Page 48 of When the Laird Conquers

Gordon offered his hand. “She’s bein’ spoiled by Iona. Daenae fash.”

She eyed his hand and took it hesitantly, allowing him to help her off the bed. Her gaze flitted to the steaming tub by the fireplace, and her body sighed in anticipation, her bones aching where she had been thrown to the ground.

“I didn’t even hear you come in with the buckets,” she murmured.

“I was quiet.”

He ushered her toward the copper tub, draped with cloths so she wouldn’t burn herself on the hot metal. There, without her asking, he carefully began to undo the buttons that ran down the back of her dress. She knew she should probably stop him, but how else was she supposed to undress herself? Her shoulders hurt, Iona was busy, and she had no one else to help. It was either him or no bath at all.

He made quick work of the buttons, and she felt her breath shallow and her heart beat faster as he grasped the fabric and pulled upward. A soft cry escaped her as her bruised shoulders protested the movement of her arms reaching up, but it was short-lived as he pulled the dress up and over her head.

“Are ye hurt badly?” he asked, his fingertips working at the knot of her stays.

She swallowed thickly. “Not so badly, no. I think I will have a bruise.”

“Where?”

“My shoulders,” she answered. “I hit the ground rather hard.”

He loosened her stays and let the garment drop, leaving just her shift between him and her bare body. His touch eased down the back of her neckline, his fingertips lightly caressing her skin, sending a tingling rush of gooseflesh across it.

“Aye, a bruise is formin’,” he said. “Once ye’re in the tub, I’ll fetch some ointment from Iona.”

And just like that, his touch was gone, his hands grasping her shift instead as he lifted it over her head.

She had thought she would be more embarrassed about her nudity, now that she was standing there without a stitch on. Instead, she felt the strangest urge to turn around, to show him what he had shunned from his tower last night.

“Use me hand to steady yerself,” he said. “I’ll keep me eyes closed.”

She almost laughed at the remark. Steady herself? Did he have any idea what his proximity, what his careful undressing of her, was doing to her? She was not steady at all. Quite the opposite, shaking with a curious mix of shock and desire.

Hoping he wouldn’t be able to feel the tremor in her hand, she took hold of his and allowed him to help her into the soothing water. As she stepped in, she dared to glance back, just to see if his eyes were indeed closed.

To her relief and disappointment, he was being a perfect gentleman.

Not even a glimpse? Is there something the matter with me? Something he finds so repulsive?

She sank down into the water, the fragrant liquid enveloping her, easing all of the aches and pains, some new and some old. If he had not been there, she would have moaned. It felt so good.

“How are ye feelin’?” he asked, stepping back to the edge of the bed, where he perched.

“Fine,” she mumbled, despite her nerves. “Everything is fine. I am well; Lizzy is well. I can manage a bruise or two and some aching limbs as long as she is well.”

And we are safe thanks to you.

“Ye daenae have to do that,” he said.

She frowned, glancing at him. “Do what?”

“Pretend ye’re all right when ye’re nae,” he replied. “There was a lot of unpleasantness today. Things ye likely havenae seen before. Ye’re at liberty to lower yer guard a little. Ye can admit that ye got scared. Ye can curse and rant and rage, if that’s what ye want to do. I willnae mind. In this room, ye can do and say what ye please.”

She hadn’t realized he could read her so easily. Was it truly so obvious that she was struggling? Could he see the great beacon of guilt that pulsed inside her? Could he see the weight of how foolish she felt? Could he sense the force of her ever-building troubles, understanding that if she did not release the pressure, she would surely snap?

She tried to smile, but something was broken, her lip trembling, her brow creasing as she tried very hard not to cry. His words had lent her permission she hadn’t known she needed, hadn’t known she needed to hear.

For six months, she had been denied the gift of being allowed to speak her mind, and he had just offered her that blessing. Indeed, he likely had no idea of the floodgates he had just opened by saying, “Go ahead. Say whatever you like, and I’ll listen.”

All of a sudden, she started crying, big wrenching sobs that rippled the surface of the water and shook her aching shoulders.