“Settle down, lassie,” Creighton remarked evenly, kneeling down beside the tub. Handing her the soap to rinse off after it had slid across the floor, he picked up the heavy pitcher with ease, dipping it into the bathwater. Nora flinched when his hand skimmed the surface of the water. He lifted the dripping pitcher over her head. She closed her eyes, braced for a deluge.
Instead, to her surprise, the water gently cascaded over the crown of her head, warm and gentle, forming rivulets through her hair. His broad hand hovered at her forehead, preventing the water from streaming over her face and into her eyes.
Just one pass wouldn’t be enough, of course, and he dipped the pitcher again, repeating the action.
This time, Nora hesitantly looked up at him. Focused on his task, his face appeared soft and relaxed. His eyes were fixed on her hair and the trickling water, not on her. Noticing her gaze, he looked down at her. Their eyes met, and Nora quickly looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment. She hunched her shoulders, hoping he couldn’t see the curve of her breasts beneath the water. He probably could. If she stopped moving, the water seemed to clear, giving glimpses of her long, white legs, the gentle slope of her hips and stomach, and the tangle of hair between her thighs. Her legs pressed together at the thought, almost instinctively.
He dipped the pitcher, water dripping from his knuckles. At some point, he had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing thick, corded forearms. Nora closed her eyes, relaxing into the sensation of warm water trickling across her scalp. When the gentle, rhythmic motion of water ceased, and he set down the pitcher with aclack, she fought back a moan of disappointment. Opening her eyes, she saw his hand in front of her face, broad palm open, long fingers inches from her nose.
Swallowing, she dragged her gaze up to his face, peering expectantly down at her.
“I…” she managed.
“Soap,” he prompted. “For yer hair.”
Nora hoped he would think the redness on her face was from the hot water. She silently handed him the soap. He dunked it once in the water and then expertly lathered it between his hands.
“Ye seem to ken how to wash hair,” she managed. Words did not seem any less awkward than the silence, and they did nothing to lessen the pulse of heat in her gut, which coiled down to sit heavily between her thighs.
“Aye, I have a wee bit of it meself,” he responded with a wry smile. “I used to wash Laurie’s hair when she was small. Her nurse does it now, and already she’s fightin’ the woman all the way to and from the bathtub. She wants to wash herself.”
“I understand how she feels. It’s a wee bit awkward, needin’ somebody else to help ye bathe,” Nora mumbled.
“Better than nae bathin’ at all,” he answered, and began to lather up her hair. His movements were firm and confident, but not harsh. Fingers twined through her hair, sliding across her scalp with practiced, circular movements. Once more, Nora let her eyes drift closed.
Previously, she sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms tightly wrapped around them, chin resting on her knees. Butnow, she tilted her head back, lips slightly parted, allowing the bliss of it all to wash over her.
A low chuckle came from above her, and she could almost feel it reverberating in her throat.
“What?” Nora demanded, too relaxed to keep a twinge of irritation from entering her voice.
“Nothin’, nothin’. How are ye feelin’, lass? Stronger?”
“Aye, and nay,” she admitted. “Me limbs move when I want them to, but I feel as though I could fall asleep again. How is that possible, wantin’ to sleep after sleepin’ for three days?”
“There is a difference between ordinary sleep and sleepin’ off a sickness,” Creighton responded. “Ye will need both if ye are to recover.”
He set the soap on the side of the bathtub once more, briefly dunking his hands in the bathwater to rinse off the soap foam. The edge of his knuckles brushed the back of Nora’s bare knee. The touch, feather-light as it was, sent a shiver through Nora’s spine. She could feel it, burned into her skin, hot in a different way than the warm water around her.
“I’m goin’ to rinse the soap from yer hair,” he explained, picking up the pitcher and dipping it once more. “Keep yer eyes closed, or else it’ll sting.”
She nodded silently. Nora wasn’t entirely sure she could find the words. Waves of heat washed over her. She could feel her heartbeat between her thighs. Her heart racing, faster and faster. She swallowed hard and shifted, trying to compose herself.
He’s only helpin’ me. This means nothin’.
Warm water cascaded over her head once more. This time, Creighton used his free hand to run his fingers through her hair, gently pressing and tousling, helping the water to rinse away the soap. She could smell the clean, crisp scent of the soap, faintly tinged with lavender. The Keep’s servants would make their own soap, of course, scented with rose, lavender, or perhaps mint, mingling with the hot steam to create a richer fragrance. Strong fingers slid against her scalp, and lower, gently untangling her hair where it rested on her shoulders. His fingertips brushed her bare shoulders, causing her to flinch despite herself, and she sucked in a breath.
At once, the touch vanished, and the stream of water stopped.
Nora splashed water on her face to rinse off any residual soap and risked opening her eyes. Creighton stared at her, a faint crease between his brows.
“We could have lost ye,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
It seemed like a strange thing to say, and completely unrelated to the haphazard conversation they’d had until now. His gaze burned into hers, expectant.Waiting.
Waitin’ for what?
She swallowed thickly, pinned in place by his unflinching stare.
