Page 225 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Let ye?” she said. “You are my husband. You may bed me as often as ye please.”

“I am not my brother, Lady Rhoslyn. I do not force a woman, even my wife. I would hope you understood that by now.”

Her eyes flew wide. “That isna’ what I meant.”

“We have many years ahead of us. I would rather enjoy that time with my wife.” Talbot urged her forward and up the stairs. They climbed to the third floor where he took her to his chambers. “The rooms are smaller and the furniture not as opulent as Castle Glenbarr,” he said, “but I find it comfortable. Would you like a bath?”

She shook her head. “I dinna’ want to put your women to work at this hour.”

“I agree. I will go down myself and heat the water. The men can carry up the water for you.”

Her brows rose. “Ye and your men will prepare the bath? That I must see.”

An hour later, the bath sat before the fire filled with steaming water. The last of the men who’d carried up the water left as Talbot poured two goblets of wine. He gave one to Rhoslyn and she emptied it in several gulps. She returned the goblet, then went to the tub and began untying the laces on her gown. Talbot set his wine on the table and crossed to her. She looked up, then froze when he gently moved her hands aside and began loosening the laces. Once loose, he grasped the fabric at her waist and pulled the dress over her head. She stood before him in her shift.

His cock jerked at the glimpse of her breasts straining against the thin linen fabric before he turned. He returned to the wine and refilled their goblets. The rustle of fabric conjured a vision of the shift sliding across her breasts before Rhoslyn dropped it onto the floor. The gentle swish of water against the side of the tub told him she had lowered herself into the tub.

He waited a moment, then turned. She rested, back to him, facing the fire.

“Would you like more wine, my lady?”

“Aye.” She picked up a cloth from the table beside the tub, scooped soap from the small earthen jar sitting alongside, and began lathering her arms.

Talbot took the goblets to the tub and set her wine on the table where the soap had been. From the corner of his eye, he saw her slow in rubbing the soapy cloth along one sleek arm. Water lapped at the pink nipple of the breast not hidden by her arm. Talbot turned away and took a drink of his wine. He crossed to the bed, set the goblet down and began taking off his boots. His mail shirt, then shirt, followed before he finished off his wine.

Rhoslyn dipped down into the tub, then came up, hair dripping. She began lathering the long tresses. Talbot went to the tub and knelt on one knee behind her.

She stilled. “Is there something ye want, St. Claire?”

“Aye, but we will begin with your hair.”

“My hair?” She twisted, coming face to face with his chest, and jerked back. Water sloshed over the top of the tub.

Talbot grasped her shoulders and her head snapped up. “Unless you wish me to pull you out of this tub before your hair is finished, I suggest you face forward.” She frowned, and he lifted a brow and flicked a glance at her breasts.

A blush crept up her cheeks and she pulled free, turning her back to him.

He scooped soap from the jar on the table, then gathered her hair atop her head. She sat stiffly as he lathered the thick mane. Slowly, he worked his fingers through her hair and across her scalp, massaging until she released a slow sigh. He set the soap on the table then instructed her to rinse her hair. She dunked her head, rubbing her hair to remove the soap.

Talbot couldn’t tear his eyes from her breasts, swaying with the small waves of water created by her movement. She lifted her head from the water and he handed her a towel. She wiped her eyes, then cast him a quick glance and yanked her eyes back to stare down at the water as she dried her hair. Talbot grabbed the drying cloth from the table and handed it to her. He shoved to his feet as Rhoslyn rubbed her hair dry.

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or worry that she took an inordinate amount of time to dry her hair. She finally rose from the water and quickly wrapped the towel around her. She rubbed her arms.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“The water had grown cold,” she replied.

“I can remedy that.” He swept her into his arms.

She cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Talbot sat down on the bench, cradling her on his lap.

“Have ye gone insane, St. Claire? I am all wet.”

He grasped her chin and tilted her face toward his. “Are you?”

She frowned. “Am I—St. Claire.”

He lowered his mouth onto hers.