The Laird's Captive Wife by Joanna Fulford

clad only in a thin linen sheet. It stopped short at breast and knee and, in between, the damp cloth had moulded itself to the curves of her body. Unbidden his imagination stripped it away and reminded him of what lay beneath, only mantled now with tawny hair that hung in a soft curling mass to her waist. Huge blue eyes met his.
    ‘My lord?’
    She had never called him by that title before and it took him by surprise, not least because of the thoughts it engendered. Involuntarily he glanced at the bed across the room. Her lord? Hardly that, but, by God, if he were…Recollecting himself he cleared his throat and forced his thoughts back into line.
    ‘I beg your pardon, lass. I came to discuss something with you but it can wait awhile.’ He paused. ‘Do you have all you require for now?’
    ‘Thank you, yes.’
    Ashlynn was aware that her face was glowing now with a lot more than the effects of soap and water; aware too of her present state of undress, and the disturbing nearness of the man. Nor could she fail to misinterpret the expression in the dark eyes. To her chagrin she saw him smile, a slow disconcerting smile that, though rare enough, did nothing to dispel her embarrassment. Clearly the rogue felt no such emotion. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. With that realisation annoyance woke.
    ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’
    ‘It’s a tempting prospect, lass. You clean up rather well if I may say so.’
    Ashlynn glared at him. His enjoyment grew. Under other circumstances he’d have seen that unspoken challenge well met. He indulged the fantasy another moment or two, and then reluctantly retraced his steps to the door. When he reached it he paused a moment on the threshold.
    ‘We dine in the hall with my men this evening. Until then, Ashlynn.’
    With considerable relief she watched the door close behind him and then heard the sound of his retreating footsteps. With indignant haste she dressed again, heedless now whether her borrowed masculine attire smelled of horses or not. It occurred to her that it might be a good thing if it did. No man was likely to find that remotely attractive.
    * * *
    Iain made no mention of the incident when they met later, a fact for which she was grateful. However, when at length he had finished his meal and his cup was replenished, he leaned back in his chair and turned his attention towards her. Under that steady scrutiny the blood leapt in her veins.
    ‘We need to talk, lass.’
    Recalling his earlier words she took a shrewd guess. ‘Business?’
    ‘Just so.’
    ‘Will yours keep you in Jedburgh long?’
    ‘No, another day only.’
    For some reason she had not been expecting that. Managing to keep her voice steady she said, ‘And afterwards you will return to Glengarron.’
    ‘Aye. The weather will close in soon and I want to be back before it does. Besides, my men are keen to see their wives and families again.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘You spoke once of wishing to go to Dunfermline,’ he said. ‘Is that still the case?’
    Ashlynn’s heart beat a little faster. Now it was presented to her she was by no means certain it was what she wanted. However, to say so would make her sound indecisive and anyway there was no viable alternative plan.
    ‘I must get my living somehow and can think of no other way,’ she replied.
    ‘Then I will speak to the king on the matter.’
    ‘The king?’
    ‘Aye. ’Tis he whom I’ve come to meet.’
    Her surprise was unfeigned. ‘When?’
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    She stared at him, her mind struggling to assimilate the information. If the king agreed to the request then tomorrow would bring a parting of the ways with Iain. In all likelihood she would not see him again. Once that thought would have gladdened her beyond measure. Now several different emotions vied for supremacy as she considered the ramifications. Underlying them all was something harder to identify. However, he was watching her closely now, waiting for her