Crying. Of all the things she could have done while lying in the mud in the wake of such humiliation. Why had her emotional state and body selected crying? Her only consolation was the horror and guilt her tears had created in Hamish MacBrieve’s eyes when he had finally assisted her back to her feet. Weeping was a pathetic way to win the upper hand. It symbolized all that she was not, and yet, in this case, it had been her biggest ally.
No one argued when she entered the kitchens and ordered for everyone to vacate so that a maid could prepare her bath right there in the room with the ovens. Hellie, the head cook, looked sympathetic and nodded in understanding, causing her graying, once-pale blond ringlets to bob enthusiastically. Being a kind woman, she then reassured Mairead that it was an ideal time for a break, being it was so early in the afternoon. The meat still had a few more hours to roast and many of the staff were eager to go out in the market. One of her helpers had even nervously thanked her for not asking them to haul buckets of water up to her room. Mairead groaned as she rested her head against her knees. Everyone had been so stunned by her physical state they had searched for anything to say that would keep her from breaking down completely in front of them.
Wiping her cheeks, Mairead could feel the grime being smeared on her skin. She had tried to use her sleeves to remove as much dirt as possible, but her gown was so muddy it had made things worse. Only a bath would remove the muck embedded in her eyebrows and hair. After taking a deep, calming breath, she rose to her feet and poured some water in a bowl to clean her hands. She refused to soil her spare gown just by carrying it to the kitchens.
After selecting a clean set of clothes, Mairead paused to peek out the window, searching for the source of her misery. She sighed with relief as she saw Hamish working with Adiran cleaning a horse just outside the stables, which were thankfully located on the western wall, opposite from the kitchens. She took another deep breath and glared at the back of his head, feeling some of her self-confidence return. She might have fallen in the mud. She might have broken into tears. But both her disheveled and emotional states were temporary and excusable. Hamish, however, was going to remain looking scraggly and unkempt, for that beard had been left unattended for far too long.
When she had realized who he was, she had been shocked. He looked so different from what she remembered. But from this distance, his movements triggered her memories of him. Hamish held himself in a manner unlike any other man. He was completely at ease and yet also fully in command of all that was around him. She had no doubt that, if he wished, Hamish could remove the massive sword sheathed at his hip and either injure or kill a would-be attacker before they got off one strike regardless of where he was or what he was doing. She bit her bottom lip, imagining Hamish in fighting mode. That would be something spectacular to see—even in his ratty state.
Feeling the mud crackle as it dried along her hairline, Mairead left the window and grabbed a brush and some soap to add to her load before quickly making her way back to the kitchens. Once again, she encountered no one in the keep and all eyes in the courtyard purposefully looked away. Upon seeing Mairead in the kitchens, one of the cooks added three kettles of boiling water to the water already in the tin contraption that was on the floor next to the large hearth. Hellie then quickly shooed everyone out of the room, leaving Mairead finally, and blissfully, alone. She wasted no time stripping every nasty garment off and immersing herself into the warm waters.
Her brother-in-law was a born tinker. He was always taking the most commonplace objects and looking for ways to improve or even reinvent them. Luckily, her sister loved warm baths. The river was always frigid, even in the summer. In the winter, the water was so cold most resorted to a simple sponge bath, for it was difficult, let alone very uncomfortable, to wash in a barrel. After hearing her and Selah complain one night, Robert had spent the next several days with the blacksmith. The end product was what he called a bathing bowl. The metal, somewhat oval container was not very large, but one could sit in it—though the bather’s knees had to remain bent. The ability to relax in the warm water brought a level of bliss that was hard to describe.
Mairead could not recall ever needing its calming effects more.
* * *
Mairead MacMhathain.
Every woman who had ever entered Hamish’s life, even briefly, was either a version of heaven or hell. Laurel and Meriel fit the former whereas Selah and most recently Wyenda absolutely fell into the latter. Just knowing Mairead’s name should have ended the debate as to which category she fell into. But seeing the wet, beckoning vision before him, Hamish changed his mind.
Mairead unquestionably belonged to both.
When he had spied her sneaking into the kitchens, he had hustled over hoping to get a chance to speak with her before she ran back up to her rooms to clean up. He had assumed she was requesting water be brought up for a bath, but when he entered, he was surprised to find the large room was empty. Long tables were piled with various food items in various steps of preparation, but not a single person—cook, baker, or even scullery maid—was in sight. Hamish could not recall any castle’s kitchens ever being so eerily silent. The McTiernay cook, Fiona, was always yelling at someone at this time of day.
Believing he had been mistaken and that Mairead had disappeared into another building, Hamish was about to leave when he had heard a moan coming from the back room where the oven hearths were located. Curious, he went to see who had made the noise and why, but again, no one was in sight.
He was about to turn around and exit the room when a head popped up out of a large, odd-shaped metal basin. Keeping her eyes closed, Mairead let out an audible, heartfelt sigh and leaned back so that the base of her head rested on the tub’s edge.
