that
