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She lifted the latch.

Steam came out to meet her, warm and sweet with lavender. The big wooden tub stood in front of the hearth, filled nearly to the brim, and the water shone and moved in the firelight. Candles burned on the chest and along the sill. A drying cloth hung warming over the back of the big chair.

Alasdair stood beside the tub in his shirt and breeches, barefoot on the hearthstone. His sleeves were pushed to the elbow and his forearms were wet, as if he had been trying the water with his own hands.

“Ye sent them all away,” Iona said.

“Every one,” Alasdair said. “Agnes took it hard. She wanted to stay and see it done right.”

“And who carried all that water up?” Iona asked.

“Gavin carried some.” He shrugged, and the damp shirt pulled across his shoulders. “I carried the rest. Gavin wants paying for that too.”

She pushed the door to behind her and leaned on it. The steam had already put a flush in her face, and she let him think it was the steam. She pictured him hauling buckets up from the kitchen, the laird of the MacVeys with water slopping over his bare feet and every kitchen girl in the keep watching him go. Then she pictured those wet forearms around her in that water, and the heat slid down through her and settled between her thighs.

She came away from the door and crossed to the tub, and trailed her fingers in it. It was hot enough to sting.

“So this is how the laird of the MacVeys says he’s sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?” His brows went up. “For what, lass?”

“For the tub in the tower.” She stirred the lavender in lazy circles and did not look at him. “The night ye brought me here. Cold water, a torn sleeve, and you out in the yard with yer horses.”

He laughed low in his throat and came around the end of the tub toward her.

“I’ve been paying for that tub for months,” he said. “Fires. Gowns. My cook taking yer orders. My mother’s silk.” He came close enough to touch her, and did not. “I gave ye a son.”

“I gave ye a son,” Iona said. “You stood in the passage looking proud.”

“I was very proud,” Alasdair said. “It was hard work.”

She laughed before she could help it, and set a wet finger in the middle of his chest.

“Ye’ve paid for the fire, maybe,” she said. “And the gowns. But there’s the keys. There’s yer parade of bonny women. There’s a wager at the well, and ye’ll pay Gavin his stake and no’ me a penny.” She jabbed the finger into his chest. “Ye owe me still, MacVey. Ye’ll owe me till we’re both grey.”

He closed his hand over hers and hauled her in by the waist.

His wet hands soaked through his mother’s silk, cool for a breath and then warm. She came against him from breast to hip and felt how hard he was already, and her breath went out of her in a rush. He did not wait for her to find it again. He took her mouth, hungry and deep, his fingers driving into her loosened hair, and kissed her until she was clutching his damp shirt in both fists and had forgotten every debt on her list.

He smelled of woodsmoke and lavender and damp linen. His fingers had found the laces at her back while he kissed her, and he tugged them loose with no patience at all. She felt the gown give at her shoulders.

“Then name yer price,” he said, with his mouth still on hers. “Whatever ye ask tonight, my lady, ye shall have. Anything at all.”

“Anything?” Iona asked.

“Anything,” Alasdair said.

She thought about it, with his chest hard against her breasts. She thought of a good many things, and some of them would have sent the priest running for his beads. She thought of his mouth, and where she would like it, and for how long. She thought of him on his knees with his hands on her hips, looking up at her as if nothing else in the Highlands was worth having. Heat climbed into her cheeks.

“Kneel,” she said.

His hands went still on her laces.

“Kneel?” Alasdair said.

“Kneel to yer Lady.” She tipped her head back and let him see she meant it. “The mighty laird of the MacVeys, on his knees to his wife. Ye said anything, MacVey. Or are ye feart of what Gavin will say when I tell him?”

He looked down at her for a long moment. His eyes had gone dark, and a muscle jumped beside the scar. She waited for the laugh, and the clever answer, and the kiss that would end the game before it started.