staring fixedly at the ceiling of the carriage. Why had he insisted on hiring a carriage? Why hadn’t he put her on that boat with Ormonde instead? He could’ve ridden to Perthshire. It could’ve taken him months.
“I am no woman’s Viking,” he grumbled.
“You can’t . . .” She froze, a look of horror crossing her face. “Wait, you’re not married already, are you?”
He swung his head to look at her, his face dark. “Do I look married?”
She merely stared blankly.
Rollo gestured to his legs. Was she purposely misunderstanding? He raised his brows, waiting impatiently for his point to dawn.
“What, you think because you limp, you can’t get married?” Her laugh was the one to shock him then. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re, like, the hottest man ever. Big whoop, you’ve got a limp.”
What could she mean by hot ?
She scooted closer to eye his legs. “They don’t look so bad, anyhow. Not set correctly after a break—that’s it, right?”
“Aye.” He looked again out the window. The carriage suddenly felt intolerably small. “A horse crushed my legs when I was but a lad.”
Her indrawn breath drew his eyes back to her. “That’s horrible!”
He had to chuckle at the earnest look on her face.
“It’s not funny,” she scolded. “That’s, like, the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Felicity reached her hand out tentatively, then brought it back to her lap. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“I studied massage for a while. I think . . . Well . . .” She tilted her head to get a better look.
Her eyes on him were agony. And yet somehow the shame that usually overtook him at the topic of his legs remained at bay.
“I’ve seen you pound at your leg. Like this.” Felicity balled her hand into a fist and thumped at her thigh. “But that’s not going to help you at all.”
“God save me, is that what I look like?” He shrugged on the familiar self-loathing like a pair of well-worn boots.
Felicity wore her frustration plainly on her face, and he thought it would’ve been comical if she weren’t so damned pretty.
In answer, she simply reached out and grabbed his upper thigh.
“What the—?”
Losh , but her hands were strong.
“This is really . . .”
What was she doing?
“Quite . . .”
Good Lord save him.
“Inappropriate.”
Oh . . . He shuddered, the breath leaving him slowly, as decades of tension unspooled and the pain that had been a constant slowly began to dissolve.
She instantly lightened the pressure. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”
Rollo responded with a tight shake of his head.
“Oh, good.” She redoubled her efforts, using knuckles and thumbs to ease the tightness at the front of his legs. “Because I only studied massage for a year. Well, not really a year. Almost a year.”
She found a sensitive spot and he flinched.
“You sure you’re okay?”
He gave a single nod, his eyes shut tight.
“Because you don’t need to be mister tough guy. Just tell me if it hurts.” Her hand grazed the side of his thigh.
Rollo held his breath—what was she doing ?
She dug her thumb in hard, and everything else fell away.
This strange . . . massage . . . was shaping up to be one of the single most memorable moments of his life, and yet, seemingly oblivious, Felicity chattered on.
“So anyway, I was really into it,” she said, making circular motions with her thumb. “Into massage school, I mean. But boom , my first hairy back and that was it.” She laughed.
“Wait.” She froze. “You don’t have a hairy back, do you?”
What was she on about?
“No,” he managed. “Not that I know of.”
“Oh good. ’Cause that’s a deal breaker. Though it’d be a shame to have come all this way . . .” She giggled.
“So anyway, I’d really thought it would be my thing. Massage, I mean. Livvie, my Aunt Livia, that is, used to . . .”
She sighed wistfully. The sudden sadness in her voice had him cracking open an eyelid to watch her.
“I am no woman’s Viking,” he grumbled.
“You can’t . . .” She froze, a look of horror crossing her face. “Wait, you’re not married already, are you?”
He swung his head to look at her, his face dark. “Do I look married?”
She merely stared blankly.
Rollo gestured to his legs. Was she purposely misunderstanding? He raised his brows, waiting impatiently for his point to dawn.
“What, you think because you limp, you can’t get married?” Her laugh was the one to shock him then. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re, like, the hottest man ever. Big whoop, you’ve got a limp.”
What could she mean by hot ?
She scooted closer to eye his legs. “They don’t look so bad, anyhow. Not set correctly after a break—that’s it, right?”
“Aye.” He looked again out the window. The carriage suddenly felt intolerably small. “A horse crushed my legs when I was but a lad.”
Her indrawn breath drew his eyes back to her. “That’s horrible!”
He had to chuckle at the earnest look on her face.
“It’s not funny,” she scolded. “That’s, like, the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Felicity reached her hand out tentatively, then brought it back to her lap. “May I?”
“May you what?”
“I studied massage for a while. I think . . . Well . . .” She tilted her head to get a better look.
Her eyes on him were agony. And yet somehow the shame that usually overtook him at the topic of his legs remained at bay.
“I’ve seen you pound at your leg. Like this.” Felicity balled her hand into a fist and thumped at her thigh. “But that’s not going to help you at all.”
“God save me, is that what I look like?” He shrugged on the familiar self-loathing like a pair of well-worn boots.
Felicity wore her frustration plainly on her face, and he thought it would’ve been comical if she weren’t so damned pretty.
In answer, she simply reached out and grabbed his upper thigh.
“What the—?”
Losh , but her hands were strong.
“This is really . . .”
What was she doing?
“Quite . . .”
Good Lord save him.
“Inappropriate.”
Oh . . . He shuddered, the breath leaving him slowly, as decades of tension unspooled and the pain that had been a constant slowly began to dissolve.
She instantly lightened the pressure. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”
Rollo responded with a tight shake of his head.
“Oh, good.” She redoubled her efforts, using knuckles and thumbs to ease the tightness at the front of his legs. “Because I only studied massage for a year. Well, not really a year. Almost a year.”
She found a sensitive spot and he flinched.
“You sure you’re okay?”
He gave a single nod, his eyes shut tight.
“Because you don’t need to be mister tough guy. Just tell me if it hurts.” Her hand grazed the side of his thigh.
Rollo held his breath—what was she doing ?
She dug her thumb in hard, and everything else fell away.
This strange . . . massage . . . was shaping up to be one of the single most memorable moments of his life, and yet, seemingly oblivious, Felicity chattered on.
“So anyway, I was really into it,” she said, making circular motions with her thumb. “Into massage school, I mean. But boom , my first hairy back and that was it.” She laughed.
“Wait.” She froze. “You don’t have a hairy back, do you?”
What was she on about?
“No,” he managed. “Not that I know of.”
“Oh good. ’Cause that’s a deal breaker. Though it’d be a shame to have come all this way . . .” She giggled.
“So anyway, I’d really thought it would be my thing. Massage, I mean. Livvie, my Aunt Livia, that is, used to . . .”
She sighed wistfully. The sudden sadness in her voice had him cracking open an eyelid to watch her.
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