She had never seen anything before with such focused savagery. It was clear to her that every thrust to the suspended dummy had Aidan’s name on it. And, she thought with a shiver, woe betide that man should he fall foul of Kenneth MacDonald when he was in such a murderous rage.
Kenneth fought like a man attempting to drive his demons into the dirt. Every thrust with his bayonet was sharp and wickedly powerful, driven by a barely leashed violence that was completely under his iron control.
Sweat slid down his temples. His shirt clung to him until, with an irritated growl, he yanked it off and tossed it aside.
Selene forgot to breathe.
His shoulders were broad, powerful, shaped by years of labor and combat. Muscles rippled down his back and arms, his chest rising and falling in time with his heavy breathing. She swallowed hard, heat creeping up her neck.
Maureen nudged her. “Lass, are ye all right? Ye’re gawping like he’s a Sunday feast and ye havenae eaten for a week.”
Selene snapped her gaze away, flustered. “I… I was merely observing the technique.”
Maureen snorted. “Aye. And I’m the Queen of France.”
But Selene couldn’t drag her eyes away. Every time Kenneth turned, every stretch of muscle, every flash of concentration in his eyes, his frown… tugged restlessly at something low and hot inside her.
By the time the sparring ended, Kenneth seemed a little more like himself. He was sweat-drenched, breathing hard, yet his expression was mild, his jaw no longer flexing.
Selene caught her breath as he and Callum approached, a smile curled his lips as he nodded to them.
“Did ye enjoy the performance, milady?” His voice held a hint of defiance, as if he was anticipating her disapproval.
She returned his smile. “Indeed, Laird Kenneth. I was impressed with yer prowess. I think Aidan MacLean should be shaking in his shoes.”
“Och. And I’ve worn meself intae quite a lather.” He grinned at her, obviously pleased with her remark. “’Tis time I washed away the toil of the day.”
He bowed from the waist and with Callum beside him, walked back toward the keep.
Maureen watched the exchange with a slight dimple in her cheek and a glint in her eye.
Drawing in a hasty breath Selene caught her gaze.
“What?”
“Naething. Naething at all, just enjoying the sight of me braither in a lather,” she said, all innocence.
It was then that Selene was overtaken with a swarm of wicked and unladylike notions.
At the mention of bathing, she could not keep from imagining Kenneth disrobing for his bath. What she’d seen of his bare torso has ignited an impossible desire to see more of his magnificence.
And, as he’d so unceremoniously burst into her chamber that morning and found her thoroughly disarmed and disrobed, it seemed only fair to play a similar trick on him.
Her mouth suddenly dry, she ran her tongue over her lips as they entered the keep and headed for the staircase leading to the bedchambers.
Maureen halted by the door of her chamber, her hand on the latch. “I shall wash and change me dress and join ye fer supper.”
Selene continued along the passageway, slowing as she drew near Kenneth’s room, excitement curling in the pit of her stomach.
She would fling open the door for a second, take a swift glance into the room and retreat. All she intended was to startle him in much the same way as he’d startled her this morning.
Of course, she had no intention of catching him half-clad as he’d done with her. That would be quite wrong – and she would never dream of being so ill-mannered.No.What she wished, was simply to teach him a lesson about knocking on doors before entering.
She drew the latch, flung the door wide and stood poised in the open space.
He stood by the hearth, the fire casting a golden glow over his bare skin, a linen towel slung low around his hips – perilously low. Droplets of water slid down his chest, disappearing into the cloth.
“Hell and damnation, lass. What are ye about that ye come bursting intae me chamber without so much as a tap on me door?”
