“Aye,” he said, utterly unrepentant. “But I’ve two hands that work, and ye have mud running down the back of yer neck.”
Her shoulders sagged in defeat.
“Fine,” she whispered.
The word barely left her lips before she felt him behind her, warm and entirely too near. She lifted her hair again, this time with trembling fingers.
Baird took the cloth gently from her hand. “Hold still.”
She did.
Heat pooled under her skin the moment the warm cloth touched her neck, gliding in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands were steady and careful, as though he feared hurting her. It was ridiculous. He fought raiders and trained hardened soldiers, yet he washed her neck as if she were glass.
“This isnae necessary,” she murmured, though the protest had lost all conviction.
The cloth swept across her skin once more, and Davina closed her eyes, letting herself feel the warmth, the gentleness, the strange safety of it.
Dangerous things, all of them.
Davina let out a slow breath, steadying herself, only for her eyes to fly open a heartbeat later. Baird’s hands had moved not toward her skin, but toward the fastenings of her filthy gown.
She spun around quickly. “What are ye daeing?” she hissed, clutching the fabric at her collar.
He blinked at her as though she were the unreasonable one. “Trying tae get this thing off ye before it takes root. There’s mud caked through the seams.”
“That daesnae require yer involvement!”
“It daes if ye expect tae get clean in this lifetime,” he said, lifting both hands in exaggerated surrender. “Christ’s bones, woman, I’m nae attacking ye. I’m trying tae help ye remove this so ye can get intae the bath.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Ye said ye were a gentleman!”
“I am.” His mouth twitched. A grin threatened his lips.
Davina dragged her fingers through her tangled hair, trying to steady her breath. The truth was, her gownwasan absolute disaster. It was heavy with wet mud, cold against her skin, and clinging unpleasantly everywhere.
But lettinghimhelp? Saints almighty, she could scarcely breathe at the thought.
His tone was surprisingly soft. “Ye’re standing there shivering, smudged head to toe.”
She bit her lip. He stepped closer, but not too close this time. There was no looming and no teasing grin, just quiet steadiness.
“Let me help,” he urged almost tenderly. “Ye’ll still have yer chemise on. I’m just want tae help ye with the laces and the gown as ye cannae dae it yerself.”
Davina glanced down at herself. Mud clung everywhere: to the sleeves, the bodice, even the ribbon at her waist and she was already exhausted from the day.
She inhaled. “If I… allow this, ye must be respectful.”
His expression sobered instantly. “Davina, I would never be otherwise.”
A flicker of shame warmed her cheeks for even hinting at the other possibility. She lowered her gaze.
“All right,” she whispered.
He waited, as if giving her time to change her mind, before reaching carefully for the ties of her gown. His fingers brushed nothing but the stiff, mud-streaked fabric, and yet she felt each movement as though the air itself had thickened around them.He loosened the ties slowly, gently, as though she were fragile in a way she did not wish to be.
When the gown slid down her arms, she clutched the edges of her chemise.
“Turn,” he murmured.
