Pasting a neutral look on his face, he straightened. Surely she didn’t mean to seduce him. Her husband had died only a few weeks ago. She was here to welcome him to his chamber, nothing more.
Lady Aileen gave him an enigmatic smile, so different from the ingenuous grins she’d shared with him when they were young, when she was still innocent and optimistic. Before Walter Munro had beaten those traits out of her.
Niall had watched it all, a mere lad, unable to raise a hand against the man his father had chosen to foster him but wanting nothing more than to rip those vicious arms from the older man’s body. Filled with disgust and anguish, he had secured a position in the laird’s guard and left Dornoch. Since then, he had worked loyally in John Mackenzie’s service. He’d never laid eyes on Munro again.
Looking at Lady Aileen now, with her pearly skin, cascading black curls and dark-lashed eyes, something deep within him clenched. He would never forgive himself for leaving her with that blaigeard.
“Will you come in?” she asked, gently persistent. “The servants have drawn a bath. I’ll help you.”
He bowed his head. “Aye, lady.”
The room was large, the walls covered with tapestries. A roaring fire chased away the chill. Beside the fireplace, a half-open door led to an adjacent chamber. The bed, draped with embroidered curtains, stood at the opposite end of the room. A steaming bath stood between the bed and the door, emitting the scent of chamomile to mingle with the clean, earthy smell of fresh rushes.
Lady Aileen moved away and bent to speak to a maidservant kneeling before the hearth. Clearly dismissed, the lass flushed, rose, curtsied, and hurried past him. A second later, the door thumped shut.
Lady Aileen held out her hands to him. “I didna wish to say so with our men surrounding us, but I’m so pleased to see you again, Niall.”
He clasped her hands in his own. “And I am pleased to see you.” If Niall’s throat were not so dry, he might have laughed at the understatement. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. If I can do anything…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, instead allowing the words to hang between them. Her grip tightened on his, her fingers cool, soft, and small. The hands of a lady.
“There’s no need for pretense now we’re alone,” she murmured. “Neither you nor I will mourn his loss.”
Niall looked down at their linked hands, unsurprised by her candor. She had always been forthright. “Aye, ’tis true.”
He stroked his thumb along one of her delicate fingers, tempted to ask her how she’d managed to survive ten long years with Walter Munro. She was a strong woman—stronger than he’d ever be.
“He kept hurting you, did he then?” He snapped his mouth shut, immediately regretting his impertinence. What a damned galoot he was.
She shrugged. “He let me be these past few years. He took more pleasure from his whores than from his wife.”
Anger swirled in Niall’s gut. The man was such a bastard. To have deserted his intriguing, bonny wife in favor of a few bawdy lasses who couldn’t possibly approach Aileen in beauty or intelligence…
Niall pulled his hands away from hers and let his fingers curl at his sides. Men like Walter Munro had no understanding of honor. Those betrayals against the wife whose childhood he’d stolen made Niall want to kill the man all over again.
Aileen’s expression softened. “Nay, dinna pity me. I accepted my lot without remorse. Three of his whores live here at Dornoch, and I haven’t set them out. I wouldna do so—they were my saviors.”
There was no bitterness or animosity in her words. Niall gave her a rueful grin. “I canna deny I’ve always felt protective of you, Lady Aileen.”
She smiled. “Do you remember the tree stump?”
“Aye. How could I forget?”
Whenever either of them had seen Munro in one of his rages, they’d lay a piece of heather over the stump of a fallen birch tree in the bailey to warn the other to stay clear of Munro that day. Her warnings had saved Niall from beatings at least a dozen times.
“The stump is gone,” he mused. Upon riding through the castle gates, he’d been assailed by memories of his time here, and he’d looked for the stump, only to find smooth ground where it had once been.
She nodded. “’Twas dug up a few years ago. I miss it. It saved me many times.”
“Aye,” he said gruffly. “Me too.”
