Highland Conqueror by Hannah Howell Page B

roof and in a proper bed. She had removed her cloak and draped it over the end of the bed before she realized Sigimor was still in the room with her. He leaned against the closed door, his arms crossed on his chest, watching her with an expectant look that made her decidedly uneasy.
    “The room is quite acceptable, m’lord,” she said. “There is no need to linger. You may seek your own chambers now.”
    “These are my own chambers,” Sigimor replied and smiled.
    Jolene blinked slowly in shock, then shook her head. “That is quite unacceptable. I cannot possibly share a room with a man. It would be highly improper.”
    “And sharing a camp with six men is acceptable, is it?”
    Of course it was not, but Jolene suspected she would rather have her feet roasted over hot coals than admit that. She certainly could not tell him the real reason she did not want him sharing her bedchamber. The very last thing she wished him to know was that she had been looking forward to this time alone, time away from his side, to try to tamp down the growing attraction she felt for him. It was odd, but she felt as if sharing a bedchamber with him would be far more intimate than sleeping next to him on the hard ground had been.
    “There is only one bed,” she said and wondered crossly why simply saying that word should make her blush.
    “Aye, but dinnae fret. Tis a big one.”
    Before she could respond to that a knock at the door announced the arrival of her bath. Jolene wanted to continue discussing the matter, but instinct warned her not to do so in front of the maid and the two lads helping her. It quickly became obvious that she was thought to be Sigimor’s wife and Reynard their son. When Jolene recalled the somewhat belligerent welcome she had first received, she decided that misconception was probably for the best. When the maid set up a privacy screen before the rough wooden tub, Jolene fought the urge to scowl at it and Sigimor. She had the distinct feeling he did not intend to leave the room even as she bathed.
    The moment she and Sigimor were alone again, she put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “Well?”
    “Weel what?”
    “Should you not leave now to have your own bath?”
    “Ah, weel, there is only this one. The lads will bring up another bucket or two ofhot water for me in a wee while. Liam and the others wished to bathe, too, and the inn only has the two tubs.” Sigimor moved to sprawl on the bed next to Reynard and then cocked a brow at Jolene. “Weel, set to it, lass. Dinnae let the water cool too much. Oh, and try not to make the water smell like flowers.”
    Jolene opened her mouth to vigorously argue, then closed it. Every instinct she had told her the man would not be moved and the hot bath she craved was waiting. Casting him a hard glare, she collected her lavender-scented soap, picked out some clean clothes, and then stepped behind the privacy screen. The screen was better protection than trusting him to turn his back as he had at the stream. This journey was proving highly injurious to her sense of modesty.
    Despite her annoyance, she gave a hearty sigh of pleasure as she sank into the hot water of the bath. For a few moments she just sprawled indecorously in the soothing warmth, but then her innate sense of courtesy and fairness reared its troublesome head. The man deserved to find the water cold, she thought crossly as she began to wash, but she would have to be satisfied with thoroughly scenting it with lavender. Her mood was much improved by the time she had bathed, dressed, and rubbed her hair with the drying cloth until it ceased to drip. She sniffed the bath water, and was still smiling over the scent of lavender rising from it as she stepped around the screen.
    “I smell flowers,” Sigimor said as he picked up the buckets of hot water the boys had just delivered and moved toward the bath.
    “French lavender,” Jolene replied as she sat before the small fire to comb her hair dry. “A