Hamish found himself rooted to where he stood, unable to move or speak. Though he could only see the creamy skin of her shoulders and the upper curves of her chest, he knew she was completely naked. His breathing quickened and it sounded so loud to his own ears, he felt sure Mairead could also hear him. But if she was aware of his presence, she did not act like it. Instead, she lifted her leg into the air and began to run the small cloth along her calf and slowly up over her knee. Hamish swallowed, feeling every muscle in his body harden with sudden, painful desire.
Mairead finished with her left leg and was about to wash the other when out of the corner of her eye she saw him. She squealed and dropped low in the water. “Mo chreach! Yer aff yer heid!”
Hamish could only stare, mentally agreeing with her accusation. He had lost his head and if he found out that any other man had ever seen her in such a state, he would ensure they would literally lose theirs as well.
Mairead could not believe this was happening. She thought she had already reached the epitome of possible embarrassment, but she was wrong. Slunk down as far as she could in the water, she waited for Hamish to quickly apologize and depart, leaving her alone with her mortification, but the damn man just stood there staring as if he was waiting for something.
After several more silent seconds, whatever embarrassment Mairead felt turned into fury. “Why are you still here? Are you trying to torment me? Because I already know you are a toll-tòine. I need no more proof.”
Hearing her curse snapped Hamish out of his shock and he immediately recognized her insult was justified. He was blatantly staring at her as if he were a young lad and Mairead were his first glimpse of a woman. In some ways, he believed she was, for never before had he seen true female perfection. Every honorable bone in his body knew he should move and do as she asked and disappear from sight, and yet, something inside him resisted. Hamish recognized it was a hopeless battle. There was no way he was leaving knowing that she was in here alone for another man to accidentally find. The best he could do was turn around.
Mairead had to be having some kind of nightmare. She had to have fallen asleep and her mind was toying with her, creating what had to be the worst possible conclusion to what had already been a horrible afternoon. She closed h
er eyes and slowly reopened them. Her stomach turned over. Hamish was still there. The only change was that he had turned around and was now leaning against the table between him and the bathing bowl. The man obviously had no intention of leaving. “What is wrong with you? Do you want to find yourself at the altar by nightfall?” she screeched.
Hamish blinked. He had not considered what would happen if someone found out that he was in here while she was bathing. What surprised him was that he found the idea almost appealing. Almost. The idea of Mairead in his bed was more than a little tempting. But as his wife? Certainly not. His primary reason for coming north was to cut all ties with his brother and his wife—not create new and even stronger ones. No situation, even this precarious one, could induce him to change that goal. And no one, not even Conor McTiernay, had the power to force him into marriage.
But Hamish had no intentions of telling Mairead that.
“Your mind really is focused on marriage,” Hamish chortled, thankful his voice did not convey the physical tension he felt in his lower regions. “Good luck, but you should give up including me in those dreams, m’aingeal. Even if you ask really nicely, I will say always no.”
Mairead gaped at his back. “I must be having a nightmare and it is you who are dreaming, if you thought for one moment I would ever want to marry someone like you. And . . . and . . . what in the devil’s own are you doing?” Mairead stammered as she watched Hamish remove his sword and then lean over to pick up a carrot. A second later a loud crunch filled the air.
Hamish asked himself that very question. He swallowed and said, “Thought that was obvious. I was coming in here to look for food and where I could get a bath. Now I guess I’m guarding you,” he answered, glad to have thought of something plausible to explain his continued presence.
When he had laid his sword on the table, his peripheral vision had cursed him with another glimpse of just what he was “guarding.” She had shifted to a more comfortable position and now sat farther up in the bowl. Her wet hair hung in dark waves down her back and shoulders, and her chest rose and fell with every breath. Hamish had gathered every bit of control he had to turn around and look away.
“You are . . . you’re . . . gun chiall!”
Hamish crossed his arms and smiled to himself. “I’m back at Foinaven, a place I vowed never to return to, in the dead of winter, arguing with my naked sister-in-law in the middle of the day as she bathes in the castle kitchens. I think we’re both insane.”
Mairead squeezed the wet piece of cloth in her hand and toyed with the idea of throwing it at him. Feeling helpless made her even more outraged. “Toll-tòine,” she muttered.
“You already called me ass,” he said in an infuriatingly agreeable tone of voice.
Mairead slapped her hand down hard in the water out of frustration, uncaring that water went everywhere, and let out a stream of curse words. Rather than being shocked, Hamish just laughed.
The muscle in the side of Mairead’s jaw flexed. Hamish was nearly as dirty as she had been and she knew just how uncomfortable it was. “Unless you want to greet your brother, and my sister, in such a filthy state, I would think you might want to head toward the river before the sun sets. It would take more water than we have at Foinaven to get you clean.”
Hamish heard her implication and wondered how many others thought he still had any interest in Selah. In truth, he had barely thought about her since arriving at Foinaven.
Her sister, on the other hand, was stirring something in him that was dangerous and forbidden. Deep down he knew he was once again on the path to pain for there was no way he was getting involved with anyone—let alone Mairead—while at Foinaven. But that pain could be easily avoided as long as he did not get emotionally involved. Meanwhile, it was great to feel alive again. To feel desire again. And he could think of nothing that made him feel more like a fully functional man than guarding Mairead as she finished her bath.
