She stared into his eyes, unable to stop herself from reaching toward his face. Gently, she smoothed a hand over his hair, resting her palm against the back of his head. Standing atop the single rung, it brought her face even to his. He was so close, she could lean in and touch his mouth with hers.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned, his voice in a low growl. Though she was shivering, she saw the flare of desire in his eyes. It was like last night, when he’d warned her of what he would do if he spent the night beside her. Her body softened at the thought of him claiming her, moving with their bodies joined together.
Quickly, she turned away, climbing up the ladder. Her breathing was shallow, her heart quaking within her chest. When she reached the top, Lady Marguerite and Callum were waiting. The light was fading, and Celeste stumbled toward the fire burning in the hearth.
“She’s freezing,” Dougal told Marguerite. “We need to get her warm.”
“I’ll arrange for a hot bath,” the young woman agreed. To Celeste, she added, “There is a smaller chamber near to mine. I’ll have the children sleep down here tonight, and you may have the space to yourself.”
Celeste thanked the woman, still rubbing her hands above the fire. Dougal was speaking to his brother, and she watched him from the corner of her eye. They were discussing the men tracking her, and although he’d tried to explain that there was no longer any danger this night, she didn’t believe it. They would not abandon the search so easily.
Servants were busy heating water and bringing it above stairs for her bath. The idea of sinking into hot water was near to heaven, and she was eager to get warm. Marguerite offered her a fresh gown to borrow, and Celeste followed the woman up the winding wooden stairs, grateful for it.
“I’ll send a maid to tend you in your bath,” Marguerite continued. She opened the door to the chamber and welcomed her inside. The servants had already added steaming water to the tub, and another had laid out a linen drying cloth.
“Before I go, I . . . wanted to ask if you and Dougal—” Her words broke away, as if she didn’t know how to phrase the question. Embarrassment flushed over the woman’s face, and she added, “I don’t mean to pry.”
Her words voiced a question Celeste didn’t know how to answer. In essence, Lady Marguerite was wanting to know if she and Dougal were lovers.
This night, Celeste craved his presence, even if it meant nothing more than sleeping with his arms around her. The comfort and safety Dougal represented were everything.
Keeping her voice in a low whisper, she admitted, “He means a great deal to me.”
There. Let her make of that what she wanted. Even if it meant Dougal slept outside her door, it would make her feel better.
Marguerite’s expression remained serious. “Dougal has never shown interest in a woman before you.” Her gaze fixated upon Celeste. “He is like a brother to me, even if we do not share the same blood.”
She did not have to say anything else. There was no doubting the warning in her words. Celeste nodded but met the woman’s gaze squarely. “I understand. But I would want him near to me this night.”
The servants continued to come and go, filling up the small wooden tub. Steam billowed up into the cool air, and the light was dim, despite the flare of several beeswax candles.
Marguerite helped her to unlace her gown, and within moments Celeste was in the water, up to her chin. She closed her eyes, so grateful for the healing warmth. “I will send someone to you shortly,” the lady said before she closed the door behind her.
Dougal held the cake of soap Marguerite had given him. “Knock on the chamber door and give this to the maidservant, if you would.” His brother’s wife did not wait for him to argue but fled as soon as his hand closed over the soap.
It was a strange bidding, but he supposed she’d forgotten to give it to the maid.
He went up the winding stairs and paused before the doorway. Though he supposed Marguerite would want him to sleep in the Hall with the other men, he fully intended to sleep outside Celeste’s door.
If Lord Eiloch’s soldiers somehow returned in the night, he wanted to be there to defend her. He and Callum had posted extra guards, with the reminder to the men to alert them at the sign of anyone suspicious.
Dougal knocked upon the door, waiting for the maid to open it. A voice called out for him to enter and his hand stilled upon the latch.
Enter? When they did not know who stood beyond the door? Were they expecting another maid?
Slowly, he lifted the latch, averting his gaze as he waited for the maid to approach. Instead, there was only silence.
He closed the door behind him and when he dared to look, every thought left his brain. Celeste was resting in a tub of water, her hair pinned up, while her bare breasts bobbed atop the water.
“Forgive me,” he muttered, turning to go. “I thought a maid was with you to—”
“Wait.” Her voice was calm, not at all afraid of him. Dougal froze with his back to her, and in that single word, his imagination filled in the spaces, reminding him of the bare skin he’d glimpsed. She wanted him to wait?
“I wasn’t trying to intrude,” he said. The steam from her bath made the air heavy, and the aroma of dried herbs filled up the tiny space.
“You weren’t intruding.” He heard the faint splash of water and though there was hesitation in her voice, she said, “Will you bring me the soap?”
His feet wouldn’t move. A rigid desire swelled through him, and he gripped the bar of soap as if it would somehow dispel the dark needs.
