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Page 18 of Her Highlander’s Darkest Temptation (Highlanders of Cadney #14)

Laird Ranald shrugged, then sat forward a little further forward in the tub.

Lydia carefully applied the cake of soap to the wet skin, applying a generous layer before she took the cloth and worked it into a fine lather.

Once his back was covered with a fine layer of suds, she leaned in and applied careful pressure to scrub the broad back in front of her.

It was such a strange feeling. She wasn’t technically touching the laird’s skin, and yet, she was acutely aware of the nude form before her, and how thin the barrier of cloth was between them.

As she worked, she could feel the contours of the muscles on his back, the way every muscle flexed with his breathing and every shift of his weight.

It was an intoxicating feeling and she knew she was blushing from the roots of her hair to the center of her chest.

She tried to distract herself by thinking of other things.

There were scars patched across Laird Ranald’s skin, small thin lines that looked like stab marks, and more irregular marks that she had no idea what might have caused them.

There were also a number of very faint lines that looked as if they might be whip marks…

she tore her thoughts away from that idea, shuddering to think that anyone might do such a thing to any other living being.

Then there were the tattoos. They linked across his skin in a tracery of black lines, elegant knotwork connecting to images with meanings that she had no hope of divining.

Together with the scars, they told a story, and one she wanted to know more with each passing day.

She couldn’t ask - dared not ask - but for a moment, she allowed her hand to linger on the images, and on the scars, tracing them with gentle compassion.

“Ye’ve good, steady hands. Wouldnae mind if ye washed more o’ me.” Laird Ranald stretched his arms out, until his wrists were resting on the edges of the tub. “Me arms, for example.”

Lydia swallowed hard. “If ye wish, my laird.”

Tentatively, she moved to pick up the soap again, to run it across the tanned skin of his arms, from shoulders to wrist - first the right side, then the left.

The pronounced swell of his upper arms, then the graceful taper of his forearms, the well-defined lines of muscles in his wrists and the back of his hands when he flexed them, it was all mesmerizing in a way that Lydia had never experienced.

Even the dusting of fine, pale hair across the back of his arm was intriguing.

Washing his hands for him felt incredibly intimate, and it made Lydia’s belly clench and the muscles flutter, leaving her feeling tingly and shivery underneath the skin. There was a tightness in her lower abdomen that she couldn’t explain, and it deepened every time she touched Laird Ranald.

“Legs and belly next.”

Lydia started and almost dropped the washcloth. She’d become so focused on what she was doing, she’d almost forgotten that Laird Ranald was conscious and watching her every move.

She was mortified at the very suggestion he’d made. That he would even think she might touch him there … but she was his maid servant, and perhaps that was another duty of a personal maid servant? She wouldn’t have thought so, but then, she had so little experience.

She would have thought that their being of opposite sexes would have prevented such duties, but if she was wrong, and it didn’t matter, then she would have to find a way to manage, no matter how much it discomforted her. She was steeling herself to make the attempt when Laird Ranald spoke again.

“Ye blush easily, I can tell even without seein’ yer face properly that ye must be the color o’ a rose.

” There was no mistaking the amusement in Laird Ranald’s voice when he spoke.

“Ye’re a tentative lass, an’ ye act as if ye’ve nay experience with things a personal maid or manservant would ken. Here, give me that.”

He took the cloth from her. “I’ll be wantin’ tae wash me hair. Make sure there’s enough water fer it, while I finish up.”

Lydia turned away, grateful to be spared any further embarrassment.

The water in the pot was low, so after a brief word to Laird Ranald, she left to get another half a bucket.

By the time she returned, he had resumed his seat in the tub, and the suds of soap on the water obscured any sight of things it was improper for her to see.

Washing hair was something she knew how to do, even if Elswith had usually helped her with hers. And at least Laird Ranald’s hair was much shorter than her own.

She tipped a pitcher of warm water over his head to dampen the tousled blond locks, then helped him massage the appropriate concoction into his hair.

Once that was done, she guided him to tip his head back, and poured water carefully over his head to rinse the mixture from his locks, pouring multiple pitchers until she was sure that nothing remained. “Shall I comb it for ye, my laird?”

“Aye. If ye like.” His voice was quiet, almost as if he were half-asleep.

Lydia rose and fetched a brush she’d seen in the other room, then brought it back.

In truth, there was little to do - a single pass of the brush smoothed the worst of the tangles from the short golden strands, and a third shaped them around his head, leaving him with a gleaming, dripping helmet of gold that swirled around his ears and just teased the back of his neck.

“That will dae.” Laird Ranald sat up and stretched, then put his hands on the sides of the tub.

Lydia recognized what he was about to do and scrambled for the towel.

She managed to get it between her and Laird Ranald, then unfolded and extended into a sort of makeshift divider before he rose. He chuckled again.

“Och, ye are a ridiculously shy lass.” A strong, blunt hand took the towel from her and he wrapped it around his midsection.

It still left a disquieting amount of bare skin on display, now gleaming with the water droplets sliding down his body, but at least it hid the most pertinent portions of his anatomy.

“Away with ye. Send Maisie an’ a couple o’ the lads tae tak’ the tub away. ”

“You… you do not need my services any further, my laird? You are certain?”

“Aye. I’m certain. An’ I ken ye’ve other work ye might need tae assist Corvin or Evelyn with.

Go on with ye, an’ I’ll see ye in the morning.

” He stopped a moment. “Och, but I’ll be breakin’ me fast in the Great Hall afore joining the men in training, so ye dinnae need tae bring me a tray. Just be ready tae serve me there.”

“Aye, my laird.” Lydia bowed, then turned and hurried from the room before Laird Ranald could change his mind.

Her mind was still whirling, confused by the sensations that seeing him had awoken her. Her stomach still felt shivery, as if she’d swallowed butterflies, and her skin was still flushed, as if she was feverish, though she felt well enough.

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