Mary could barely keep herself from reaching out and cupping him. “I’ll get yer shirt,” she finally managed to say, and turned away to the small chest. What was keeping the healer? She should have been here long before now.
“I have nay more clean shirts,” Cameron told her, his voice a deep rumble that made her breasts ache. “I’ll have to remain as I am, naked. And wanting ye.”
Mary turned back to him and looked him up and down, an act more brazen than she’d ever done in her life, but he’d asked for it. “While I enjoy looking at ye as much as any lass might, I dinna wish ye to catch a chill, so here.” She picked up a dry bath sheet and tossed it to him. “Wrap yerself in that and sit by the fire. I’ll send for a clean shirt and a change of bedding.”
She didn’t know how she managed not to betray howmuch she wanted him. She felt molten and tight, her thighs tense and her breasts aching. But she forced herself to go to the door, and after a glance back to ensure he’d obeyed her and covered himself. She opened it and gave her orders to the lad still waiting there. Then she closed it again and leaned her heated forehead against the cool wood. Cameron Sutherland tempted her too much. By far.
“My back is cold.It must still be damp. Could ye dry it for me, please?” Cameron leaned forward in the chair and beckoned Mary closer. He didn’t like her being across the room, by the door. He’d been wrong about her. She might not be the type for a quick tumble, but she wanted him. The musky scent of her arousal had filled his nose as she studied his body. And he couldn’t hide how much he wanted her. He wanted her in his arms. In his lap, riding him, preferably. He wanted her to satisfy his raging need—for her. Only her. Surely she could see how she affected him by the way the bath sheet tented in his lap. He laid his hands over it. Perhaps if he played meek and ill, he’d arouse her nurturing instincts. He only needed her to come close enough for him to pull her into his embrace.
Mary cocked her head, then sighed and approached, picking up a dry towel from the stack the serving girl had left. “Ye are better. Yer body doesna lie. A lass will return in a few minutes, so forget what ye are thinking about. ’Twill no’ happen.”
“It could, if ye wished it to.” He knew she’d never agree, but he couldn’t help teasing her.
“Well, I dinna, so settle down.” She scrubbed at his back dry. He was certain it must be reddened from the rough toweling. But she’d taken care and softened her touch when she moved the towel near the new scar on his side.
She had studied his body from head to foot when he stood in the tub, including every long and thick inch of him currently trapped beneath his hands. She couldn’t hide that she’d liked what she’d seen. Her heightened color and fast, shallow breathing told him she wanted him, too. She’d clenched her hands rather than reach for him. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
But this was Mary, his angel of mercy. Suddenly guilt overwhelmed him. He’d forced her to stay while he bathed, and his actions went well beyond teasing, even beyond seduction. She would think him crude and unworthy of the care she’d already given him, much less what he wanted from her now he felt stronger. She deserved more than a tumble before he left for Sutherland. As she stepped away from his back, he sighed, weary again.
A knock at the door drew Mary even farther from him. The serving girl bustled in and handed Mary a shirt, then stripped his bed and remade it with fresh linens. He couldn’t believe how inviting the bed suddenly looked. The serving girl, not at all. He shivered at that. Usually the sight of any comely lass’s rounded backside bent over a bed or a table would rivet his gaze to her. But not now. Not since Mary Elizabeth Rose came into this life.
Mary brought him the shirt and he slipped it on over his head, careful to keep the sheet over his lap until the serving lass left the room. Then he stood.
Instead of moving away, Mary surprised him by stepping into his arms. He dropped the sheet, counting on the shirt to cover him. He wanted his hands free to touch her.
“Ye should feel better.” She sniffed his neck. “Ye certainly smell better. Do ye still wish to go out or are ye tired again?”
“With ye in my arms? I could fight a dragon right now.”
“Perhaps a small one.” She studied him. “Ye are still too pale. Rest for a while, aye? I’ll walk with ye this afternoon.”
Cameron nodded. “That gives me something to look forward to. No’ what I most desire, but it will have to do for now.”
Mary snorted a laugh and stepped out of his arms. “A lass always kens where she stands with ye, Cameron Sutherland, aye?”
He grinned and shrugged, relieved that she seemed to have taken no offense. “If that lass is ye, then aye. Why would I be anything but honest with ye, Mary? I’ve nothing to hide.” He paused, then shook his head. “I owe ye an apology. I shouldna…”
Mary blushed prettily. “Dinna say it,” she objected, holding up a hand. “We’ll just forget this happened,” she added and bolted for the door. “I’m going to find the healer and throttle her.”
He let his soft laughter follow her out. Once the door closed behind her, he sank to the bed and rested his head in his hands, glad the healer had failed to arrive. This time with Mary had been illuminating. Teasing her was easy. Winning her would be much, much harder.
Chapter 4
The trip to Grant was barely underway when Mary’s father glanced aside at the warriors riding escort with them and in a low voice told her she would soon have to plan a wedding.
“What?” Her heart immediately soared at the news and she straightened in the saddle. Had Cameron spoken to her father without telling her? He’d given her no hint he planned such a thing. Or had he? She closed her eyes as the image rose in her mind of Cameron standing before her in the tub, completely unembarrassed—even unconcerned—about her seeing his nudity and his arousal. She’d never forget that image. And never wanted to. He was a beautiful man, and when he regained his strength, he’d be even more attractive. She didn’t know how she would resist him. He’d been right—she’d liked looking at him. Too much. And she wanted to touch him. Not the way a healer did, but the way a lover might. She twisted the reins in her hand, and her mount twitched its ears.
The wedding her father spoke of could be hers.
She turned to question him and reality set in. He wasn’t looking at her. He was smiling, as if imagining they were already at Grant. Or he was up to something. Mary knew her father well enough to suspect he probably had a very different match in mind for her. He’d warned her to spend less time caring for Cameron. He’d acted quickly to prevent their relationship going any further by corresponding with the Sutherland laird. And he’d warned her to keep her distance, as if he knew her interest in Cameron had grown into something beyond healing.
“Why so suddenly?” Her fist tightened on the reins. “Surely ye canna mean to try to marry me off, as ye did Annie and Catherine. And to a Grant I’ve never met. Who will take my place helping ye?”
Her father gave her a sly glance from the corner of his eye. “I’m no’ thinking about ye. This wedding will be mine.”
This time she did rein to a halt. Shock held her silent for a moment, then she burst out, “Yers! After all these years? Is that what this trip is about?” Her father’s mount was less eager to stop. It carried on a few lengths while she scolded him. “Ye didn’t mention an agreement when ye showed me the letter. Not one hint. So why tell me before we reach Grant?”
He waved their escort on ahead. “Because I knew ye might be upset by my marriage,” he said as he turned his mount to face her, “and would argue about holding a wedding at Rose.” He shrugged. “I have no’ made a betrothal offer, but if this visit goes as I intend, I will make one before we depart.”
