Page 38 of Wed to the Highlander

“When I pulled you out, you looked as though you’d seen a ghost.”

She swallowed then whispered, “Maybe I did.”

His hands stilled. “What was that?”

“I don’t know. I thought I heard sobbing. And I’m sure I saw something move. A shadow.”

“Likely a rabid rat.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Rabies was almost always fatal. The cure, which often failed, was even worse. She shivered.

“Maybe it was the children outside. And dust in my eyes,” she suggested, although she didn’t believe it.

“What were you doing in the yard in the first place?”

“Playing shinty.”

His eyes widened, incredulous.

“I’ve been so bored, Duncan,” she whispered. “You’re always off doing important things. I thought helping the women would give me a purpose. But I’m not very domesticated. The children invited me to join them, and it made the day fly by. Until I lost the ball.” He continued to stare at her like she’d grown a second head. “I couldn’t very well let one of them do it! That would be foolhardy.”

She heard her own words, a confession.

He stood slowly, towering above her. “Since you admit your guilt, we’ll go directly to the punishment phase of justice.”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

“The children are suffering the consequences of their complicity by letting you go under those stairs. Seems only right the woman who broke the rules should get the same.”

“Are youserious?”

“You risked your life. I’m deadly serious.”

Her breath caught. “Are you suggesting—”

“Taking you over my knee? Aye, lass,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Only it is no’ a suggestion. And if the look in your eyes is any indication, you’re not nearly as appalled as you think you should be.”

She opened her mouth then closed it again.

“I’ll help you dry off,” he said, retrieving a towel. “Then you’ll bend over that stool, and I’ll deliver a dozen firm smacks across your backside to drive the lesson home.”

“Twelve!” she squeaked.

“To start,” he replied. “If you wriggle too much, I’ll add more.”

She gripped the sides of the tub. “This isn’t how English earls behave.”

He unfurled the towel and held it up, meeting her gaze over the top of it. “It’s a good thing that, like you, I’m only part sassenach.”

She rose from the tub with as much dignity as she could muster. The linen enveloped her, Duncan’s movements to dry her quick but gentle.

Her cheeks flamed when he tossed the towel into a corner then moved the stool to the center of the room. The legs scraped loudly on the stone. Duncan helped her into a thin shift but gathered it at her waist, which did little to protect her modesty—or her behind.

He turned her to face the four-legged waist-high stool. “Let’s get this done.”

When she didn’t move, he nudged her forward. “Bend over, lass. You know you did wrong.”

Tears sprang to her eyes, her voice quivering when she tried once more to change his mind. “Duncan—”