Page 29 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

"Aye, Beatrice, dear," he said and moved off to the kitchen.

Elspeth didn't look back at Bruce. She allowed herself to be escorted to a warm room. There was no fire in the fireplace, but hot coals glowed red like angry eyes in the grate. A large kettle nestled among them like a grey cat sleeping on a bed of dead leaves.

Beatrice drew her a bath, all the while making much of her, and criticizing Bruce and men in general.

"Ye need to be firm with 'em, aye," she said, helping Elspeth undress. "They've got big heads, and they just get bigger once they have a wife to boss about. Ye donnae take summat like that lying down. Ye did well telling 'im what's what."

The water was lovely. Elspeth moaned as she sunk into it. It had been too long since she'd had the pleasure of a proper bath.

"That's right," Beatrice encouraged. "Ye get all cleaned up, and I'll put these dirty clothes in the wash."

"I've got nothing to wear," Elspeth said.

"Donnae ye worry about that. My wee one’s about yer age. Her clothes will be a bit small for ye, but they'll do until the morrow."

Beatrice took her leave and Elspeth's clothes. The silence was a balm. The quiet gurgle from the kettle in the coals was all that accompanied her.

Elspeth considered a moment if she should feel bad about the lie that she and Bruce were married, but she did not. They were desperate for sleep, the horses needed to rest, yet Bruce was willing to drag them right back out and onto the road just because he didn't want to share a room with her.

It was ridiculous. They had spent the past week together, slept a few feet apart, and now he was squirming at being alone with her? What did he fear she would do, accuse him of villainy and force him into a loveless marriage? Just the thought of it made her shudder. Adamina was in a marriage she hadn't wanted, and she had ruined those around her as a consequence. Elspeth would rather die a spinster than live a life of misery with a man who didn't want her.

Abandoning her thoughts about Bruce Grant, she washed thoroughly, her muscles appreciating the vigorous rub with the washcloth. Special attention was paid to her thighs where the muscles still ached.

Though she had relieved herself before stepping into the bath, she still felt pressure curled up between her legs in a tight ball. Tentatively she touched that secret part of her. Thunder echoed across the plains of her lower abdomen at the touch, and a strangled hiss of surprise escaped her lips.

Immediately, she drew her hand away. But the need grew. With her thumb, she caressed the downy hair that crowned her femininity and felt the same rumbling pleasure coursing through her thighs. Her nipples tightened painfully. Her eyes fluttered. Visions of Bruce came to the forefront of her mind – his strong arms, his musky scent, the flash of his brown hooded eyes, the tall and stable presence of him as he towered over her, the way he clenched his jaw when agitated. They heightened her arousal.

She stopped. Whatever this was, it felt dangerous. The aching need of it, the desperate want of it; it was too much to bear. Was there something wrong with her? Was she gravely ill? Or had Bruce driven her to distraction?

Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about it too long. Beatrice came in after a few minutes with a fresh set of clothes and to help Elspeth wash her hair.