soap touched every inch of the shift before putting the bar on the rock ledge of the pool.
"I believe next I am to work the suds into the cloth, aye?"
Too choked to speak, she could merely nod warily.
Using his free hand, he did exactly that, being far gentler than the washerwoman and her helper in Abigail's father's keep. Indeed, every movement of his hand against the linen was more a caress than a scrubbing. And each touch left her more and more breathless.
"You have a strange way of washing clothing in the Highlands."
"You think so?"
A strangled laugh made it past her tight throat and she nodded.
"Then you will be relieved to learn 'tis not something I have ever seen done."
"Only lairds wash their wives' clothing thus?"
"Only this laird."
"Oh," she gasped as all pretense at cleansing her garment slipped away.
Knowing and clever fingers caressed her through the wet shift, causing it to rub sensually against her skin. She'd never known such sensation, not even when he had touched her in the tent. This was pure decadence, making her feel more naked wearing her shift than she had under the furs for the past two nights.
She did not know when he had released her to touch her with both hands, but they cupped and squeezed her buttocks through the fabric. She felt marked and possessed by that simple touch. Then one hand slid around to draw indecipherable patterns on her stomach. Bit by slow bit, his hand moved upward until he reached her breast.
Long, masculine fingers curled around her in an intimate hold that seared her to her soul. Using the wet fabric, he abraded her nipples until her thighs quivered with the tension of wanting more. Yet for all the pleasure she knew there was to be had in his arms, she could not make herself ask for it.
He continued to caress her bottom through the shirt and her legs parted of their own volition as she fought the urge to return the touch. More out of fear of doing it wrong than what it might lead to.
"I think my shift is clean," she said between panting breaths.
"Then I believe it is time to wash you." He removed the garment without another word.
She thought she had felt naked and vulnerable, but now she knew it had been as nothing compared to being in the water with the barrier of her undergarment gone.
She stared up at him. "Shall I wash you?"
His eyes widened, telling her she'd managed to give voice to the words, not merely mouth them. As the silence between them stretched, she wanted to duck her head, to hide from his probing expression. However, she could not afford to miss anything he might say, so she stood in a wealth of trepidation to see how he would respond to her boldness.
"Do you remember what I said in the MacDonald cottage?"
She nodded. Every word had been seared into her brain.
"You will touch me as I touch you."
"But I don't know how," Abigail admitted. No matter how much she wished she did.
She wanted to give him pleasure as he had given her.
"You believe I have a wealth of experience touching women?"
Possessive fury welled up in her, taking her breath for a second. "Don't you?" she asked, nevertheless.
"No."
Her shock must have shown on her face because he smiled. "Our clan believes that penetration is as good as speaking vows between two people."
"There is a long distance between touching and deflowering." Or so her sister had insisted.
Talorc shrugged.
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps I have touched a woman or two, but never with the intimacy of this moment."
"You'd better not have." She didn't know where the words or the ferocity came from, but she wouldn't take either back.
Talorc did not seem bothered. In fact, once again, he smiled.
She would have told him to wipe the smug look from his face, but he lifted her against his body and all her air left her.
"If you are going to wash me, do it now."
She did not know how he expected her to do so and said as much.
He rubbed his hardness
"I believe next I am to work the suds into the cloth, aye?"
Too choked to speak, she could merely nod warily.
Using his free hand, he did exactly that, being far gentler than the washerwoman and her helper in Abigail's father's keep. Indeed, every movement of his hand against the linen was more a caress than a scrubbing. And each touch left her more and more breathless.
"You have a strange way of washing clothing in the Highlands."
"You think so?"
A strangled laugh made it past her tight throat and she nodded.
"Then you will be relieved to learn 'tis not something I have ever seen done."
"Only lairds wash their wives' clothing thus?"
"Only this laird."
"Oh," she gasped as all pretense at cleansing her garment slipped away.
Knowing and clever fingers caressed her through the wet shift, causing it to rub sensually against her skin. She'd never known such sensation, not even when he had touched her in the tent. This was pure decadence, making her feel more naked wearing her shift than she had under the furs for the past two nights.
She did not know when he had released her to touch her with both hands, but they cupped and squeezed her buttocks through the fabric. She felt marked and possessed by that simple touch. Then one hand slid around to draw indecipherable patterns on her stomach. Bit by slow bit, his hand moved upward until he reached her breast.
Long, masculine fingers curled around her in an intimate hold that seared her to her soul. Using the wet fabric, he abraded her nipples until her thighs quivered with the tension of wanting more. Yet for all the pleasure she knew there was to be had in his arms, she could not make herself ask for it.
He continued to caress her bottom through the shirt and her legs parted of their own volition as she fought the urge to return the touch. More out of fear of doing it wrong than what it might lead to.
"I think my shift is clean," she said between panting breaths.
"Then I believe it is time to wash you." He removed the garment without another word.
She thought she had felt naked and vulnerable, but now she knew it had been as nothing compared to being in the water with the barrier of her undergarment gone.
She stared up at him. "Shall I wash you?"
His eyes widened, telling her she'd managed to give voice to the words, not merely mouth them. As the silence between them stretched, she wanted to duck her head, to hide from his probing expression. However, she could not afford to miss anything he might say, so she stood in a wealth of trepidation to see how he would respond to her boldness.
"Do you remember what I said in the MacDonald cottage?"
She nodded. Every word had been seared into her brain.
"You will touch me as I touch you."
"But I don't know how," Abigail admitted. No matter how much she wished she did.
She wanted to give him pleasure as he had given her.
"You believe I have a wealth of experience touching women?"
Possessive fury welled up in her, taking her breath for a second. "Don't you?" she asked, nevertheless.
"No."
Her shock must have shown on her face because he smiled. "Our clan believes that penetration is as good as speaking vows between two people."
"There is a long distance between touching and deflowering." Or so her sister had insisted.
Talorc shrugged.
She frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Perhaps I have touched a woman or two, but never with the intimacy of this moment."
"You'd better not have." She didn't know where the words or the ferocity came from, but she wouldn't take either back.
Talorc did not seem bothered. In fact, once again, he smiled.
She would have told him to wipe the smug look from his face, but he lifted her against his body and all her air left her.
"If you are going to wash me, do it now."
She did not know how he expected her to do so and said as much.
He rubbed his hardness
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