"What happened here?" She ran her fingers over the uneven white scar tissue.
He blew out a hissing breath. "That's where I slid down the cliff twelve summers ago. The jagged rocks tore into my flesh, but 'twas those same rocks that stopped my fall when they caught my plaid.
"Oh." She smoothed her soap-slicked fingers over the mar to his perfect body. If this scar meant his life was saved, then she was thankful for the wicked mark.
He could've so easily died when he was fifteen and then she would've never had this opportunity to appreciate him. As she ran her soapy hands over his shoulder blades, and his massive shoulders, she found herself cherishing and admiring him. Not only his impressive body, but him as a man. She had never known anyone like him.
Wetting her hands and soaping them again, she washed his back, attempting to dig her fingertips into his hard muscles, but that was impossible, tense as he was.
"I know what you're trying to do," he muttered.
"I'm trying to wash your back," she assured him, hoping he couldn't read her mind.
"I'm not daft, lass."
"Of course not. You're highly intelligent."
He blew out a breath, and his teeth grated together in an audible click.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" she asked, truly curious about his thoughts. Maybe they were like the thoughts he'd had on the battlements days ago… that he wanted her. That he once again craved what they'd shared in bed that night. With the passionate way he'd confessed his desires before that stunning kiss, he'd stolen her heart.
"God's teeth," he growled. "You don't have to do this, Isobel. I'll protect you from those who would harm you."
"I know that. You're incredibly honorable. 'Tis time to wash your hair. Are you ready?"
"Aye."
She lifted a bucket of warm water and poured half of it over his head.
He sputtered and shook his head, flinging droplets of water onto her skirts.
Taking the soap again, she smoothed his hair back from his high forehead and soaped it up thoroughly.
Though he sat in silence with his eyes closed to prevent the soap getting into them, his entire body was tense. As she stood over him, she had a perfect view over his shoulder toward his lap. The linen was exceedingly tented now. Prior to a few nights ago, when she'd experienced his stone-hard member sliding into her, she might have wondered how that part of his body could possibly tent linen. She had felt her elderly husband's shaft, and it was but a flimsy dangling thing. She had often wondered why on earth it would be called a shaft if it wasn't stiff like an arrow.
Now she understood that a shaft was indeed supposed to be stiff… when aroused. 'Twas also clear that Dirk became irritable when he was aroused. That was a detail Beitris had neglected to tell her about men.
"I know why you are cross," Isobel said.
"Do you now?" His deep, murmured question sent shivers of excitement through her.
"Aye."
"Why is that?"
Heat rushed up her chest to her face. Dare she say the words she was thinking? He would surely think her a wanton, and honestly… she was. "Because you are aroused," she confessed in a whisper near his ear.
"God's bones, Isobel," he growled. "You're treading on damned thin ice."
She bit her lip to keep from snickering. "You see, now you are even more irritable."
"Just rinse my hair and be done with this hellish bath."
He valued his precious control so much, did he not? If he lost it, what would he do? Maybe he'd give her another scorching kiss. He might even carry her to his bed and ravish her body again. Tingles swirled through her lower belly with the mere thought.
She poured a bucket and a half of clean water over his head, rinsing the suds away.
"There now. You're all clean."
He flung his wet hair back off his face and cleared the water from his eyes. "I thank you. You're free to go now."
Hmph. She didn't want to go. "Do you need help with anything else?"
Turning, he glared at her from the corner of his eyes. His hand and arm now lay across his lap, concealing his erection.
"You enjoy torturing me?" he asked.
"Nay. I don't want to torture you at all. I want…"
His eyes narrowed, warning her.
She could barely breathe as their eyes locked, his normally pale eyes now darker than she could fathom. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. "Go," he ordered, with a quick tilt of his head toward the door. "Now."
What if she didn't? Would he yell at her? Thrash her? Was he so aroused he would lose control of his actions and his rational mind? Although he looked fearsome, she didn't fear him. Instead, his threatening glower only made her want him all the more because it meant he desired her intensely. She craved the passion that emanated from him.
The first time they'd coupled, he had been out of his mind with the drugging herbs. What would he be like completely lucid and wholly himself?
Her body flushed all over, hot and cold at once as if she had a malady. She could think of naught but how astonishingly hot and hard his body had felt against hers, inside hers. He'd shown her what it was like to be a woman in truth. She yearned for that again. And she wanted him to be fully present this time.
In answer to his command for her to leave, she shook her head, knowing she was wayward and wicked for disobeying a chief.
With a swift, abrupt movement, he shoved up from the tub, splashing water. Water sliding down his phenomenal body, his erection jutting upward, he was magnificent.
Heavens!
His shoulders were impossibly wide above his trim waist. The thick muscles of his thighs flexed as he stepped out of the tub and proceeded toward her, stalking her like a wild, hungry animal. Her heart rate shot toward the stars.
"This is your last chance," he warned. "Get out of here or suffer the consequences."
"Suffer?" She bit her lip to keep from grinning at that word. "You won't hurt me, will you?" she asked softly, knowing he wouldn't.
"I make no promises. I should take my horse whip to your wee arse."
"You didn't whip me last time. And it only hurt for a minute. Then, there was naught but pleasure."
His shaft jerked, drawing her attention. A second later, he stood before her, crowding her against the stone wall, lifting her. Before she could utter a sound, his mouth devoured hers, his tongue invading, tasting. Mmm. Her thoughts scattered in the wake of his sensual assault. The thrust of his tongue reminded her of the way he had thrust himself into her last time, spurring her woman's instincts. Aye, her body craved his plundering.
His hard shaft rubbed up against her crotch through the material of her dress. She held on tightly around his neck as he easily held her aloft. With his hand, he dug under her skirts and petticoats, yanking them out of his way and burrowing beneath until he reached his destination. His fingertips gently stroked between her legs in a most shocking and exciting way. She gasped.
"Damnation, how wet you are," he whispered against her mouth.
She couldn't think how to respond to that. She only knew somehow the moisture gathered between her legs whenever he kissed or touched her. Or when she saw his naked body. She thought it must be female arousal.
His fingers caressed her in slow, spellbinding circles. What magic! The pleasure and her need for him intensified, blotting out her thoughts.