Murdoch’s boots had pools of water in the soles and she poured them out, setting them before the fire to dry. The leather would be stiff in the morning, but there was little she could do about that. Their cloaks were already stretched out to dry.
She paused and surveyed him again, reminding herself that this was no time for maidenly shyness.
Isabella tugged off Murdoch’s gloves, pausing to study the whorling lines curling around his hand. She untied the lace at the cuff of his chemise and pushed up the sleeve, catching her breath at the extent of the blue mark. It continued, swirling around his forearm and past the elbow. The tendril of blue she had seen at Kinfairlie was the end of this design, where it had begun to wind around his throat. A quick check revealed that his right arm was n
