Page 32 of Wed to the Highlander

“I dinna believe in luck—good or ill.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but something flickered behind his eyes.

“What do you believe?”

“That sometimes, mishaps are no’ mishaps.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Camerons could be keeping me occupied so they can keep grazing on our land without challenge. It’s not unlike them to try.”

Her brows drew together. “They’d actually start fires and starve the cattle over a dispute?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. I’ll speak wi’ Lachlan in the morning. Double the watch.”

She combed his hair, long past due for a trim, out of his eyes. “Let’s hope this was the last of it.”

Duncan caught her hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. “Aye,” he agreed, but the weighty tenor of his voice told her he wasn’t counting on hope alone.

He heaved a sigh and pushed to his feet. “I’m for bed before I canna get there under my own power.”

“You can’t come to bed that way!”

His brows rose. “What way?”

“Reeking of smoke and peat.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a burnt pig sty.”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “Then, I suppose I’ll need to wash.”

“I suppose you will.”

He grabbed her hand. “Since I’m exhausted, you get to help.”

Wanting him aroma free, Maggie didn’t argue.

The water in the copper tub was tepid from her use. He said it was fine. She fed fresh coals to the brazier to chase off the lingering chill and added more water. As steam rose in the air, she was heartily glad for two things: the cistern heating system and that her bath earlier hadn’t depleted the water.

He stripped off his smoke-stained shirt and fitted trousers and lowered himself into the water with a groan that was half relief, half exhaustion.

Maggie knelt beside the tub, wringing out a cloth. “Better?”

“Aye.” He leaned back, eyes closing as she ran the cloth over his shoulders and down his arms. The soot streaked away, revealing skin flushed from the heat.

“I’m not a hothouse flower, Duncan. I could have helped.”

“Forgive me if I want my wife safe and not smelling of a sty.”

“I’m serious.”

He cracked open one eye. “Do you think I’m not? You’re the lady of the castle, and as long as there are able-bodied men around—”

“And women. Fiona and several others pitched in.”

“I’m not married to any of them. As long as there are men around to do the dangerous work, you’ll stay where it’s safe.”

“You and my brother are cut from the same cloth.”

“I respect yer brother, if you dinna know. Thank you for the compliment.”

“I meant, you’re both impossible.”

He grabbed her wet hand and brought it to his lips. “Stop fussin’,mo leannan. I’ve just come from battling a blaze.”

He was drained of energy and didn’t deserve her ire—not tonight, leastwise.