Page 40 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Thirty

I ’ll give you time to have a proper soak before I return, so dinna dawdle and expect me to linger about the hallway waiting for you to finish.”

With those words of warning, Colin stepped through the doorway and closed it firmly behind him, leaving Abby to wonder how long a “proper soak” lasted in Colin’s mind.

The friend he’d spoken of had turned out to be the laird of a clan friendly to his own.

Instead of a small hut as she’d imagined, they were spending the night in a castle at least as large as Dun Ard, though it appeared to have seen better days.

The laird himself, a man named Roderick, had seemed pleased to see Colin and even more pleased to see him accompanied by a wife.

Soon after their arrival they’d been shuffled into this large bedchamber, and a parade of boys and young girls had traipsed back and forth, filling the large wooden tub that now sat steaming in front of the fireplace.

Abby could hardly wait to climb inside and sink down under the hot water.

She untied the knife from her waist and dropped it to the floor, followed by the smaller knife she’d hidden in her bodice.

Then she pulled off her sleeve covers and her overdress, tossing them both in a pile on the floor.

Cold bumps covered her body as the breeze slipped in around the two high, shuttered windows, and her tired muscles shivered.

If she could muster the energy, she might try to wash her clothing out in the tub after she finished her bath.

Her shift followed next, along with the long pants Ellie had given her.

The cold air made her anticipation of the hot water all that much sweeter. She stepped into the tub, planning a slow, decadent inch-by-inch descent into the steaming water.

Until the door opened.

She dropped to her knees like a rock, sending water splashing over both sides of the big wooden tub.

It was Colin who leaned in the door. He tossed something in her direction, and as a reflex she managed to block it, knocking it into the water with a splash.

“I almost forgot that. Lady Rosalyn sent it along for you once she heard you liked it. It’s balm she uses, by the way.”

“Balm?” What on earth was he going on about this time?

“Balm,” he confirmed confidently. “And mint.”

As quickly as he’d shown up, he was gone again.

Abby felt around in the tub, at last locating the object that had joined her in her bath. Rosalyn’s handmade soap.

A little thrill tingled through her heart, bringing with it a smile to Abby’s lips.

Lemon balm and mint, though in this day and age, it was called only balm. Those were the herbs Colin’s mother combined to get that lovely smell.

He’d remembered how much she’d liked it and that she’d wondered what herbs his mother used.

He’d remembered that little detail about her, and then he’d bothered to ask his mother what she put in her soap to make it smell the way it did.

That he’d cared enough to take the extra time to ask made her happy.

That he’d taken the time the morning of their departure to do so—even in the midst of his ranting to every living soul at Dun Ard in an attempt to find someone to support his position that she should remain there when he left—made it even more special.

The smile his action had put on her face wasn’t going anywhere for quite some time.

Abby ducked her head back in the water, making sudsy the ends of her hair with the lovely little soap, hoping to banish the smell of charcoaled forest.

The hot water lapping around her sore muscles felt almost good enough to make her forget that she’d always favored showers over soaking in her own filth.

“When in Rome,” she murmured in an attempt to silence her annoyingly active inner critic.

All things considered, what she experienced at this moment was like living in the lap of luxury. If your lap happened to be located in the Highlands of Scotland, circa 1306, that is.

The water had begun to cool to an uncomfortable level by the time she finally managed to drag herself out of the tub, and she shook out the bundle of drying cloth the maids had left for her use.

No wonder terry cloth towels had caught on so well. Would catch on, she amended. These things were like trying to dry yourself off with big linen sheets.

A quick look around reminded her that the big linen sheet she was disparaging was all she had to wear for the moment, since the clothing she’d taken off was soot-covered and soggy and Colin had sent all their other things off with one of the maids to be dried in the kitchens.

Seeing no alternative, she wrapped herself up, toga-style, pulling the end of the cloth up and over her shoulder and tucking it into the tight wrap around her breasts.

Once she felt herself securely covered, she gathered up her dirty things and dropped to her knees, shoving her pile of dirty clothes into the tub. It might not be the best washing they’d ever get, but it had to be an improvement over what they’d been through in the last five or six hours.

