Catcalls. Whistles. Callm hadn't even clambered out the cave mouth, when his ears were assaulted by the cacophony.
"What the--?" He blinked in the bright winter sunlight. The blizzard had stopped and a fine tang of frost nipped his nostrils. "All right, lads. Fine. That racket will be heard all the way to Glen Gurkie. Do you want the tinker chief here on our backs?"
He feigned good humor, making a silencing gesture, although cold sweat lay on his skin. What the hell else could he do? Say that Lady McGurkie was in his bed? That he reeked of the exchange of body fluids and now … now …
Well? What now?
Every one of his men, dotted around the water's edge, and those who weren't, knew damn fine no glen princess would open her legs without a wedding ring on her finger. This one had. To him. C
