Love Came Just in Time by Lynn Kurland Read Free Book Online Page B

the night before, then too unsettled by the appearance and disappearance of her cat today to think too deeply.
    She caught his right hand and looked at it. “You have more calluses on this hand than the other.”
    â€œOf course,” he said.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œâ€™Tis my swordarm, Abigail.” He put his callused hand to her brow. She wasn’t feverish. Indeed, she was chilled. “Perhaps we should repair to the fire,” he said, pulling her in that direction, “then you should tell me of yourself. Forgive me for not having asked sooner. Your sire will no doubt be grieved over your loss. I will take you to him as soon as may be—”
    â€œHoney,” she said, “I think you should sit.”
    â€œWhy do you call me honey?” he asked, finding himself being urged toward a chair. He sat to humor her.
    â€œIt’s a term of endearment.”
    â€œLike Sir Sweetums?” he asked. “Saints, what a name!”
    He would have expressed himself further on that, but Abigail had pulled up a stool in front of him and sat. The tunic he had given her to wear fell off one of her shoulders. It was exceedingly distracting.
    He looked at her face and instantly ceased to mark what she said. He knew her lips were moving, but he couldn’t concentrate on her strangely-accented words. There were surely a score of things that puzzled him about her, but he couldn’t seem to focus his thoughts on a bloody one of them. All he could do was gaze at the woman before him and marvel.
    Saying she cleaned up passing well was an understatement. Where she had come by that riotous mass of hair he did not know, but it certainly suited her. He could almost hear her saying it: “Garrett hair is never obedient.” He smiled at the thought. Indeed, Abigail’s hair seemed to be a reflection of the woman herself—beyond the bounds of reason or propriety.
    And if her spirit hadn’t intrigued him, her comeliness certainly would have. He found himself entirely distracted by thoughts of running hands and mouth over that bit of shoulder she couldn’t seem to keep covered up. He followed the curve of her shoulder out to her arm and down to her hand. It was then he realized she was snapping her fingers at him.
    â€œThe lights are on but nobody’s home,” she was saying.
    â€œAh,” he stalled, “I was thinking on your words.”
    She jerked up her tunic over her shoulder. His tunic—his clothing that was covering her lithe body, much as he wanted to be doing. Miles was on the verge of allowing himself to be distracted by that thought when Abigail waved at him.
    â€œCome on, Miles,” she said, sounding exasperated. “Pay attention. I’m trying to tell you something very important.”
    He blinked at her. “Oh.”
    She sighed with exaggerated patience. “Are you with me now?”
    â€œIndeed, we are sitting here together.”
    She dropped her face to her hands and laughed. Miles couldn’t help himself. He reached out and ran his hand over her hair. It was pleasingly soft to the touch. It was not so dark as his, and with somewhat of a reddish tint to it. It was hair he wished he could sink his hands into as he sank another part of himself—
    â€œGood grief!” Abigail exclaimed, jerking back upright. “Can’t you just concentrate on what I’m saying for five minutes?”
    â€œI’d rather concentrate on kissing you, if it’s all the same to you,” he offered.
    â€œNo,” she said, firmly. “I’m serious about this.”
    And, suddenly, the truth struck him like a blow. He sat back and felt the blood leave his face. She was betrothed. How could he not have seen it before? Either that, or she was wed. She was no simpering maid who had to rely on her sire for every breath she took and every word to come out of her mouth. Abigail was far too sure of herself. She was likely of an