The reminiscent look on her face called to him. His body resonated with the urge to draw her lush body into his arms, to hold her, comfort her…make love to her…
He shook himself free of that thought. “’Tis good I have been gone so long. Otherwise, I dinna think…” I could have kept my hands off you.
“Is that why you went away?” she asked. “You felt you couldna protect me from him?” She laughed, a soft, smooth sound that slipped under his skin like a warm caress. “If you defended the honor of every wife whose husband took a mistress, you’d be occupied every minute of the day.”
“I’ve no desire to defend every wife,” he said. “Only you.”
Her gaze strayed away, and she didn’t speak. Instead, she took his hand and drew him toward the fire. The gold glow of the lantern light caught the subtle sheen of tears in her eyes before she knelt at his feet to remove his shoes.
Niall stiffened at the gesture. This was inappropriate. He touched his fingers to the top of her head. “Please dinna kneel.”
She bowed her head. “Let me help you prepare for your bath, Niall. ’Twill me great pleasure.”
“I’m your servant, milady.” He’d do anything she asked of him. Even watch her bow at his feet when he ought to be bowing before her.
His fingers itched to stroke her head, to touch that sleek black fall of hair, to caress the gentle slope of her cheekbone. But the Mackenzie had sent Niall here to fetch his sister, to accompany her to Ellandonan as her protector, not to seduce her. To touch her would be to betray his oath to the laird.
There would be no way to hide his arousal when she undressed him. He would shame himself.
As her deft fingers worked the laces on his boots, he tried to think of anything but the thought of her hands on his body. He forced his mind to saddling a temperamental horse. To the puffed cheeks of a man playing the bagpipes. To haggis…
She moved behind him and with skilled precision untied his belt, which she placed on the table beside the bed. Niall helped her to lift off his mail shirt and unwrap his plaid. Her fingertips skimmed over the side of his arse as she worked it off him. Just like that, all thoughts of haggis and everything else fled, until there was only Aileen and her touch. Niall gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
Was her touch deliberate? An invitation?
Of course it wasn’t. The mail shirt and plaid dropped to the planked floor. Still standing behind him, she reached down to clasp the bottom of his shirt. In one motion, she pulled it over his head.
He stood naked, his arousal painfully thrust out.
Thankfully, she didn’t move from behind him.
“You must be weary,” she said quietly, touching the back of his shoulder with gentle fingers. “One of your men told me how hard you rode from Ellandonan. I…” Her voice caught. “Please,” she whispered. “The bath is ready.”
Chapter Two
Niall MacRae had the most beautiful arse Aileen had ever seen, smooth, toned, and hollowed on either side beneath narrow hips. As she raised his tunic, it had taken all of her self-control not to slide her fingers over those taut cheeks.
Appalled by her immoral thoughts, Aileen stared at the floor, battling the tremors coursing through her. From the corner of her eye, she saw flashes of rippling muscle and pale skin as he climbed gracefully into the wooden tub. He groaned softly as he lowered his body into the hot water.
Whatever had possessed her? His restrained, polite behavior showed that he took great pride in his position, that he took his duty to the laird very seriously.
She would bathe him, and then she would leave.
A stolen glance revealed Niall’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell with regular, deep breaths. For a moment, she wondered if he had fallen asleep, but then he cracked his eyes open and smiled at her.
“The water feels different,” he murmured. “Smoother.”
“’Tis infused with my grannie’s herbs,” she told him as she took the soap and ladle from the table and moved beside him, diligently keeping her gaze on the parts of him remaining above the cloudy water. “’Tis meant to ease the strains of the day.”
His eyes drifted shut once again, but the smile didn’t fade. “Your grannie lives?”
“Aye, and she is in good health. She has a bonny wee cottage upon the banks of Loch Ness.”
“I remember her.” He chuckled. “A clever woman.”
“Aye.”
“Remember that day she found us in the chicken coop? Munro was in a rage and searching for you.”