“I think I’ll just wait and use that contraption you’re in. If it got all that mud off you, then it can handle the little bit of dirt and sweat on me.”
“Little?” Mairead scoffed under her breath. Hamish said nothing and the only sounds were him munching on the carrot. “Fine!” she said crisply. “But I refuse to let you rob me of my bath.”
She then proceeded to the rest of her body all the while keeping an eye on Hamish, waiting for him to turn around and steal a peek. But after several minutes she realized he never would. And why would he need to? she asked herself. He had already seen everything there was to see. And obviously, he had little desire to see more of it.
Mairead watched as he extended his arms out and then massaged his neck. She stretched the same way after she trained the farm boys who desired an opportunity to learn how to use a sword—even if it was from a girl. She glanced down at the sword on the table. It had to be incredibly heavy for it was like him—huge. It was of course bigger than the small one she used, but she doubted any of the men around Foinaven could wield it. “Do you always carry that heavy thing around with you?”
Hamish finished swallowing the last of the carrot and said, “Only when I am busy protecting delectable damsels as they bathe.”
Mairead rolled her eyes. “And that happens a lot, does it?”
After taking in a deep breath, he exhaled. “Not as often as I would wish, believe it or not.”
“Well, I don’t believe it,” Mairead snorted. “Your reputation with women precedes you.”
His face puckered and Hamish was glad he was facing away from her so that Mairead would not know that her comment had struck a nerve. What reputation with women could he have? Besides the one of failure? For it certainly was not one of conquest. Hell, for the past several months, rumors were that he was living the life of a monk. And they were true.
The silence to her accusation riled Mairead once again. Why would he deny his reputation with women? He was probably proud of it. “Do you always sneak peeks at helpless women as they bathe when all they want is just a few moments of peace? Don’t you have something else you need to do? Shouldn’t you be trying to find Robert and let him know that you have arrived?”
Hamish lifted his right arm and waved a finger. “Well, um, traveling this time of year has made me rather dirty, which you have suggested more than once that I rectify. To which I agree—especially before I see either my brother or his wife after being absent twelve years.” He uncurled another finger. “Secondly, I doubt you have ever been helpless, Mairead. And as far as sneaking a peek—” He inhaled to pause for effect, and then blew it out and uncurled the third and final finger, before dropping his hand back to his side. “I feel no need or incentive to ‘sneak a peek.’ You have nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Mairead glared at his back. “I suspect your experience with women is limited to spying. Not even women who like beards would let that hairy monster on your chin get remotely close to them.”
Hamish’s jaw tightened. His facial hair was wiry and grew incredibly thick so that after a couple of weeks of no trimming or maintenance, it was definitely an eyesore. After four months, it had become the ideal female repellent. Still, he did not like the idea that Mairead thought he was actually naïve when it came to women. He may not know how to capture a woman’s heart, but he absolutely knew how to make a woman’s body sing with pleasure.
“Trust me. I know how to please a woman and have made many a female smile for days after a few hours in my company. You’re just fortunate there are far more enticing things to nibble on in this room than you.”
He was lying, of course. Not even a starving pauper would find a royal meal more enticing than Mairead in her current nude, wet state. Even a eunuch would prefer to stare than eat.
Mairead tried to think of a cutting retort, but nothing came to mind. She licked her lips and crossed her arms, placing them on the side of the bowl to rest her chin. From the back, Hamish’s physique was the most enticing she had ever seen. His leine pulled across his broad should
ers outlining the tension in his muscles and hinting of his enormous strength. She had never seen a man look more powerful . . . or sensuous.
“Are you going to stare at me or finish bathing? It’s not fair if I don’t get to stare at you in return.”
Mairead flushed and shrank back into the cooling water. There was no way he could have known she was looking at him. “I thought I had nothing you had not seen before.”
Hamish swallowed and gripped the edge of the table in an effort to retain the last shreds of his self-control. He was not about to reveal that he had been watching her reflection in the copper pot on the table across from him. His eyes had been practically glued to her shimmering form, wondering what she was thinking. Her facial expression had lost all of its anger and for a moment she looked like she was having an erotic daydream. He had been forced to say something to annoy her for if she licked her lips one more time, he would not still be wondering what they tasted like.
The water sloshed and he knew by the sound she had stood up and was stepping out of the bowl to dry off. If he had any sense, he would announce that guard duty was done and dash out of the room. But once again he was riveted to where he stood. Thankfully, she had moved so that she was no longer being reflected in the pot. The vividness of his imagination was almost excruciating, but deep down, he knew that the image his mind was conjuring was nothing close to the real thing. If he actually saw proof of that, no amount of honor would have kept him from turning around and acting upon his desires.
Hamish gripped the edge of the table harder and prayed to God she would soon end his torture.
“—tonight? There is plenty of room in the bastion with most of the men gone. I am sure Selah and Robert would welcome them to stay there.”
Hamish blinked. He had missed something. “Them? Who?” he asked, clearly puzzled.
“Your men,” Mairead repeated. “Those large warriors who made the journey with you.”
Hamish crinkled his brow. “No one traveled with me. I came to Foinaven alone.”
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