Somehow, she notices his looking. His scent, something else? There is no scar over her shoulder, between her shoulder blades, Not yet. She dresses slowly, deliberately, because she WANTS him to look, her heart pounding faster in her chest.

"You may look upon me as much as you please," she says as she finishes tying the kilt. "Though I fear spending time with me may damage your reputation." She turns to face him. "No idea how the rumors started, but apparently I'm pretty poison." She laughs, the sound a little bitter. "The young men will jest among themselves when they think I can't hear them that it would be a fine thing to have their hands on my breasts and fill me with their cocks. But in the same breath, they'll curse me as a witch that makes any man who lays with me impotent."