Chapter 9
Elspeth gathered up her heavy hair, gave it a twist, and pinned it on the top of her head. A few loose tendrils escaped and curled on her neck.
Rob ached to plant a kiss on the tender skin there. With extreme care, he climbed the last few steps, praying none of them creaked. Then he stepped into his friend’s bedchamber, tilting his head to avoid bashing his crown on the sloped ceiling. Cat footed, he moved farther into the room, where the thatch rushed up into a tall peak. He stood in complete silence, willing Elspeth not to turn around.
Not yet.
He longed to trace the indentation of her spine. Her back was smooth and tapered gently to a narrow waist. Then her hips broadened into a sweet bottom shaped like an inverted heart. He longed to run his hands over that glowing skin and palm the globes of her buttocks.
Her legs weren’t long, for she wasn’t a tall woman, but they were shapely, and her muscles were strong beneath taut skin. He noticed a few scrapes and scratches from her scramble up the tree.
He wanted to kiss each of those small hurts to make them better.
Angus had exaggerated when he offered Elspeth a chance to bathe. He didn’t own a hip bath. To him, a basin and kettle qualified. Rob was grateful. He’d never see this much of her if she was half-submerged in a soapy tub.
She lifted one arm gracefully over her head and washed her underarm. Excess water trailed down the side of her body in soapy runnels to the cloth she’d spread on the floor.
Rob didn’t dare draw breath. His cock tented his kilt in unrelieved lust.
Then her arms began working before her, and he realized she was soaping the front of her body from breasts to groin. She spread her legs shoulder width to wash her sex.
She seemed to be taking her time over it.
So slippery and wet.
Rob suppressed a groan as his cock twitched at the thought of her damp curls. And her fingers sliding through those intimate folds, all sleek and soft and tender.
He wondered if she ever pleasured herself.
Some night, all alone in her bed, did she ruck up her chemise, lick her finger, and find that little spot that sent delight racing through a woman’s veins? Would a virgin merely toy with herself, working herself into unrelieved frenzy because she knew no better? Or would she have learned how to rub herself until the tears came and her insides spasmed?
Oh, to see Elspeth in truth as he envisioned her, thrashing on sweat-damp bedclothes, her back arched and her body shuddering in release.
The imagined moment made him ache till he thought he’d explode.
Then she bent at the waist to run the soapy cloth down her legs, treating him to a sight of those damp curls and her glistening slit.
There was a tight, wet welcome.
Oh, to swive her till he couldn’t see straight. To grasp her hips while her fingers splayed on the floor and plunge himself into her sweet flesh up to the hilt.
Without his conscious volition, a soft curse that was almost an endearment, escaped his lips.
She straightened immediately and turned toward the sound, her eyes wide in the dimness. Then, like a doe surprised by the hunter, she froze.
Her breasts were high and exactly the right size to fill a man’s hands. He’d love to explore the crease beneath each one. Her nipples were drawn tight.
Rob could almost taste them, sweet and responsive between his lips.
His gaze raked down past the little goblet of her navel to the triangle of chestnut curls at the apex of her thighs. Such sweet nether lips.
Then he met her gaze again. Her mouth opened softly, but she didn’t say a word. Her tongue flicked over the bottom lip.
Was there anything that would convince her to flick it over his cock?
Merciful God, it had been nearly two years since he’d felt a woman’s touch, since he’d lost himself in the abundance of feminine softness. Every day of abstinence was now rising to torment his flesh with need.
Lust was no surprise. Present a man who’d not known a woman in a while with the sight of a naked one, and there was no power on earth that could restrain his cock from rising.
But the tenderness in his chest nearly knocked him down. He longed to hold her, to whisper endearments, to kiss away her fears and offer her the protection of his body as well as its need.
“Elspeth,” he said reverently, as if her name were a prayer.
That broke the spell. She covered herself, one arm across her breasts, the other hand protectively splayed between her legs.
He continued to look at her, drinking in her exposed skin, all rosy and fresh. It would be like silk under his touch. His hands would know every inch of her.
She snatched up the remains of the velvet skirt and held it before her, but her neat calves and ankles were still bare to his gaze.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded.
“Long enough.”
If she was waiting for an apology, she’d wait till the Last Trump sounded.
“Rob, the haggis’ll get cold,” Angus Fletcher’s voice sounded beneath them. “Tell her to hurry.”
“The haggis’ll get cold,” he repeated woodenly. Rob was ravenous, but it wasn’t food he wanted.