Aileen grimaced. “I remember. She scolded both of us, then shoved me into the dung.”
He laughed. “’Twas brilliant.”
“It took a week to get it out o’ my hair.”
Niall sobered. “A fair trade. You were safe from him that week.”
“Aye,” she admitted. “’Twas fair enough. And I never told you this, but later she took me aside and told me she approved of our friendship, but it needed to be more discreet. She didna want Walter, or anyone, seeing us and having the wrong impression.”
“Did she?”
“Aye. Before then, I’d never thought about it like that. Her warning surprised me.” She laughed softly. “I was so innocent.”
“But you were more careful after that. I thought ’twas thanks to your grannie’s scolding. You became much more…formal whenever you saw me.”
She nodded. “Not because I wished it, mind. But I didna wish to make it worse for either of us.” Scooping up a ladleful of water, she said, “Close your eyes.”
The water streamed over his head. Rivulets flowed past his jaw and down his chest. With her lip caught between her teeth, Aileen soaped her hands and slipped them into his hair.
It was just as she’d imagined, soft and silky. She sifted the strands between her fingers. This might be her only chance to touch him, ever. She would make the most of it.
She felt safe with him close. Safe from the laird, safe from Gilbert Dunbar…even safe from the memory of her husband. This was certainly a residual emotion from her and Niall’s days as youths together. Her parents had coddled her, and as a young bride at fifteen years old, her husband’s beatings had terrified and confused her.
When she and Niall had formed their alliance, however, things had become bearable. And, while neither of them could ever be completely safe from Walter’s abuse, Niall’s presence had made her feel so much stronger.
The first time Walter had released his wrath on her, it was Christmas Eve, just weeks after their marriage. Walter had been furious when she’d asked the men bring in a Yule log to burn throughout the holidays. He’d said it was a disgusting pagan tradition, that such barbaric and anti-Christian practices were not accepted in his home, and she had no right to waste his men’s time in such a manner.
Then, he’d beaten her. When he’d finally released her, she’d run out of the castle. It was late at night, and the gates had been closed and were guarded, so she’d had nowhere to go but the stables. She’d slipped inside and crouched in the dark corner of an empty stall, sobbing in terror and pain.
Niall had found her there. By that time, she’d stopped crying, but she thought he must have heard her earlier, because he’d been prepared with a handkerchief, wet strips of cloth that he laid over the stinging flesh of her shoulders, and a basin of warm water for her to wash her face.
He’d sat with her, not saying much of anything. But his companionship had strengthened and calmed her enough to return to the castle to face her husband.
From there, they’d developed a friendship rooted in mutual understanding, both of them knowing Walter’s true nature and each trying to steer clear of his wrath. Niall had deflected Walter’s anger from her when he could—often by manufacturing emergency situations that Walter needed to address rather than turning his violence on Aileen.
In return, she did the same for Niall, subtly turning his attention her way when he grew frustrated by his men’s inability to follow some command or by the dullness of his claymore or by disorder in the barracks—problems he would invariably take out on young Niall.
When Niall had finally left Dornoch, she hadn’t blamed him in the least. She would have left Walter too, if it were possible. In any case, by then, with Niall’s help, she’d become strong enough to withstand Walter on her own.
Now, she sighed. Those rare times she had been alone with Niall had been the safest, most content moments she’d experienced since her wedding day. And right now she was feeling that safeness and contentment again, even now, after all these years.
If only they could stay in this room forever. If only she never had to pass beyond its threshold, if only she didn’t have to go to Ellandonan to face her future… Niall would keep her safe.
She applied gentle pressure to his scalp, rubbing soap into every strand of hair. The more thorough she was, the longer she could stay near him. Gradually, she moved her hands to either side of his head, watching his face. His eyes were still closed, but his teeth were clenched and his jaw was tight. Despite her grannie’s soothing herbs and her own gentle ministrations, his body quivered, the muscles of his shoulders taut with tension.