She’d just started to wring out the long pants when the door opened and Colin entered carrying a tray laden with food and a large jug.

“Good,” he said as he set the tray on a small, round table in the corner closest to the fire. “Yer out of yer bath. Come up from there and join me for a bit of supper.”

Abby grabbed on to the side of the big tub to push herself up to stand, every single one of her muscles screaming in protest at the move.

As if he read her mind, Colin was at her side in an instant, his hands under her elbows taking the full force of her weight to lift her to her feet.

“Thanks.” She smiled up at him and might have said more if not for the chill of his hands on her arms. “Your hands are like ice. What have you been doing?”

“You had the tub, so I used the loch. Was no so warm as yer own fine bath, my lady.”

No wonder his shirt and plaid clung wetly to his body.

“Here.” She walked to the bed and scooped up the second drying sheet that had been left for them. “You should probably get out of those wet things. You can drop them in the tub with mine and I’ll wash them out after we eat.”

A look of surprise danced over his face. “Is that what you were doing there on yer hands and knees? Washing yer things? Roderick has maids to do that for you, wife. You’ve no need to do it yerself.”

“Those girls that were in here before?” She handed him the drying sheet and turned her back to wait while he changed. “I don’t think so. They were just kids, and besides, I’m guessing they’re all in bed by now.”

Behind her she heard the slap of heavy wet cloth hitting the stone floor.

That would be his plaid.

Followed by another wet plop.

His shirt.

Abby bit the inside of her bottom lip, struggling to wipe from her mind the image of him standing behind her completely naked. In the buff. Gloriously buffed in fact, she knew from experience. She’d seen him that way one too many times not to have the image engraved on the back side of her retina.

“Do you think you might lend me a hand with this?” he called. “I canna seem to manage the fastening as you have with yers.”

Her mind blanked for a second when she turned, the vision of him wrapped in the drying cloth, his damp hair curling at his shoulders, filling every available brain cell.

She crossed to where he waited and reached out to take the cloth’s end from him, only vaguely embarrassed by the way her hand shook as she looped it over his shoulder.

“There you go.” She tucked the end behind the material wrapped at his chest, patting it for good measure.

Or perhaps simply as an excuse to touch the hard expanse of his chest.

Had she been thinking of Rome such a short time ago?

It should have been Greece, because here she was, standing in front of her own personal Greek god.

Maybe Aries. He looked pretty warlike. Did the Greeks even have a male God of Gorgeous?

Because Colin could definitely be him right this minute, whatever his name might be.

If she’d only paid more attention in those classes, but she’d been so much more interested in Celtic than Roman and Greek mythology.

“Are we to stand here, then, staring at each other, or shall we have our food?”

Abby blinked and then blinked again, slowly dragging her thoughts back from the expanse of linen-covered chest spread out in front of her as all the fantasies it had sent her off pursuing faded away.

“Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Tired. Right. It wasn’t tired that was knotting itself around her organs. It was desire. Hot, desperate need.

She took a seat across from him, face flaming, and waited as he poured from the jug into the two cups on the table.

“It’s a fair honey ale Roderick’s people make,” he said as he passed the cup to her. “No so good as the one we put by at Dun Ard, but this’ll do in a pinch.”

She sniffed the brew before taking a sip. Not

bad . Not at all bitter, but it did leave a heavy aftertaste, similar to that of a dark beer.

“How do they keep it from being warmer than this?” There certainly wasn’t a refrigerator in the back room.

“I’d imagine they store it underground. That’s what we do at Dun Ard.”

She emptied her cup and pushed it forward for a refill.

Not quite a true cold brew, but cool enough to hit the spot after such a long day.

The wooden tray held meat shavings, bread, cheese, and dried fruit, the same as every other meal she’d had in this century with the exception of the large midday meal when she’d first arrived.

They’d served a thick soup along with everything else at that meal.

If she was this tired of the food after only three days, mealtimes for the next week or so were looking pretty grim.

“You know what sounds good to me? A big old salad. With ranch dressing and bacon bits and every kind of green leafy thing you can imagine. Doesn’t that sound good to you?”