Highland Thirst by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell

a deep breath of the welcome
scent of meat cooking. One thing he was grateful for was that he could eat and
appreciate all sorts of food, unlike his father. “I will just go and wash and
then join ye for this feast.”
    “Wash?”
Brona asked as she moved to stand next to him. “Is there a place to wash near
here?”
    Heming
grinned and nodded. “It will be cold, for the water comes down from the
mountains.”
    “Weel,
cold water to wash in is better than no water at all.”
    “Come
with me then, but dinnae say I didnae warn ye.”
    After
Brona grabbed a clean shift, they walked through the thick wood to a small,
rapidly flowing burn. She took off her boots and hose and tested the water with
her toes, grimacing at the bite of the cold water. There would be no welcoming
bath in this water but she felt sure she could endure it long enough to wash
off the dust of travel.
    Just
as she started to unlace her gown, Heming walked by her and jumped into the
water. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts back together, for the man
had been completely naked. Brona suspected any woman would be stunned witless
by the sight of a beautiful man like Heming walking around naked. She was
surprised, however, that he had not made any loud protest as all of that bare
flesh had hit the very cold water; he seemed totally unaffected by it.
    “I
cannae believe ye just leapt right in,” she said, as once she had stripped down
to her shift she carefully stepped into the water and crouched down to begin to
wash herself. “‘Tis but one step from being ice.”
    “Och,
aye, it is cold, but I am nay so bothered by that. I willnae be staying in it
for verra long, however. This type of cold will eventually bother e’en me.”
    “Does
that come from your mother or your father?” she asked, used to how he would
attribute each skill or gift he had to one or the other parent.
    “Father.
Remember, my mother is descended from a cat.” He grinned. “I believe cats
dinnae like water.”
    Brona
laughed even as she hurried back onto the shore to strip off her wet shift and
rub herself dry with the old blanket Heming had brought with him. Keeping her
back to the burn and wondering why she would blush so in front of the man who
had so vigorously bedded her only two nights ago Brona donned her clean, dry
shift. She shook out her gown and was just tugging it on when Heming stepped up
next to her and dried himself off. She tried not to look at him and failed
miserably.
    “Ye
seem to lack modesty, Sir Heming,” she murmured, finally forcing her gaze back
to the matter of lacing up her gown.
    He
chuckled and kissed her cheek before starting to dress. “Mayhap, but I do have
admirable restraint.”
    “Oh,
aye?”
    “Aye.
Here we are all alone and out of sight of the others, I am naked and ye were
wearing only your shift, yet I havenae thrown ye to the ground and had my
wicked way with ye.”
    She
had to bite back a laugh. Part of her sudden good humor was caused by the proof
that he did still want her. Brona knew they had had little chance to make love
since leaving the inn, but she had not been able to stop herself from worrying
that once had been enough for Sir Heming. A man like him had to have had plenty
of lovers in his life and ones who were far more experienced and skillful than
she was.
    There
had been several times during the past two nights she had heartily wished
Colin, Fergus, and Peter gone so that she could test Heming’s desire for her.
While she would prefer a big soft bed, the thought of Heming having his wicked
way with her right there on the bank of the burn was enough to have her aching
with need. She wondered exactly when she had become a wanton.
    When
Heming stepped up behind her to finish lacing up her gown for her, she smiled
to herself. The moment he finished, he pulled her back against him and licked
the side of her neck. That sent a delicious shiver down her spine, followed by
a much stronger one when he scraped his very