While I was thus engaged, he slid his fingers into my hair, separating a lock which he viewed appraisingly. “It’s not gone white yet. I suppose I’ve a little time, then, before ye get too dangerous for me to bed.” “Dangerous, forsooth,” I said, setting to work on the buttons of his breeks. I wished he had on his kilt. “Exactly what do you think I might do to you in bed?”
