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The interruption was as shocking as pouring cold water on molten metal. In a panic, Eve broke free and scuttled backwards.

Glancing at Adam, she saw he looked exactly like she felt. Breathless. Ravenous. Stunned.

Catching her breath, she managed to croak out, “Who is it?”

“Your bath, m’lady,” a man replied.

Adam pushed off of the door, but she noticed he reached down to adjust the bulge below his belt.

She blushed, knowing that must be for her. Then she blinked the smoke from her eyes, tossed her head, straightened her gown, and answered the door.

A sour-faced gentleman came in, followed by three beardless youths.

They staggered in, carrying large pails of cold water on yokes across their scrawny shoulders.

Copious linens were draped around their necks.

They carefully navigated the distance from the door to the tub.

Their faces were sweaty. Their brows were pinched in concentration.

They were obviously overburdened and weary from climbing the winding stairs.

Eve’s first instinct was to help them.

But she was Lady Aillenn now. And a proper lady would do nothing of the sort. Aillenn was accustomed to having servants at her beck and call, doing her bidding, no matter how difficult.

Meanwhile, the sour-faced man settled a great cauldron of water onto the fire for heating.

The youths dropped the bath linens onto the bed. Then they poured water from the pails into the tub, managing to spill only a drop here and there. All but the last lad. His pail caught on the tub’s wooden edge and tipped. Water sloshed outside the tub, down the dais, and spread across the floor.

“Finlay!” the man snarled.

The youth panicked and dropped the pail, spilling more water.

The sour-faced man charged forward in rage and seized Finlay by the front of his leine. While Eve looked on in frozen horror, he threw the poor lad against the wall.

Finlay’s head hit the plaster with a loud crack, and he sank to the floor, dazed.

Eve gasped. “He didn’t mean… ’Twas an accident.”

The man ignored her. “Ye!” he barked at the other two lads. “Clean this up before I knock your heads together!”

Before they could comply, Adam lunged forward. To Eve’s astonishment, he grabbed the brute of a master by the scruff of his neck. Dragged him, kicking and bellowing, to the tub. Then plunged the man face-first into the water, holding him under.

Eve held her breath.

The man struggled in Adam’s grip, his body twisting, his legs kicking.

What was Adam doing? Did he intend to drown the brute? She looked on in fear as he maintained an iron grip on the man splashing frantically in the water.

Finally, Adam let him up. But he wasn’t finished. He coiled his fist in the drenched linen of the man’s leine and lifted him up on his toes.

Inches away from the sputtering man’s face, he bit out, “Lay so much as a finger on them again, and I’ll lop off your hand.”

No one could help but be intimidated by the smoldering fury in Adam’s eyes and the deadly quiet of his voice.

“Do ye understand?” Adam demanded.

The man gasped, choked, and nodded. He knew he was outmatched. At least he believed he was outmatched. Eve imagined he would be less cooperative if he knew Adam was not the son of an Irish lord, but a common outlaw.

Adam released him. “Go. The lads will clean this up. Get out o’ my sight e’er I change my mind and decide to drown ye after all.”

Once released, the man attempted to hide his fear behind bravado.

He straightened his shoulders and walked stiffly toward the door.

When he slid across a wet spot and almost lost his balance, Eve tried to not take undue glee in his misfortune.

He closed the door behind him with more force than was necessary.

But now, Eve no longer had the heart to pretend indifference. She rushed to Finlay, who sat on the floor.

“Are ye all right?”

He reached behind his head. When his fingers emerged, they were smeared with blood. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Nay, ye’re not all right,” Adam said, hunkering down beside the youth. He snatched up a linen bath cloth and pressed it carefully against the gash in the lad’s head. “How long has that swine been tormentin’ ye lads like this?”

One of the other lads answered as he mopped up the floor with another cloth. “The master has always been heavyhanded, m’laird.”

The third youth, whom Eve noticed had a purple bruise under his eye, said, “He says ’tis the only way we’ll e’er learn, m’lady.”

“Did he give ye that?” she asked, nodding toward his cheek.

The youth lowered his head and confessed, “I was lookin’ after my sickly brother yesterday and came late to the castle.”

The second lad chimed in, “The master doesn’t abide lateness.”

Adam growled. “I should have drowned the churl when I had the chance.”

But Eve’s instincts to help and heal heard something different in the third lad’s words. “Ye said your brother is sickly?”

“Aye, m’lady. And my ma was called away to help with the lambin’. I was the only one close at hand to look after him.”

