Page 13 of Brigand

Ewan raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Morna.It’s been a long day and I fancy a bath. Where is the new serving girl?”

Morna tossed back her head and cackled a laugh. “You won’tbe getting a bath from that one tonight.”

His brows came down. “Why?” Because she’d fled?

With a sigh, Morna dropped her knitting into the basket byher chair and stood, a great creaking of old bones—but dear ones. She led Ewanto the kitchen and pointed to a bundle in the corner by the fire.

Violet. Curled up in a tight ball. Fast asleep. A daintysnore rumbled.

She seemed so frail and fragile and delicate.

He hardened his heart. She was getting no more than shedeserved. Because of her, his mother had had to endure worse than this. Muchworse.

“She’s all in, that one.” Morna perched her hands on herhips and frowned at him. “Will you still be wanting that bath?”

Ewan glanced at the buckets on the hearth. Calculated howmany it would take to fill his tub. How many trips Violet would have to make upto the tower to do it. He should wake her up. He should wake her up and makeher prepare his bath and bathe him—just as he had dreamed about all day. But hedidn’t.

And it wasn’t because he was going soft. It wasn’t. It wasbecause, well, he just didn’t want a bath after all. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Yes. Tomorrow would be better. He was busy tonight.

“Yer lairdship? Do you still want a bath?”

Ewan sighed. “Not tonight, Morna. Maybe tomorrow.”

She mumbled something under her breath and went back to herknitting. Ewan bent and gently lifted Violet into his arms, being careful notto jostle her. With Wolfe at his heels, he carried her through the great roomand up to the tower and settled her in his bed.

The candlelight flickered over her face in a tender caress.

God, she was lovely. Lovely and wan and… Lord, her dress wasa horror. He covered her with a blanket and sat on the other side of the bed topull off his boots. He would have to find her some clothes, he supposed. Andanother room. Having her in his bed was a temptation—and a potentialdisaster—he couldn’t afford.

But his thoughts stalled there.

He didn’t really want her sleeping anywhere else.

And he wasn’t sure why.

* * * * *

Holy heaven. She would never take a bath for granted again.

Violet stumbled on the stairs and the contents of the heavybucket sloshed, dousing her with hot water. She sucked in a breath as painseared. She set the bucket on the landing and pulled her skirts up. Her skinwas red. She ruffled the tatters of her petticoats, waiting for the sting tosubside.

The door to the laird’s solar swung open. She stepped backso it wouldn’t hit her and it slammed into the wall. The McCloud glowered downat her. His gaze stalled on her bare legs.

It was riveted—until she dropped her skirts—then he snapped,“What the hell is taking so long?” He glanced back at her damp skirts and hisfrown darkened. He picked up the last bucket and carried it to the tub, dumpingit in himself. “For God’s sake. How long does it take to bring a few buckets upfrom the kitchen?”

A few buckets? It had taken twelve trips, each with abucket that weighed near as much as she. Violet glared at him. “Is thatenough?” She probably didn’t need to clip the words quite so much but she hadalready worked for hours. She was tired and sweaty and her skin ached and Mornawas waiting for her to help prepare dinner.

He swished his hand in the water. “Yes. I suppose that willdo.”

Not a thank you. Not a smile. Nothing.

Beast.

She whirled and started for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice rumbled, a deeptenor. Her steps slowed.