Chapter Fourteen
“Now you see why it is called the Scottish Night room.” Lucian closed the room’s door behind them.
“I do, indeed.” Melissa walked into the bedchamber, enchanted. “We could be at Cranleigh, though this is even better,” she said, looking about the well-appointed room.
“I am glad you’re pleased.” Lucian didn’t bother to lock the door.
Doing so would be an insult to the innkeeper and his staff, for the One-Eyed Hare was famed for making wedding nights as special as possible and that included no intrusions, however well-meant.
It was understood they’d have privacy.
Dod Swanney was a man of honor and kept his word, even the unspoken ones.
Melissa stopped in the center of the room and turned in a slow circle.
Undoubtedly the inn’s finest guest room, the chamber’s trappings had clearly been chosen with great care. Rich blue hangings dressed the large four-poster bed and a peat fire glowed on a small stone hearth on the opposite wall. Several framed paintings decorated the walls, each one depicting the inn at some earlier stage in its long and successful history. The wood-planked floor gleamed to a high polish and a few colorful woven rugs leant warmth.
The remaining furniture, a table with two chairs, a settle, and a humpbacked chest at the foot of the bed, were exquisitely carved of age-blackened oak and bore the same sheen as the wax-polished floor.
Best of all, being a corner room at the inn’s rear, the windows offered a sprawling view of the stone circle, the hills and moorland, while also sparing newlywed pairs the noise of the busy courtyard at the front of the establishment.
A painted border of blue-and-green tartan ran along the edge of the ceiling, and – Melissa tipped back her head, scarce believing her eyes – the ceiling itself had been painted a deep midnight blue and carried almost as many tiny, dazzling white-and-gold stars as the actual heavens. These painted stars even seemed to twinkle, thanks to the hearth fire and the flames of the two candlesticks that Lucian had lit while she’d admired the room.
“There’s a small bathing recess attached,” he told her now, opening a narrow door that she’d missed because of the corner shadows. “You’ll find an ewer and basin with cool, clean water, soap, creams, and scents, and a tub bath that, while no’ longer steaming, will surely be warm enough to enjoy.”
“A bath, too?” Melissa joined him at the bathing room’s door. “They’ve even lined the tub with linen,” she said, eyeing it.
More medieval than modern, the tub was little more than a sawed-in-two wine barrel, but the rose-scented oil someone had tipped into its steaming-indeed water, was more than welcoming.
She sighed. “I would love a bath…” She let the words tail off, unexpected shyness descending.
“I have never bathed in the same room with a gentleman,” she said, feeling the color rise on her cheeks.
“I am no’ that, sweetness.” Lucian had already removed his jacket and stood before her in his kilt and his white linen shirt. “I am your husband.”
“So you are.” She was aware of her neck also warming.
Dear heavens, she must be glowing like a balefire.
“All virgins are nervous, lass.” He strode over to her and smoothed back her hair, and then set his hands on her shoulders. “We can wait with this until we arrive at Lyongate, but I’m thinking-”
“Better now?”
He nodded. “When we leave here, I’d like to take you on a roundabout way north, giving ourselves time so that I can show you some of my favorite places along the way. I suspect you’d enjoy such a journey more if you weren’t fretting about what will happen when we arrive at last at my home.”
Melissa knew that was so, and agreed.
She glanced again at the bath, so grateful that the inn provided such a courtesy. Going naked into Lucian’s arms, and then climbing equally bare-bottomed into the great and looming four-poster with him, would be easier if she knew herself to be clean, refreshed, and scented with the bath’s rose oil.
“Well, lass?” He slid his hands into her hair, began pulling out the pins so that, she was sure, her hair would spill free as it had at the Merrivales’ ball.
“I know you are right,” she spoke at last. “And I agree,” she added, feeling most daring. “I would think aboutitthe entire time.”
To her surprise, he laughed.
“That, sweetness, is the first time anyone has called me an ‘it.’”
Her blush deepened, especially as he was untying the laces of his shirt.
