her to precede him as he swung open the door
to their chamber.
“Duncan and I have been netting salmon for the feast,” he said as he
shed his boots and stockings then moved to the basin and pitcher of water
on a table.
Mary perched on the edge of the bed and drew the long braid of blonde
hair over her shoulder.
He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it over a chair. “Come wash
my back, wife.”
She studied his expression as he held out the cloth to her. She had
thus far avoided the room when he bathed, she could not avoid it any
longer. Her mouth went dry as she looked at him. She tried not to allow her
uncertainty to show as she stepped close, but could not control the wave of
color that heated her cheeks.
His tawny eyes studied her. “Did you not help with the visitor’s baths at
your uncle’s house, Mary?”
“Nay. Aunt Agnes said men were not trustworthy when they were not
properly clothed.”
“I must agree with your aunt. It pleases me to know you have not done
this for anyone, but me.” He bent his head, exposing the nape of his neck
as she ran the cloth across the width of his shoulders. Her eyes traced the
shape of him as his back tapered downward to his hips. The more heavily
muscled areas across the ridge of his shoulders and beneath the flat slope
of his shoulder blades bulged as he moved his arms. Growing aware of the
strength and size of him in a way she never had before, her hands trembled
as she touched him. What would it be like to rub her cheek against the
smooth skin of his back and put her arms around him? They were wed, and
she had never embraced her husband. Would she ever feel free to do so?
Turning, he took the cloth from her hand and drew her close against
him. “Your touch is gentle, wife. Mayhap I should ask you to serve me at all
my baths.”
The idea seemed both exciting and terrifying. “You are not a child who
needs help with your baths, Alexander.” She avoided his gaze for fear of
what he might read in her expression.
“Nay, I am not a child, but I should like you to touch me and learn you
need not be afraid that I’m going to turn on you and do you harm.”
She focused her attention on the russet colored hair that blanketed his
chest then disappeared in a thin line beneath his trews.
His fingers smoothed her hair as his lips grazed her forehead. “I
would like very much to hold you in my arms while you sleep, Mary.”
“Is that not what you are doing when I wake each morn?”
“Aye, but ‘tis not because you want it,” he said, then sighed.
She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides for she knew
not what to do with them. With effort, she held her body stiff within the bend
of his arm. Reluctantly she admitted it was not fear of his intent that made
her so defensive, but fear of her own response to his gentleness. The
desire to give of herself made her feel vulnerable.
“What is it you would ask of me?” she asked, on a husky breath.
“If you truly want to raise the bairn within my clan and you are to stay
with me and my kin, I would ask you to think what ‘tis we are to have
together as man and wife. There’s more to marriage than being mother and
father to the bairns born from it.”
“What other things would you be meaning?” She tilted her head back
to look up at him.
“I’m speaking about moments like this one, Mary. Moments of sharing
between us, where we are not feuding agin one another.”
Fearful of acceding to the reason in his argument, she pulled away
from him and strode to the fireplace. A chill hung over the drafty room, for the
fire had nearly burnt itself out. She squatted and fed the blaze two long
slabs of peat from the wooden box beside the fireplace. “What did I do that
made you believe I was not chaste?”
“I have never believed you were not innocent.”
She rose, and turned to face him. He was leaning a hip against the
table with his arms folded across his bare
to their chamber.
“Duncan and I have been netting salmon for the feast,” he said as he
shed his boots and stockings then moved to the basin and pitcher of water
on a table.
Mary perched on the edge of the bed and drew the long braid of blonde
hair over her shoulder.
He pulled his shirt over his head and flung it over a chair. “Come wash
my back, wife.”
She studied his expression as he held out the cloth to her. She had
thus far avoided the room when he bathed, she could not avoid it any
longer. Her mouth went dry as she looked at him. She tried not to allow her
uncertainty to show as she stepped close, but could not control the wave of
color that heated her cheeks.
His tawny eyes studied her. “Did you not help with the visitor’s baths at
your uncle’s house, Mary?”
“Nay. Aunt Agnes said men were not trustworthy when they were not
properly clothed.”
“I must agree with your aunt. It pleases me to know you have not done
this for anyone, but me.” He bent his head, exposing the nape of his neck
as she ran the cloth across the width of his shoulders. Her eyes traced the
shape of him as his back tapered downward to his hips. The more heavily
muscled areas across the ridge of his shoulders and beneath the flat slope
of his shoulder blades bulged as he moved his arms. Growing aware of the
strength and size of him in a way she never had before, her hands trembled
as she touched him. What would it be like to rub her cheek against the
smooth skin of his back and put her arms around him? They were wed, and
she had never embraced her husband. Would she ever feel free to do so?
Turning, he took the cloth from her hand and drew her close against
him. “Your touch is gentle, wife. Mayhap I should ask you to serve me at all
my baths.”
The idea seemed both exciting and terrifying. “You are not a child who
needs help with your baths, Alexander.” She avoided his gaze for fear of
what he might read in her expression.
“Nay, I am not a child, but I should like you to touch me and learn you
need not be afraid that I’m going to turn on you and do you harm.”
She focused her attention on the russet colored hair that blanketed his
chest then disappeared in a thin line beneath his trews.
His fingers smoothed her hair as his lips grazed her forehead. “I
would like very much to hold you in my arms while you sleep, Mary.”
“Is that not what you are doing when I wake each morn?”
“Aye, but ‘tis not because you want it,” he said, then sighed.
She clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides for she knew
not what to do with them. With effort, she held her body stiff within the bend
of his arm. Reluctantly she admitted it was not fear of his intent that made
her so defensive, but fear of her own response to his gentleness. The
desire to give of herself made her feel vulnerable.
“What is it you would ask of me?” she asked, on a husky breath.
“If you truly want to raise the bairn within my clan and you are to stay
with me and my kin, I would ask you to think what ‘tis we are to have
together as man and wife. There’s more to marriage than being mother and
father to the bairns born from it.”
“What other things would you be meaning?” She tilted her head back
to look up at him.
“I’m speaking about moments like this one, Mary. Moments of sharing
between us, where we are not feuding agin one another.”
Fearful of acceding to the reason in his argument, she pulled away
from him and strode to the fireplace. A chill hung over the drafty room, for the
fire had nearly burnt itself out. She squatted and fed the blaze two long
slabs of peat from the wooden box beside the fireplace. “What did I do that
made you believe I was not chaste?”
“I have never believed you were not innocent.”
She rose, and turned to face him. He was leaning a hip against the
table with his arms folded across his bare
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