The sweep of his knuckles is good in and of itself. When Derrica shifts her weight, settles her weight just so, then lays her palms over the range of bruising on his chest, she's careful not to disturb the wandering progression of his hands. If he strays far enough, Loxley will find the secure cinch of binding linens around her chest, with the ends cleverly hidden between the layered loops. This sort of handiwork doesn't come free at a simple tug, but it's not so impenetrable.
A soft hum of acknowledgement as her own fingers move across the raised gouge there, before she says, "Mine was a lesson."
Like so many things were in the wake of Dairsmuid.
Her hands lift away, traveling up to the loosening coils of her braids She's pulling a few pins free as she finishes, "To be wary of getting too close to large men wielding falchions."
When she returns her hands to his chest, she's still holdings her hairpins. The metal is cool as it travels across his skin, stays folded between her fingers when she flattens her palms across his ribs and leans down to tease, "Remind me what type of sword you use?"
no subject
A soft hum of acknowledgement as her own fingers move across the raised gouge there, before she says, "Mine was a lesson."
Like so many things were in the wake of Dairsmuid.
Her hands lift away, traveling up to the loosening coils of her braids She's pulling a few pins free as she finishes, "To be wary of getting too close to large men wielding falchions."
When she returns her hands to his chest, she's still holdings her hairpins. The metal is cool as it travels across his skin, stays folded between her fingers when she flattens her palms across his ribs and leans down to tease, "Remind me what type of sword you use?"