Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) by Michelle Willingham Page B

her hands bare of gloves. In this place, she appeared like any other woman—a woman he wanted to touch. “I fed you. I helped you drink water.”
    He suddenly grew aware that she must have also taken care of more personal needs as well. It shouldn’t have embarrassed him, but it was strange to realize that this woman had taken care of him in ways only a wife would know.
    “It wasna my intention to burden you like that, lass,” he admitted. He enjoyed teasing her, but more than that, he was grateful for her help.
    “And I washed you,” she said with a wry smile. There was a glimmer of wickedness in her tone, and he reached out to take her palm.
    “Did you?” He’d suspected that, but it startled him that she was playing along with his game. “Now where did you wash me, lass?”
    “I washed every last inch of your . . .” She let the words hang, allowing his mind to wander toward sinful thoughts.
    “. . . back,” she finished.
    “How disappointing. There are other more interesting bits of me,” he pointed out. And damn it all, but he wished he’d been awake while she’d bathed him.
    Margaret’s smile turned smug. “I had to tend your wounds, didn’t I?” Her face was relaxed, and she tucked her feet up beneath her skirts.
    “Aye, you did.”
    She closed her eyes for a moment, resting her face against her palm. Cain watched her resting and added, “I like you better this way, lass.”
    “What way?”
    “You’re more like the girl I knew back in Scotland. The one who wanted her freedom.”
    She opened her eyes, and met his gaze with her tired one. “Sometimes I grow weary of being a proper lady. With you, I can say whatever I like.”
    “Aye, you can.” Cain saw the exhaustion lingering upon her face. He doubted that she’d slept much in the past week. “After this, where do you want to go?”
    Margaret yawned and said, “I want to continue searching for my sister. But we won’t go anywhere until you’ve regained your strength. I’ve no wish for us to continue our journey until you’re able to defend me from anyone who might attack a lady.”
    He didn’t want to admit she was right, but it was true enough that he could do little to protect her. “Another day or two, then.”
    “A week,” she corrected. “At the very least.”
    “It willna take that long, lass.” Although the burns still hurt, he believed he could endure the pain. “And you should send word to your family that we’re both safe.”
    “I will later,” she agreed.
    Cain couldn’t understand why she would hesitate, but he suspected it was embarrassment that she had not found Amelia and that they’d been stranded together.
    “Will you heat a bit of water for me?” he asked her a few minutes later. “I would like to shave.”
    “Of course.”
    Margaret brought him a linen cloth and a small basin of warm water. Cain reached for the cloth and washed his face. His beard had grown in, and he asked her to find a razor for him.
    At that, she began searching the cottage until at last she found what he needed. “Here.” Margaret held out a leather case containing a Sheffield razor, a strop, and a stone. “I think this will do.”
    He unfolded the bone handle from the blade and sharpened it using the stone and strop. Then he soaped his face and beard with the warm water, acutely aware of how she was watching him.
    The blade cut easily, and he kept his gaze fixed upon her. “Have you no’ seen a man shave before?”
    She shook her head, her cheeks reddening. “I suppose I shouldn’t really be watching.”
    “You could help, lass. If you’ll shave the parts that I miss.” Without a mirror, he could only shave by touch. He worked with the blade, and left a portion of the mustache over his upper lip.
    “Will you shave that for me?” he asked, handing her the razor.
    Margaret frowned, though she accepted the blade. “I’ve no idea what to do, Mr. Sinclair.”
    He lifted his face toward her and pointed to his