In Bed with a Highlander (31 page)

When the last of the water was poured from the pails, Ewan bent over the bed and began to unlace the ties on her sleeping gown. She didn’t have enough energy to protest, not that it would have done her a bit of good anyway. Soon enough he had the gown off her body and he gently gathered her in his arms and carried her over to the tub.

He eased her down into the hot water, and she moaned in delight as the heat lapped over her body.

Instead of leaving her as she’d anticipated, he knelt beside the tub. He reached for the pitcher on the floor and filled it with water before pouring it down her back to wet her hair.

When his fingers dug into the strands to wash her hair, she closed her eyes at the simple pleasure of having him take care of her needs. She was weaker than she could have ever imagined she would have been after her ordeal, and she was grateful for his regard.

She moaned softly as he turned his attention to the washing of her body. He took his time, rubbing her shoulders and her arms. His hands plunged into the water and he cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the hard tips.

He didn’t tarry overlong but continued his relentless quest to wash every inch of her body. By the time he reached her feet, she was shivering with raw pleasure. He picked up one foot and water sluiced up her leg. Then he began a meticulous massage of each part of her foot, going from bottom to top. When he reached her
toes, she tried to jerk her foot away and shrieked at the tickling sensation.

He laughed but grabbed hold of her ankle so she didn’t slip away.

“I had no idea you were so ticklish, lass.”

He held her foot in both hands and ran his hands over her ankle and then, to her shock, he kissed the arch of her foot. He caressed a path up her leg, over her knee, and down to the juncture of her thighs.

His hands were like silk on her flesh. The combination of the soothing water and his heated caresses were a balm to her tattered senses.

He was thorough in his wash. No part of her went untouched. By the time he was done, she was limp, her vision hazy, and she was so lethargic that she couldn’t have risen from the tub if she’d wanted to.

Ewan picked her up and held her over the tub while the water rushed from her body. He set her by the fire and promptly wrapped a large blanket around her, tucking the ends between her breasts.

“As soon as your hair is dry, I’ll tuck you back into bed,” he said. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

Just when she couldn’t imagine being more shocked by his gentle regard, he began to dry her hair with one of the drying cloths. His hands worked through the strands and when he’d blotted the excess moisture from the heavy mass, he began to work a comb through the knots.

They sat in front of the fire, her nestled between his thighs, facing the blaze. He was exceedingly patient, pausing when he reached a particularly difficult snarl.

The warmth from the hearth wrapped around them until her skin glowed pink. Heat seeped into her bones and she found herself nodding off as he combed her hair.

When he was done, he set the comb aside and wrapped his arms tightly around her. He pressed his cheek against
the side of her head and rocked slightly as she stared into the glowing embers.

“You scared me, lass.”

She sighed and melted deeper into his embrace. “I scared myself, Laird. ’Tis the truth I had no liking of the thought of leaving you and Crispen.”

“Crispen slept in your bed each night you were ill. He on one side, I on the other. He was just as determined as I that you not die.”

She smiled. “ ’Tis nice to have family.”

“Aye, lass, it is. I think you and Crispen and I make a fine family.”

“Don’t forget Caelen and Alaric,” she said with a frown. “And Gannon, Cormac, and Diormid, of course. They do annoy me, but they have good intentions and they are ever so patient. Oh! And Maddie and Bertha and Christina.”

Ewan chuckled against her ear. “Our clan, lass. Our clan is our family.”

Oh, she liked the idea of that. Family. She gave a contented sigh and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

“Ewan?”

“Aye, lass.”

“Thank you for not letting me die. ’Tis the truth I was close to giving up, but your bellowing made it quite impossible to give in. You do like to bellow. It probably made you happy to have an excuse to carry on so.”

He squeezed her to him and she felt the tremble of his body that signaled silent laughter.

“When you are well, we’re going to have a long talk.”

She tried to sit up but he held her tight. “Talk about what, Laird?”

“Words, lass. Words I intend that you’ll offer me.”

He’d given her an entire fortnight in which he bullied her into resting, showered her with affection—privately, of course—and the loving … Ah, the lass had quickly recovered and Ewan had spent each night driving her, and himself, mad with pleasure.

Yet she’d never spoken of loving him. She was free with her compliments, he had to give her that much. She told him in the sweetest tones that he was handsome, bold, arrogant … though he wasn’t certain that she meant all of these as compliments.

She was certainly impressed with his skills at loving, and she’d developed some of her own that he still hadn’t fully recovered from.

She had to love him. He couldn’t countenance that she felt only passing affection for him. She sure as hell wasn’t obedient, nor was she particularly respectful. But he saw the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. He saw how she fell apart in his arms night after night in the darkness of their chamber.

Aye, she loved him. There was no other explanation. He just had to get her to see it.

The poisoning had made Mairin more wary, and as much as Ewan liked that she took his requests seriously, he did miss their fiery exchanges—usually spawned
when she disregarded an order. He didn’t like that Mairin’s spontaneous charm had been curtailed by her near death.

Only Ewan, his brothers, and Gannon, Cormac, and Diormid knew the truth. That Mairin hadn’t been the intended victim. There were many reasons for Ewan to keep the information to himself.

One, his clan had become fiercely protective of Mairin since the incident. They all looked after her with a keen eye, and she was never alone. That suited Ewan’s purposes perfectly, because whether someone was trying to kill Mairin or not, she still faced the threat that was Duncan Cameron.

Two, he had no desire for Mairin to worry, and if she found out that Ewan was the intended victim, not once but twice, there was no telling what the lass might do. Ewan had discovered in a short time that she was fierce in her protection of those she considered hers.