Leaning over the edge of the tub, she traced the shell of his ear with soapy fingertips. First one ear, then the other. As she slid her finger down the rim of the second ear, he raised his hand out of the water and captured her wrist.
She gazed at his arm. The bulging biceps and powerful forearms. The fingers wrapped around her wrist held more strength than every muscle in her body combined—she was sure of it. How he’d changed from the days when they were both fifteen years old. He was massively built now, his body covered by a formidable layer of steely muscle.
And yet she was not afraid of this man, not like she’d been of Walter, who hadn’t possessed a quarter of Niall’s strength.
She gazed down at him, and something unexpected flushed through her. Niall’s body might have changed, but the guilelessness in his blue eyes hadn’t. His honorable nature hadn’t. She still knew him, she realized. Knowing him required few words now, just like when they were youths. They had a natural compatibility in temperament that she couldn’t explain, because she’d never had it with anyone else.
“Aileen.”
His low, rasping voice wrapped around her like a blanket. All she wanted was to sink herself into it, into him, to let herself go. And now, there was more to it than the easy friendship they’d experienced so many years ago. Now, there was a pull in her abdomen, a physical draw that was so powerful, something warm and dark unfurled in her body, recognizing him on a far more intimate, bodily level. A carnal level.
He had never called her by her first name before. Not even back then.
She blinked, he dropped her hand, and the moment was broken.
Blowing out a harsh breath, he looked away from her. “I’m sorry, milady.”
Aileen held her wrist before her, slowly turning it over. Pearly beads of water dripped from her skin. A soapy stream trickled down her forearm.
Becoming involved with Niall would lead to embarrassment and heartbreak, possibly worse. This warrior couldn’t be the key to her freedom. She must marry someone with land and power, and Niall possessed neither.
“I just remembered—” Her voice was low, breathless. She wrenched her gaze to his face. Golden flames from the hearth reflected off the deep blue of his eyes. She struggled to find some lie, some excuse. She had to leave before she did something she would regret forever. “I…I must go. I’m needed in the kitchens.”
A long delay pre
ceded his answer.
Oh God, she wanted him. She wanted him to make her body sing, to make her cry out, not in misery, like Walter had, but in pleasure.
Walter. His name brought her back to her senses. Her husband had died not a month past.
“Of course, milady.” Niall’s voice was gentle, but his skin was flushed, his muscles drawn tight. The way he was looking at her…there was such heat residing in those blue eyes.
Sweat broke out across Aileen’s brow. “I’ll send a servant—”
He waved his hand, flinging a droplet to her lip. Her tongue darted out to capture the bead of water. The essence of Niall drifted across her tongue. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
“Please dinna trouble the servants on my account. I’ll manage.”
“Aye.” Slowly, she rose and dragged herself across the room. Leaving him hurt. It didn’t make any sense, but it felt like she left part of herself behind.
At the door, she paused. “Good night, Niall.”
His look was indecipherable. “Good night, milady.”
It seemed to take forever for her to escape from the room into the dark hallway beyond. Once the door was firmly shut, she slumped against it, letting out a ragged breath.
She had never felt like that in a man’s presence before. Even now, erotic images fluttered through her mind. Of touching his naked body, feeling the ridges and peaks of him under her fingertips. Of him stripping off her clothes, of his big hands on her body. Of his lips on hers…
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. This was madness.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
She straightened to her full height and brushed the wrinkles from her dress. Being so close to him after not having seen a male body in its prime for years—she’d experienced a moment of weakness.
The past month had been so draining, what with Walter’s sudden death, his funeral and burial. And now she was summoned to the laird’s castle to learn her fate—a fate she knew she wouldn’t like.
That explained it. She was overwrought.
A few feet down the hall, a chamber door was cracked open. Aileen began to push it shut, but the gentle sound of splashing water came from within, and she remembered that this room adjoined Niall’s.
A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors) Page 30