“Indeed we should.” He strode to the darkened fireplace, turning his back to her, hoping she’d not noticed the evidence of his earlier imaginings that even now pressed out against his plaid.
Damnation, but the woman had a powerful effect on him. More evidence to support his mother’s claim that she was his Soulmate.
“I must ask you again to reconsider your decision to come with me. You would be safe here with my family.” Straightforward, to the point, was always his first choice, though with Abby, he had little hope it would work.
As he expected, it didn’t.
“No way. That discussion is closed. I’m going with you. I mean, we got married and everything just so that your whole family would agree to it. Why waste a good marriage, right?”
They had indeed married. The mere idea sent a wave of disbelief coursing through him. It was done. She was his wife now. If his mother was to be believed, he was married to his Soulmate. He should be the happiestman alive. But happy was about as far from what he felt as he could imagine.
Instead, he’d only added to his burden of responsibility and worry. Now it wasn’t just the lives of his clansmen and the fate of his king resting on his shoulders. The life of his Soulmate lay in his hands as well.
His options to protect her were dwindling.
As he’d expected, straightforward hadn’t worked. He already knew she was too stubborn to give in to any arguing he might try again, and he certainly wasn’t willing to risk her whisking them both back to the future in a pique of anger. Not before he’d had the chance to find his kinsmen and warn his king.
If only he could get her to relax, to let down her suspicious guard, maybe then he could reason with her.
“As you say, wife, why waste a good marriage?” He turned to face her, sending his best smile her direction as he strode to the chest at the foot of his bed and lifted the lid. Digging under his spare shirts, he pulled out a drying cloth and tucked it under his arm. “I’ve a lovely idea for our last evening of civilization. Will you accompany me?”
He held out a hand in invitation and waited.
Indecision danced over her face as she wrapped the ribbon holding her gown closed around and around her finger until he feared she might cut off the flow of blood to the digit.
“Like this?” she asked at last, her hand sweeping down the front of her nightdress.
Modesty? The woman amazed him. In her own time she walked about in broad daylight wearing less than half the covering she wore now.
“What you have on is fine. It’s late. Most of Dun Ard’s people have taken to their bedchambers. If it makes you feel better”—he paused to open the chest again, pulling out one of his plaids—“take this. Wrap it about yer shoulders.”
Abby did as he suggested and then accepted the hand he offered, following along with him down the stairs and through the castle, out into the gardens and to the low building beyond.
“A bathhouse?” Abby stood in the doorway, her widened eyes reflecting the flames from the massive stone fireplace.
“It’s no as good as a hot shower, granted, but it’s pleasant enough.” And too bad it was they had no shower. A mental image of Abby standing under the flowing waters, her head flung back, her soft throat waiting for his tongue to forge a trail downward . . .
He roughly pushed the idyllic fantasy from his mind. He was here for a purpose, not a dalliance.
“No, I think it’s great.” She smiled up at him before moving farther into the room. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. My studies had led me to believe bathhouses were only common in areas settled by Viking peoples.”
“So much for yer modern-day studies, aye?” Colin returned her smile, placing a hand at the small of her back to direct her toward the far side of the room.
A half wall, not quite as high as the top of his head, separated two bathing areas. A large, carved tub sat on either side of the wall, waiting to be filled from the enormous iron kettles hanging in the fireplace.
“Yer welcome to take the tub on the far side, and I’ll stand outside to act as yer guard. No one will enter, you have my word.”
He headed to the fireplace and filled a bucket from the nearest kettle. When he turned, he found her rooted to the spot where he’d left her, her face a picture of discomfort.
“Is there something wrong? I thought you’d enjoy a good soak before we set out on the morrow. It’ll be a long time before you’ll find such as this again.”
She shook her head and her hands fisted in the cloth of the plaid she wore around her shoulders. “You’re going to wait outside?”
“I would consider nothing else.” He only hoped he’d managed to sound offended enough to put her concerns to rest.
She followed him to the kettles on his next trip, picking up another bucket and helping him to fill the tub.
“We have soaps here on the shelf. My mother makes them herself and takes great pride in the variety of smelly things she can do with them.” He chose one of the bars and handed it to Abby as he passed by her on his way out.
