MacFarland's Lass by Campbell Glynnis

Author:Campbell, Glynnis [Campbell, Glynnis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical Romance
ISBN: 9781938114182
Publisher: Glynnis Campbell
Published: 2014-10-24T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Rane spent the entire day laboring on the vestry door, partly because it needed to be done, mostly to keep his hands busy, for they wanted nothing more than to curve about Florie's waist and haul her close for a heated kiss, to caress the thick sable masses of her hair, to awaken her warm, willing flesh. And the fact that between spates of furious cleaning in the sanctuary Florie sat on the steps of the church, watching him as he split and sawed, measured and planed, sanded and hammered, only aggravated his lusty mood.

Why he couldn't simply seize her and be done with it, he didn't know. He'd never let conscience stand in his way before. But somehow, what he felt for Florie was different from the wanton play in which he normally engaged. He wanted more from her, more than just a harmless tryst, more than just a rollicking tumble in the grass. And frankly, that alarmed him.

By the time he'd cut new hinges out of a leather purse found among the wreckage of the storage room and tapped loose the lock assembly from the old door to secure it to the new wood, evening clouds were gathering, and he was no closer to assuaging his thirst for the enchanting lass. Indeed, his desire seemed to wax with the passing hours.

As he lugged the finished door through the sanctuary, he glimpsed Florie upon the fridstool, her skirts pushed up as she adjusted her loose bandage. The sight of her bare leg nearly made him drop the heavy door. 'Twas absurd, he knew. He saw that leg every day. And yet 'twas ever like the first time.

"I'll change that when I'm done here," he grumbled.

Mere days ago, she would have snatched her skirts down in horror. Now, to his chagrin, she continued to bend her wounded leg this way and that, completely without modesty. He wondered how long that immodesty would last if she knew what corrupt thoughts streamed through his mind at the sight of all that tempting flesh.

"All my movin' about today must have loosened the bandage," she said.

He glanced about the sanctuary. She had been industrious. Not a cobweb remained in the corners. The flagstone floor had been swept clean, and the wooden panels around the perimeter of the church gleamed with beeswax. She must have poked about in the storage room, for a half-dozen iron holders fitted with tall tallow candles stood about the nave like guards. The apse was littered with glazed earthenware bowls of all sizes, and beneath Florie's sweetly curved bottom nestled what looked to be a brocade cushion.

How he envied that cushion.

"Rane."

He grunted, forcing his eyes to her face. She was staring at his handiwork with a puzzled frown. He righted the door and propped it against the vestry passage. "What?"

"Did ye notice…" she began tentatively.

"Notice what?" All he'd noticed were the soft, silky planes of her thigh.

"The…" She pointed to the narrow vertical gap carved out at the bottom of the door near the hinge.

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