Eve made up her mind then and there. “I have some skill with herbs. In the morn, I’ll look in on your brother and see if I can help.”

Adam made a noise that sounded like he’d swallowed a bug. Then he gave her a brittle smile and said, “Darlin’, don’t ye remember? We’ve got to get an early start if we want to get to—”

“This is more important, sweetheart,” she said, fluttering her lashes and daring him to contradict her. “’Tis the least we can do when these lads have been so sorely mistreated.”

She saw a muscle ticking in his jaw. Of course Adam was upset.

He’d just done something to draw attention to himself.

’Twas the last thing a master of disguise wanted.

No doubt the news of the laird’s Irish guest who’d finally given the cruel master his due by almost drowning him would soon be whispered among the servants.

The Irish guest would be lucky if he wasn’t compromised.

But she had to admire Adam’s courage. His integrity. His sense of right and wrong. Clearly, wielding justice had been worth the risk to him.

Just as looking after the lad’s sickly brother was worth the risk to Eve.

“Bless ye, m’lady,” the youth said, gratitude shining in his eyes.

Still, Adam looked displeased. They would have to make sure to take all precautions to avoid drawing even more attention to themselves.

Finlay’s head stopped bleeding, though there was a large knot left which he said throbbed with every beat of his heart.

“I have just the thing,” she said, digging in her satchel.

Adam frowned when he saw the stoppered vial.

“’Tis only willow bark,” she assured him, removing the cork. She pulled a wooden cup out of her satchel and nodded toward the pitcher set on a small table by the bed. “Fetch me a bit o’ water, aye?”

When Adam returned with the cup, she sprinkled a bit of the powder into the water. “Drink this down all at once. It tastes terrible, but ’twill take away the pain.”

After a bit, Adam elbowed the youth and wiggled his brows at Eve. “’Twas satisfyin’ to see the man squirmin’ a bit, aye?”

Finlay gave a weak smile and nodded.

A proper nun would have scolded Adam for taking the Lord’s vengeance into his own hands. But Eve didn’t feel like a proper nun at the moment.

“Indeed.”

He gave her a wink that set her heart aflutter.

By the time the mess was cleaned up and Finlay’s pain had begun to subside, the cauldron on the fire was steaming.

Finlay asked, “Shall we fetch the lady’s maid now to help with your bath?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Eve said.

She’d forgotten for a moment that she was Lady Aillenn, who had servants for everything. Still, it seemed silly to be bathed by someone else when she was perfectly capable of washing herself.

Then she remembered she wouldn’t be by herself. Adam would be in the chamber.

Should she ask for a maidservant after all?

She’d nearly lost her wits, just kissing him. Almost forgotten who she was. What she was. What she was here to do. She’d been completely out of control.

But that kiss had been dizzying. Invigorating. Exhilarating.

In the end, she decided to remain silent and allow destiny to steer her course.

The lads gave their solemn vows to Adam not to say anything about the master’s brush with death. Then they left.

She raised a dubious brow. “Ye don’t really think they’ll be able to keep their word?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be.”

“Neither would I.”

“Which is why I was hopin’ to get an early start in the morn, before the tales get spread all o’er the keep,” he said pointedly.

She sighed. “I couldn’t refuse to look after the lad’s sick brother, any more than ye could refuse to give that brute his due.”

He nodded. Then he stared at his clasped hands. “About…before…”

“Aye?” Her heart was in her throat.

“I should have stopped. I’m sorry.”

A tiny fissure cracked her heart. Nay, her mind spoke. Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry. Nay, ye should have gone on and on, driven me mad with desire.’Tis what I wanted, after all.

Instead, she said the correct thing. “’Twasn’t your fault.”

That was true. She’d been the one to launch herself at him against the door.

“We have to keep our wits about us,” he said.

“O’ course.” She supposed he was right. Damn him.

He wrapped his hands in linens to protect them from the heat. Then he fetched the cauldron of simmering water from the hearth and poured a measure into the tub. “More?”

She tested the temperature with her hand. “Oh aye, much more, all of it.” Then mischief wagged her tongue. “Otherwise, ’twill be cold by the time ye get your turn.”

He arched a brow at her. “Just how long a bath are ye plannin’ to take?”

She grinned. “When did ye say we were leavin’ on the morrow?”

“Saucy lass,” he chided, pouring in the rest of the hot water. “Be out before midnight, or I’m climbin’ in beside ye.”