gently scrubbed the creamy back and shoulders, the slender neck and arms, quickly rinsing them. “Ye'll have to raise yer legs, one at a time, lady, or I canna do them,” she whispered. Grimly Fiona followed the girl's soft instructions. “Oh lady, how are we to do the rest if ye canna stand up, and ye canna with
him
here.”
Fiona's eyes met the wicked glance of the laird as he sprawled lazily upon her bed. With a small mocking gesture he raised his goblet to her. Not a word passed between them, but Fiona was aware of the silent challenge. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, saying as she did, “Hurry, Nelly, ’Tis chilly. When ye've finished, I'll want to soak a bit. While I do, please warm my night attire.”
Nelly swallowed hard but went swiftly about the task of finishing her mistress's bath. She heard the laird's deep chuckle, yet did not see him once again raise his goblet to Fiona in appreciation of not simply her charms but her defiance. As for Fiona, she kept her glance impassive, although she was frankly mortified at having to display herself. She knew she was too damned slender, and her breasts were no bigger than young apples in early autumn. They would never really be big, she feared.
Angus Gordon drank his wine, but he hardly felt the heat of the liquid as it slid down his gut. He viewed Fiona's nakedness, astounded by the sensuousness of her form. Everything was in perfect proportion, even her pretty little breasts. They would grow a bit fuller in time, he suspected, but he hoped they would never lose their curvaceous charms or the pert sauciness of theirpink nipples. He could not see much else, for the height of the tub precluded it, and Nelly was discreetly attempting to shield Fiona from his curious gaze. After draining his cup, he set it aside and stood up, even as Fiona sat quickly back down in the tub.
“Ye've done yer duty nicely, Nelly,” he complimented her. “Now go to bed. Yer mistress won't need ye until the morning.” Firmly, a hand beneath the startled girl's elbow, he ushered her from the room. Closing the door behind Nelly, he made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he came to perch upon the edge of the tub. Reaching out, he twirled a damp tendril of Fiona's hair between his fingers, noting with admiration the creaminess of her neck and shoulders.
“Yer as bold as ye accuse me of being, my lord,” Fiona said softly, surprised to find that her voice was in working order.
“A man should be bold, but a woman should not be,” he answered her quietly. Her emerald eyes were really quite spectacular, he thought.
“Are ye just going to sit there while I soak?” she demanded.
“Aye,” he said calmly.
“Ye
canna soak forever, lassie.”
Silence descended, a silence so heavy it felt oppressive. Fiona hunched down as far as she dared without being cowardly. For a time the water was warm, but then it began to feel cool. She sneezed. Angus Gordon said nothing. Then he stood up and lifted her dripping form from the water, wrapping her in a towel. She was so surprised by his action, she had no time to protest it.
“Don't be witless, wench, and catch yer death. Ye have yer sisters to consider. They're better here with me than with one of yer brothers-in-law's families.” He began to rub her down.
“Take yer hands from me,” she snapped, hercomposure returning. “I'm completely capable of drying myself off.”
“But I am enjoying doing it,” he said, continuing. “Since ye are to be my mistress, Fiona Hay, ’Tis time ye began learning what is expected of ye. For the present, until I tire of ye, I own ye, lassie, body and soul. Whatever I desire of ye, ye will do.”
“Why, ye pompous lout!” Fiona returned, snatching the towel from him. “I promised ye my maidenhead for those damned cattle, and no more. ’Tis ye who have changed the bargain,
and after we shook on it!”
“The maidenhead of the Blessed Virgin would not be worth twenty head of cattle,”
him
here.”
Fiona's eyes met the wicked glance of the laird as he sprawled lazily upon her bed. With a small mocking gesture he raised his goblet to her. Not a word passed between them, but Fiona was aware of the silent challenge. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, saying as she did, “Hurry, Nelly, ’Tis chilly. When ye've finished, I'll want to soak a bit. While I do, please warm my night attire.”
Nelly swallowed hard but went swiftly about the task of finishing her mistress's bath. She heard the laird's deep chuckle, yet did not see him once again raise his goblet to Fiona in appreciation of not simply her charms but her defiance. As for Fiona, she kept her glance impassive, although she was frankly mortified at having to display herself. She knew she was too damned slender, and her breasts were no bigger than young apples in early autumn. They would never really be big, she feared.
Angus Gordon drank his wine, but he hardly felt the heat of the liquid as it slid down his gut. He viewed Fiona's nakedness, astounded by the sensuousness of her form. Everything was in perfect proportion, even her pretty little breasts. They would grow a bit fuller in time, he suspected, but he hoped they would never lose their curvaceous charms or the pert sauciness of theirpink nipples. He could not see much else, for the height of the tub precluded it, and Nelly was discreetly attempting to shield Fiona from his curious gaze. After draining his cup, he set it aside and stood up, even as Fiona sat quickly back down in the tub.
“Ye've done yer duty nicely, Nelly,” he complimented her. “Now go to bed. Yer mistress won't need ye until the morning.” Firmly, a hand beneath the startled girl's elbow, he ushered her from the room. Closing the door behind Nelly, he made a great show of turning the key in the lock. Then he came to perch upon the edge of the tub. Reaching out, he twirled a damp tendril of Fiona's hair between his fingers, noting with admiration the creaminess of her neck and shoulders.
“Yer as bold as ye accuse me of being, my lord,” Fiona said softly, surprised to find that her voice was in working order.
“A man should be bold, but a woman should not be,” he answered her quietly. Her emerald eyes were really quite spectacular, he thought.
“Are ye just going to sit there while I soak?” she demanded.
“Aye,” he said calmly.
“Ye
canna soak forever, lassie.”
Silence descended, a silence so heavy it felt oppressive. Fiona hunched down as far as she dared without being cowardly. For a time the water was warm, but then it began to feel cool. She sneezed. Angus Gordon said nothing. Then he stood up and lifted her dripping form from the water, wrapping her in a towel. She was so surprised by his action, she had no time to protest it.
“Don't be witless, wench, and catch yer death. Ye have yer sisters to consider. They're better here with me than with one of yer brothers-in-law's families.” He began to rub her down.
“Take yer hands from me,” she snapped, hercomposure returning. “I'm completely capable of drying myself off.”
“But I am enjoying doing it,” he said, continuing. “Since ye are to be my mistress, Fiona Hay, ’Tis time ye began learning what is expected of ye. For the present, until I tire of ye, I own ye, lassie, body and soul. Whatever I desire of ye, ye will do.”
“Why, ye pompous lout!” Fiona returned, snatching the towel from him. “I promised ye my maidenhead for those damned cattle, and no more. ’Tis ye who have changed the bargain,
and after we shook on it!”
“The maidenhead of the Blessed Virgin would not be worth twenty head of cattle,”
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