She swallowed hard, as if she couldn’t find her voice, and clutched the skirt to her body. The uneven hem drew his gaze down to her bare feet and neat pink toes.
Pink.
He frowned.
The pink bit of foolishness along the bottom of the wine velvet was completely gone.
“Part of your skirt is missing.”
It was dim in the upper room of Angus Fletcher’s house, but Rob noticed she visibly paled.
“Aye, ye cut my skirt when I was trying to get away from that wolf,” she said, her voice tight. Then she rushed on, chattering like a magpie. “Do ye no’ remember? The skirt is ruined beyond repair, but I thought mayhap to save the fabric. ’Tis too fine a length of velvet to throw away. Angus gave me a skirt that had belonged to his mother. ’Tis hopelessly old-fashioned, but at least ’tis wearable and—”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he said, his suspicions making him shove all thought of how tempting she still looked from his mind. “The silk on the bottom of your skirt isna there anymore.”
She worried her lip and took a step back. “I used it to tend your wound and—”
“Not all of it. Ye used only a small bit for that.” Their tramp over the heath and through the woods might have torn off some of the silk, but not all of it. He closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders. “What have ye done, wench?”
“Take your hands from me.” She twisted out of his grasp, lifted her chin, and met his gaze with defiance. “What do ye think? I did what I could to let my father know where we’d gone. Tell me ye wouldna do the same if ye were taken against your will.”
“Ye stubborn, willful…” The fact that he’d braved a wolf pack for her meant nothing to this woman. He grabbed her and held her against his chest. She struggled to free herself, but he’d captured her arms. “If I were another sort of man, ye’d pay dearly for this.”
He tried to ignore the softness of her bare back or the way her breasts molded against him. The velvet skirt had slipped during their scuffle, and when he looked down at her, he realized only his shirt separated them.
But he couldn’t let his lust temper his judgment. He’d been so sure no one would guess that he’d gone north instead of south, directly to Caisteal Dubh. They’d traveled at her footpace for the first half of the night. Then they’d been delayed by the wolves, and he’d been forced to carry her toward morning.
Once Drummond and Elspeth’s father picked up their trail, they’d be riding as fast as they dared without overrunning another sign. Rob hadn’t put enough miles behind him to keep them from catching up. They might arrive in Angus Fletcher’s cove at any moment.
“Angus!” he bellowed. “We have to go. We’re about to have company.”
“Aye,” his friend called back. “But give me a bit to pack the haggis. They’re too good to leave.”
“Get dressed,” Rob told Elspeth as he released her. He settled himself on the end of Angus’s long string bed.
“But I can’t get dressed while ye watch me!” She pulled the velvet up to cover her breasts once again.
“Obviously, I havena watched ye close enough up to now. ’Tis an error I dinna intend to repeat.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Ye dinna wish to continue our journey naked, do ye?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I suggest ye hurry.”
If she could have shot fire bolts from her eyes, Rob knew he’d be but a pile of smoldering cinders. He smiled at her and almost saw smoke curl out of her ears.
She let the velvet fall to the floor and pulled her chemise over her head. Rob was treated to a quick glimpse of her whole body, quivering with rage. Her nipples flushed a deep rose.
Then, studiously avoiding Rob’s gaze, she wiggled into Fletcher’s mother’s skirt, which was long enough to bunch on the floor at her bare feet. The bodice was designed for a woman with smaller breasts, and it laced in the back. Rob watched her struggle with it for a few moments, enjoying her frustration.
But if they were going to stay ahead of the men who were undoubtedly on their trail, they needed to be gone.
“Turn around, lass.” He crossed the room and took her laces in hand.
She fisted her hands at her waist while he worked the leather strips through the eyes and cinched the bodice tight. A quick glance over her shoulder showed him her breasts pushed up and overflowing the old-fashioned bodice.
“There.” He tied the laces off and whirled her around to face him.
Rob kissed her hard and thoroughly—a seal of ownership. Until he finished his revenge on Drummond, Elspeth Stewart belonged to him. The sooner she realized that fact, the better she’d fare.
He released her mouth and looked down at her. The loathing he saw in her face made him step back a pace.
“Come.” He gripped her wrist and led her to the stairs, indicating she should climb down ahead of him. “And no more tricks. I’d better not catch you losing any bits of your wardrobe again. Or else.”
Fury made her eyes glitter.
That was better. Anger he could take. Her disgust made his chest ache.
“Or else what?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Or I’ll make sure you lose all of it.”