He seemed to read every flustered thought racing through her. It was uncanny.
“Well?” he asked, in a voice that was soft enough to be a challenge.
She stepped back, the bed nearly brushing her calves. “I… I simply refuse tae clean meself in front of ye.”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Ailis reappeared carrying a steaming bucket. Another servant followed with more.
Ailis set the basin down and curtsied. “The bath will be ready in a few minutes, me lady.”
Davina tried to compose her expression. Baird looked entirely too satisfied for a man covered in mud.
“Good,” he said, not taking his eyes off Davina. “Me wife will make good use of it.”
She wanted to fling the closest pillow at him, but unfortunately, Ailis was still in the room.
So, Davina simply lifted her chin. “Yes. I suppose I will.”
The moment they were left alone, Davina snatched one of the cloths Ailis had left and thrust the other into Baird’s hand.“Here,” she said sharply. “If ye will nae be a gentleman and give me peace, then ye might as well see tae yerself.”
He took the cloth, but not his eyes off her. “Iambeing a gentleman.”
“Ye arenae.Ye are staring at me as if this were all wildly entertaining.”
“It is,” he said without shame.
She glared at him, but he only grinned in that infuriating manner. The man wasimpossible.
Davina focused on the mud instead, rubbing at a streak on her arm until the pale skin beneath showed again. The simple act steadied her breath. She could handle dirt. What she could not handle was the warmth crawling up her neck under his gaze.
The worst of it, of course, was behind her. She lifted her hair and awkwardly reached back, trying to wipe the dried mud clinging along the line of her neck. Her wrist bent at an uncomfortable angle, and the cloth slipped.
She tried again and again. The spot refused to come clean.
“I can see ye fighting with it,” Baird said from behind her. “Ye’ll wrench yer arm off.”
“I’m perfectly capable,” she muttered, straining to reach farther. “If someone would stop looming.”
“I’m nae looming.”
“Yeareabsolutely looming.”
He stepped closer. “Davina.”
“Nay.”
“Davina,” he repeated, amused. “Let me.”
She stiffened. “I said I can handle?—”
“I ken what ye said.” His voice felt like a caress. “I also ken ye cannae reach it.”
She hated how right he was. She hated even more the quiet patience in his tone. There was nothing mocking, nothing forceful, only certainty and care. And care was much worse than him mocking her.
She refused to turn around, even as her arm ached from trying. “I dae nae need?—”
“Give me the cloth.”
She let out a sharp breath. “Ye are insufferable.”
