The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(48)

“Apparently not,” he agreed. He smiled then; he couldn’t help it, and was surprised to see her grinning back at him. He liked that she could laugh at herself without self-consciousness. It spoke of a refreshing lack of vanity.

The cook started barking out a few orders to the servants who’d been standing there gaping at him. “You and the men will be wanting some food,” he said.

“And a bath,” Tor added, remembering the reason he’d come in the first place.

The cook and Christina exchanged a look. He thought she winced a little, and when she turned back to him, she was biting her lip again. “About the bath,” she hesitated. “I’m afraid that might be a problem right now.” Her hands twisted before her. “You see, I didn’t know you were returning and we had to put out the fires to clean. We were attempting to relight them when you came in, but everything got rather wet.”

“I see,” he said evenly. So much for a warm bath. “And the meal?”

The cook gave her a look that said “I told you so.” She peeked out at Tor from under her long lashes. “I told Cormac we could have a cold meal this evening.”

When he frowned, she straightened a little and looked him in the eye. “Perhaps if you send word of your arrival next time, we will be better prepared.”

The cook’s eyes widened in horror. Unconsciously, he angled his body in front of hers as if he might protect her from Tor’s displeasure.

Tor lifted his brows in surprise, both at Cormac’s show of protection and at Christina’s words. His wee wife had just taken him to task, and she’d found herself an unexpected protector.

He thought he probably should reprimand her, as Cormac obviously expected him to, but he couldn’t help but be amused. He was chief. No one criticized him, except perhaps for his brother and sister, on occasion. And now this tiny lass. He was used to women being intimidated—even scared. He liked that she seemed neither.

He would allow her to get away with it this one time. But next time he would correct her.

“I’ll remember that,” he said dryly, holding her gaze. He felt it again. That strange connection. The intense desire to possess. It wasn’t a slow building, but a fierce primal reaction.

Despite the mask of soot on her and the layer of grime that covered him, he wanted to lift her up in his arms and carry her to bed. In the middle of the day, for Christ’s sake.

How did she do it? How did she make his body flare with desire just by looking into his eyes?

He was too damned hungry for her and didn’t like it. He wasn’t used to errant—hell, preoccupied—thoughts or being unable to control his body’s reactions. The lack of discipline annoyed him, but it would be over soon. Once he bedded her, everything would be back to normal.

He looked away sharply, addressing the cook. “The men will be hungry. Whatever you can arrange will suffice.”

He turned to leave. “Wait,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“The loch,” he answered on his way out. A cold bath suddenly sounded like an excellent idea.

Ten

For a horrible moment, Christina thought he meant to leave again. But when the cook ordered one of the serving boys after him to fetch soap and a drying cloth, a sigh of relief went through her. He only meant to bathe.

She’d feared that her peevishness had angered him. She hadn’t meant to upbraid him, but perhaps the sting of his leave-taking had not waned as much as she’d thought.

It was just her luck that he would return when she was on her hands and knees, covered in ash and soot. She must have looked a fright. A comical fright. Her mouth twisted, thinking of his expression when he’d seen her. He’d tried to cover up his laughter, but she could see it dancing in his eyes. So much for entrancing him with her feminine charms when he returned; a more un-entrancing welcome she could not imagine.

She hurried back to the solar to clean up as best she could until enough water could be heated for her bath later. She couldn’t wait to see what he thought of her efforts to lighten up the Great Hall and wanted to be there to observe his reaction when he saw it for the first time.

Mhairi helped her out of her soiled gown and used a wet cloth and soap to wash the soot and ash from her face and hands. Thankfully, the cap had kept her hair reasonably free from falling ash. In no time, Mhairi had her on her way back to the Hall, her hair tangle free and tumbling down her back in loose waves, gowned in a fresh emerald-green cotte.

She just made it. Not five minutes after she entered the Great Hall from the small corridor that led to the chambers, her husband entered from the main door opposite the dais.

A crowd of his clansmen immediately surrounded him to welcome him back, including Rhuairi, who started to lead him toward the dais. Though the evening meal was not for some time yet, word had spread of the men’s return, and a few dozen clansmen had come to the Hall to welcome them as they partook of their impromptu meal. Their cold meal, she thought with chagrin.

Holding back an excited smile, she watched Tor’s face expectantly, waiting for the moment when he would notice all the changes she’d made. She was happy to see that some of his weariness had been washed away in the loch. When she’d initially looked up to see him, her first thought—after being horrified to be discovered in such a state—was that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in the four days since he’d left her on the jetty. He probably hadn’t. Not much, anyway.