The Highlander's Lady by Eliza Knight

offered this once .
    Save…for one little problem. Myra was angry at him. Tired of him bossing her around. If she was going to kiss him, allow him to stroke her arse, it was going to be on her terms.
    She shoved against his chest and slapped his cheek—not as hard as she wanted to, but hard enough that it got her point across. Myra refused to be taken advantage of. Even if his kiss did send her body tumbling into a pleasurable abyss .
    Daniel looked shocked, took a step back, his eyes filled with both passion and anger. “ Do ye show no respect for your laird?”
    That pushed her over the edge as flashes of Byron’s shuddering breaths, his warm sticky blood, came to mind. “Ye are not my laird! My laird died!”
    She clasped her hands to her lips, not having meant to reveal so much. The man had no idea who she was and she’d kept it that way on purpose .
    Sorrow flashed in Daniel’s eyes. And his hand came out briefly, fingers touching her knuckles before he withdrew. Even in that subtle touch she felt comfort.
    “ Are ye a widow?”
    Myra chewed her lower lip while she contemplated lying to him. But what good would it do? If he thought she were a widow, he may not treat her so gently and insist that they bed each other since there was no maidenhead to breach. If he ever did find out the truth he’d not trust her either, and while she truly didn’t care how he felt about her in the future, she needed his protection now. Needed his support until she’d at least spoken with Robert the Bruce—and the Bruce accepted her news with grateful ears.
    “Nay.”
    Relief flowed freely in Daniel’s expression. Why was that?
    “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father?”
    “Aye.” Partly true, her father had passed a few years ago.
    Daniel’s lips thinned a little and he nodded.
    Before they could continue their conversation a knock had Myra jumping , the tension in her body painful.
    Daniel opened the door a smidge to see who it was and then let in the troop of tavern workers carrying a rickety wooden tub, a linen towel and several buckets of water.
    “Set it before the brazier,” Daniel ordered.
    As they went about filling the tub, Daniel lit a fire within the brazier, instantly bringing warmth into the room. A sudden chill went through Myra. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until now. The water they poured into the tub did not steam, and she prayed that it was at least lukewarm, else she’d die of cold before her bath was through.
    “My laird,” Sara came into the room, completely bypassing Myra and handed a folded bundle of cloth to Daniel. “The gown , and I managed to rummage up a clean chemise .”
    Daniel flicked his hand toward Myra, and irritated look on his face. “’Tis for my wife, not me.”
    “I but thought—”
    Daniel cut the maid off. “Give them to her.”
    Myra tried to hide a smile when she thought of him adding, ye daft woman , onto the end of his sentence, for he truly did look at the maid as though she were mad.
    Sara pouted as she handed the gown and chemise over to her and then quit the room. Myra unfolded the gown, pl eased to see that while it was the color of lush red autumn leaves, it was clean. And soft. Looked a little smaller than her own, but she would manage.
    After the servants left, Daniel sprawled in one of the chairs and gazed at her. T he heat of his gaze had her tumbling back to their passionate kiss. If she wasn’t careful he’d ignite her into a ball of tumultuous flames. Her nipples hardened, reminding her how much she actually wanted him to touch her.
    “If ye dinna have your bath soon, the water will be colder than it already is.” Daniel didn’t look in any hurry to leave.
    Myra winged a brow. “Then ye’d best leave the room so I may be about it.”
    Daniel grinned, gazing at the length of her body. Myra had to admit that she was glad their anger at each other appear ed to have dissipated, even if it was replaced by desire.
    “I’ve never seen a lady