“We are finished, my chieftain,” Grissa called out as she and the other two maids shot across the room and scurried out into the hallway. She paused right before closing the door behind them. “And all in the keep understand ye are not to be disturbed for any reason.” The door clicked shut.
When he turned back to Mila, both her stance and expression made him grin.
“Proud of yerself, aren’t ye?” she said.
“That I am, m’lady.” He offered his arm, then leaned close and whispered, “Or shall I carry ye to our bath?”
She picked up the whisky decanter in one hand and their glasses in the other. “I shall carry myself and these while ye ensure the hall door is bolted, aye?”
“As ye wish.” He did as she asked, then joined her in the bedchamber. Or he would have if she had been there. The door connecting his room with the bathing chamber stood ajar. Several muffled noises hinted she might be disrobing.
He unbelted his kilt, let everything fall to the floor, then stripped off his léine. After kicking off his boots, he eased open the door and swallowed hard.
His precious dove lay back in the large tub, head pillowed on a folded linen and eyes closed. Steam rose from the water’s surface, filling the air with a delicate floral scent.
“Close the door,” she said in a lazy, sultry voice. “I dinna want to lose any of this lovely warm air.”
He clicked it shut, then joined her in the tub. Rather than recline back, he knelt and stretched to nibble kisses along her collarbone. “Delicious, my sweet dove. Finer than honeyed wine.”
She combed her fingers through his hair and floated higher while guiding his mouth to her breasts. “As long as neither of us drowns,” she said. She slid a knee along his flank, then wrapped her leg around him.
“Oh, we willna drown.” He teased the tip of his tongue across her wet nipple. “I intend to bathe ye, dear one. Soap ye from stem to stern.” He paused for a brief suckle that he couldn’t resist. At the quickening of her breath, he moved his mouth to hers. “And when we’re both slippery as eels, we’ll writhe together to our passion’s delight, either on the bed or in front of the hearth—”
“Or all of the above,” she said. She reached under the water and treated him to a long, slow pull.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Most definitely all of the above.” He gave her a wicked grin. “And then I shall lay ye on the bed, dine on my favorite fruit off yer belly, and lap wine from between yer breasts.”
The smile she returned was just as wicked and even more inflaming as she slid her fingers down his cock and palmed his bollocks. “I intend to do some dining myself.” She licked his ear. “I have a dire craving for honey-drizzled Highlander. Reckon the maids thought to bring some?”
“If they failed to,” he said as he reached for the soap and slathered it across her breasts, “I will send for it. I grant ye that.” He caught her against his chest. Their mutual rubbing worked the thick lather into bubbling frothiness. “After all, I intend to satisfy yer every craving.”
“I am sure ye shall,” she said, then squeezed him with her thighs. “I am sure ye shall.”
Chapter Eleven
Armed with hergathering basket and pruning knife, Mila took refuge in her favorite place: the peaceful herb and vegetable garden next to the kitchens. Today she needed some quiet alone time. Nothing bad had happened, but the stress of all the changes in the weeks since she and Robbie first arrived at Éirich Castle had become overwhelming. Much of it thanks to Teague announcing she shared his chambers. Everyone treated her differently now. Robbie hadn’t noticed, but she had.
She pinched off some mint, crushed the pungent leaves between her fingers, and inhaled the crisp, clean scent. It helped calm her. Somehow, it cleared and enabled her to gather her scattered thoughts. She huffed a soft laugh while rubbing at the green stains the herbs left behind. Life was so very different now. Kind of like participating in a never-ending history reenactment that included a genuine love story.
She tossed away the smashed mint and cut more to add to her basket. “I should not complain,” she informed the plants. “Teague spoils me.” And he did. The man made her feel cherished like never before.
Even so, her status in the keep’s pecking order had risen to a level she found herself ill-prepared to handle. Mrs. Cain consulted her about housekeeping issues. Greta the cook came to her regarding meals. The priest dropped constant hints about the sanctity of marriage, the value of confessing one’s sins, and the benefits of leaving evil behind. Most of the clan continued a respectful friendliness, but a few eyed her as if they didn’t trust her. And then there were those who made no attempt to hide their contempt or jealousy. Lizzie and her circle of friends always looked as if they were plotting Mila’s murder.
As early summer aged and became late July and August, that woman’s hatefulness had increased. Wee bundles of leaves, twigs, and the dry bones of small animals turned up in places to which Lizzie should not have access. Grissa usually found them while laying out Mila’s clothing or restocking the bathing chamber. Ill wishes they were, curses intended to bring her bad luck. Mila recognized it as a hate campaign but wasn’t sure what to do other than ignore it. At least social media didn’t yet exist and give Lizzie even more means of attacking her.
A memory came to her as she knelt to harvest a stem of rosemary. Gran’s grimoire and teachings came back to her word for word. Lizzie best take care. How many times had Gran and Mother both stressedan’ it harm none, do what ye will? Along withwhatsoever ye send out returns to ye times three?
“There ye be, mistress.”
Mila looked up and smiled, grateful for the interruption. Maybe alone time had been a bad idea after all. “Aye, here I am.”
Grissa hurried up the path, her sunny disposition making her face glow. As she neared, she cast a quick look all around. “Does my heart good to see ye smiling and unaffected by yet another ill wish.” She stamped her foot. “If I ever catch them sneaking into yer chambers, I swear I’ll snatch them up by the hair and drag them straight to himself.”
“Ye dinna think Malie or Dorrie side with Lizzie, do ye?” Other than Grissa, those were the only two maids Mila knew who accessed her personal rooms.
Grissa looked appropriately shocked. “Nay, mistress. They ken well enough that I would skin their arses if they were to do so.” She gave a curt nod. “Besides that, I made sure they both knew ’twas yer idea that their straw pallets on the floor be replaced with real beds. I told them what ye said about hard workers deserving a good night’s rest.” Her beaming smile returned. “All the working lads and lassies know it was yerself who asked the chieftain for such a fine thing.”
“Teague wouldha thought of it himself. Eventually.” Mila didn’t reveal Teague’s surprise about the request. After all, the man believed the only thing that mattered was keeping his people safe, warm, and fed. Which was true enough, but a few basic comforts didn’t hurt either.