And the lass did consider Ewan hers, much to Ewan’s smug satisfaction. She may not have given him the words he wanted to hear, but there was no denying her possessiveness when it came to him. He remembered well the look she’d given him when Rionna McDonald had been introduced.

He looked forward to the day when they would be free of threats. The shadow hanging over the keep had affected not just Mairin, but everyone. Mairin … well, Ewan hadn’t had a single report of her causing a ruckus since she’d gotten up from her sickbed.

He should have known that wouldn’t last …

“Laird, you must come quickly!” Owain said as he ran up to Ewan.

The younger man panted as he came to a stop. It looked as if he’d run the entire way from where he came.

Ewan turned from the sheepherder, who was giving
him a detailed accounting of McCabe stocks, and frowned.

“What is amiss, Owain?”

“ ’Tis Lady McCabe. The entire hall is in an uproar. She’s ordered a group of your men to take over the women’s duties!”

“What?” Ewan demanded. Then he put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. “Tell me exactly what goes on, Owain.”

“Heath angered her but I don’t know what transpired, Laird. She’s ordered him and the group of men with him to do the washing! And the cooking! God help us all. And cleaning the kitchens and the floors …”

Owain broke off, winded, and then plowed forward again. “They’re all ready to revolt because your brothers can’t control the lass.”

Ewan frowned and swore under his breath. Heath was a hotheaded young soldier who’d only recently come to the McCabes. He was a bastard son of Laird McKinley—one of many—who’d been unacknowledged by his father before the laird’s death. The result was that he had no home. Ewan had gathered such men over the years, adding to his numbers when so many of his own clan had been eliminated by Duncan Cameron’s attack.

Ewan had already had problems with Heath and a group of younger, cocky, arrogant soldiers who had allied themselves with Heath shortly after his arrival.

They’d been disciplined before, and Ewan had already decided that it would be his last effort to turn them into McCabe warriors.

If Heath was involved, it couldn’t be good. Match him to Ewan’s equally hotheaded wife and an explosion was sure to follow.

“Where are my brothers?” Ewan demanded.

“They’re with Lady McCabe in the hall. ’Tis a very
tense situation, Laird. There was a moment that I feared for the safety of Lady McCabe.”

That was all Ewan needed to hear. He ran for the hall, and as he rounded the corner into the courtyard, he saw all of his men, who had been out training, standing still, their heads cocked as they listened to the din coming from inside the keep.

Ewan shoved past them, vaulted up the steps, and barged into the hall.

The scene before him was chaos. A group of younger soldiers was across the room, surrounded by Ewan’s brothers and Mairin and Gertie.

Cormac and Diormid were being roundly scolded by Gertie. Gertie was so riled that she shook a spoon at the two men and managed to hit them with it about every third stroke. Alaric and Caelen both wore expressions of fury as they sought to place Mairin behind them. But she was having none of it.

What caught Ewan’s attention, however, was Mairin, who stood in the middle of the fray, her face so red from anger that she looked fair to exploding. She was on tiptoe, shouting insults at Heath from around Gannon, who was also valiantly trying to keep her at a distance.

Heath’s face was purple with rage. The lass had no idea the danger she’d put herself in. But Ewan knew. He’d witnessed the younger man’s brash temper more than once. Ewan had already started across the room when he saw Heath raise his hand.

Ewan let out a roar, drew his sword, and launched himself over the remaining space. Mairin ducked, but Heath’s fist still grazed her jaw as she turned away. She went flying back just as Ewan slammed into Heath.

If Caelen and Alaric hadn’t pinned both Ewan’s arms back, he would have killed the younger man on the spot.
As it was, Heath lay sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.

Ewan twisted in their grip but they wouldn’t let him go. “Leave off!” he roared.

They wrestled him back several paces before he finally managed to break their hold. He yanked his arm away and went to where Mairin was picking herself up off the floor.

He caught her elbow and helped her to her feet. Then he cupped her chin and turned it up so he could see her jaw.

“He barely touched me,” Mairin whispered. “Truly, Ewan, it doesn’t pain me at all.”

Fury sizzled over his skin. “He had no right to touch you at all! He’ll die for this offense.”

He dropped his hand from her face and then turned to fix the rest of the room with his glare. “Can someone tell me what in God’s name is going on?”

Everyone started talking at once. Ewan closed his eyes and then roared for silence. He turned to Mairin. “You tell me what happened here.”

She glanced down at her hands but not before he saw the betraying quiver of her lip.

“I’ll tell you, Laird,” Diormid said loudly as he stepped forward. “She ordered Heath, Robert, Corbin, Ian, and Matthew to take on the tasks of the women.” The disbelief and outrage Diormid felt on behalf of his men was evident. “She instructed them all to do the cooking and the cleaning and the scrubbing of the floors!”

Ewan watched as Mairin’s expression went flat. Her lips drew into a thin line, and then she simply turned away and would have walked out of the hall if Ewan hadn’t quickly caught hold of her arm to prevent her departure.

“Lass?” he asked pointedly.

Her chin wobbled, and she blinked furiously. “You’ll
just yell, Laird, and I have no desire to be humiliated again in front of my clan.”

“Tell me what happened,” he said in a stern voice. He was determined that he not show weakness in front of his men. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss those trembling lips. She was on the verge of tears, and he’d do damn near anything to prevent her crying.

But what he had to do was be fair and disciplined. He had a duty to everyone involved to be fair and impartial, which meant that if his wife had hatched another of her hare-brained schemes, he was destined to make her cry.

Her chin went up, which relieved him. He far preferred her belligerence to her tears.

She pointed at Heath. “That … That idiot struck Christina.”