For a horrible moment, Christina thought he meant to leave again. But when the cook ordered one of the serving boys after him to fetch soap and a drying cloth, a sigh of relief went through her. He only meant to bathe.
She’d feared that her peevishness had angered him. She hadn’t meant to upbraid him, but perhaps the sting of his leave-taking had not waned as much as she’d thought.
It was just her luck that he would return when she was on her hands and knees, covered in ash and soot. She must have looked a fright. A comical fright. Her mouth twisted, thinking of his expression when he’d seen her. He’d tried to cover up his laughter, but she could see it dancing in his eyes. So much for entrancing him with her feminine charms when he returned; a moreun-entrancingwelcome she could not imagine.
She hurried back to the solar to clean up as best she could until enough water could be heated for her bath later. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought of her efforts to lighten up the Great Hall and wanted to be there to observe his reaction when he saw it for the first time.
Mhairi helped her out of her soiled gown and used a wet cloth and soap to wash the soot and ash from her face and hands. Thankfully, the cap had kept her hair reasonably free from falling ash. In no time, Mhairi had her on her way back to the Hall, her hair tangle free and tumbling down her back in loose waves, gowned in a fresh emerald-green cotte.
She just made it. Not five minutes after she entered the Great Hall from the small corridor that led to the chambers, her husband entered from the main door opposite the dais.
A crowd of his clansmen immediately surrounded him to welcome him back, including Rhuairi, who started to lead him toward the dais. Though the evening meal was not for some time yet, word had spread of the men’s return, and a few dozen clansmen had come to the Hall to welcome them as they partook of their impromptu meal. Theircoldmeal, she thought with chagrin.
Holding back an excited smile, she watched Tor’s face expectantly, waiting for the moment when he would notice all the changes she’d made. She was happy to see that some of his weariness had been washed away in the loch. When she’d initially looked up to see him, her first thought—after being horrified to be discovered in such a state—was that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in the four days since he’d left her on the jetty. He probably hadn’t. Not much, anyway.
Her brow wrinkled in a slight frown as he made his way toward her. It was slow progress, as his clansmen, who were clearly happy to see him, stopped him along the way. They stared at him with a mixture of awe and admiration—sentiments she could well understand.
He looked magnificent. His damp hair was brushed back from his face and curled a little at his ears. He’d shaved the four days of whiskers, revealing the proud line of his jaw. Instead of the leather war coat, he wore a finely embroideredleineand a grayish-blue plaid fastened at his neck by a large jeweled pin.
It was the most at ease she’d ever seen him. Here in his castle, amid his clansmen, he could finally let down his considerable guard and relax.
It wasn’t his appearance, however, that caused her to frown. He hadn’t noticed. He’d walked right over the fresh rushes, past the big vase of flowers, the colorfully clad tables, and the extra candles, but hadn’t seen the changes.
Her excitement dimmed a little but didn’t go out completely until his eyes flickered to her. He held her gaze for a long heartbeat before finally noticing something she’d done. His eyes lifted to the large tapestry she’d hung behind the dais.
He stilled, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. The color left his face and a flash of acute pain flickered in his eyes before his expression went completely blank. But she knew he was angry. She could see it in the thin white lines etched around his clenched mouth and in his eyes when the heavy weight of his gaze once again fell on her.
Christina paled, all the excitement draining out of her. Her chest squeezed. Had he cared more for his wife than she’d realized? Of course he had, and her thoughtless attempt to liven up the dreary Hall and show him what a good wife she could be had dredged up painful memories.
She cursed her stupidity, but it only got worse. The dogs had been lying around her feet, but when their master drew near, they bounded up to welcome him. The largest of the three, Bran, jumped up on him. Tor took one look at him, sniffed, and shot her a black look. In two long strides he was standing beside her, icy anger radiating from him. “What have you done to my dogs?”
His voice was low and calm, but she was not deceived. He was furious. Christina fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Her chin quivered as she gazed up into his thunderous expression, aware that more than one person was watching the exchange with interest. She’d only been trying to help. “I g-gave them a bath.”
“In rose water?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
She winced, biting her lip. She thought it had been an improvement. “We used the water left over from my bath.”
She could see the tic under his jaw pulse and knew that he was struggling to control his temper. Over her cleaning his dogs?
Nay, she realized. His anger wasn’t about the dogs; it was about the tapestries.
The anger died as quickly as it had sparked. “In the future, you will leave the bathing of the dogs to me.”
He sat down beside her, and the conversation rose around them dramatically to cover up the awkward exchange between the lord and his lady. It was as if everyone realized, as she did, that something else was at work.
Painfully aware of the man at her side, Christina nibbled a crusty piece of bread, trying to cover up how utterly miserable she felt. Instead of impressing him, she’d made a mess of things. He hadn’t noticed anything she’d done—except for hanging the offensive tapestries.
She, on the other hand, noticed everything. Right when he sat down, his spicy, masculine scent assaulted her with memories. The clean, fresh scent of his soap reminded her of his arms around her, holding her, touching her, arousing her. The erotic memories of that night washed over her in sharp, visceral awareness. Every time his broad shoulder or heavily muscled thigh brushed against her it grew worse. Even the briefest physical contact made her skin jump and nerve endings flare.
She wanted more contact. Wanted to feel the heat of his body again. To have him touch her in all those wicked ways. Surely, it must be a sin to want such things. But it was as if the anticipation of their wedding night, building since the ceremony, had finally reached its breaking point. Her body felt sensitive, each touch a shock that made her senses explode.
Being this close to him was torture. But he seemed blissfully unaware of her torment. In truth, he hardly seemed aware of her at all.
She didn’t want him to be angry with her. “I’m sorry,” she said when he finished speaking to the man on his left—Gelis, hisSennachie. “I didn’t mean to interfere. I wanted to surprise you.”
His dark eyebrows drew together. Her heart deflated a little more. It was obvious he had no idea what she was talking about.
Her gaze swept around the room. “The candles, the tablecloths, the flowers, the new rushes.” She paused. “The tapestries.”
