Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(37)
“Let’s get yer hair rinsed,” Mavis suggested, setting the material aside and reaching for a bucket. “Then ye can finish yer bath while I find ye a gown to set out fer the morning.”
“Thank ye.” Claray sat up in the tub and tipped her head back for Mavis to pour the water over. Once it was done, the maid wrung out her hair and wrapped a smaller linen around it to keep it out of the soapy water while Claray quickly finished her bath. She then brought another, larger linen for her to dry off with when she stood to get out.
Claray dried herself off quickly, and then wrapped the large linen around herself toga style and moved to the fur in front of the fire to brush her hair. That’s where she was when the door suddenly opened.
Claray glanced around in surprise, thinking Mavis must be leaving for something, and then blinked when she saw that it was Conall entering. He paused in the doorway when he saw her by the fire and Mavis setting a fresh gown over a chest in the corner, then held the door open expectantly. It was all he had to do. Nodding, Mavis murmured a good night to Claray and then bustled out of the room.
Chapter 12
Claray swallowed as she watched Conall close the door, then turned her head quickly toward the fire and continued brushing her hair as she listened to him move around. Her mind was suddenly racing. Ridiculous as it was, she was more than a little taken aback at his presence there in her room. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten that they were married now, but she hadn’t really been thinking of it and what it meant. Good Lord! She was married! Which meant he would share her room, her bed . . . and her body.
She swallowed thickly again at that thought as Claray heard the soft shushing plop of material dropping to the rush-covered floor and then the sound of water moving, which she assumed meant he was getting in the tub. That put her in a bit of a quandary as she debated whether she should be offering to help him with his bath or not. Her mother, before she fell ill, had often aided her father in the bath, Claray knew. But she wasn’t sure if that was expected of a wife or just something her parents had enjoyed. They had been happily married, their love for each other obvious to anyone in their presence for more than a few moments.
Before she could decide the matter, she heard a great deal of splashing that suggested her husband might be done with his bath and getting out. Unable to help herself, Claray glanced quickly over her shoulder to see that, yes, he was getting out. He was presently standing in the tub, drying his long, wet hair vigorously with a linen that Mavis must have left for him.
His face was covered by the cloth as he worked, and knowing he couldn’t see her, she found herself drinking in the sight of his body. He was such a well-made man, his body toned and muscled. Even the scars that flecked his body from years as a mercenary couldn’t detract from his beauty in her eyes, and there were a lot of scars: a puckered one on his upper chest that looked to be from an arrow, a jagged slice in his side from a sword or knife and several smaller nicks on his arms and legs. But there was a very large one on his hip that had to be from a sword or battle-axe, she thought, and then realized that his body had stopped moving. She lifted her eyes quickly to his face to see that he’d finished drying his hair. Conall now stood, the damp linen crumpled up in his hands as he watched her examine his body.
Blushing, Claray turned back to the fire and started to brush her hair again, but only got two strokes in before she heard him cross the room toward her. When he settled on the fur behind her and took the brush from her hand, she released it without protest and then sat tense and anxious at first as he took over brushing her hair. When that’s all he did, her muscles slowly began to ease, soothed by the long slow strokes of the brush. But then he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Claray blinked open eyes she hadn’t realized had closed and turned her head toward him with surprise.
The moment she did, Conall claimed her mouth in a soft, questing kiss that had her turning her upper body instinctively toward him as well. Her lips parted almost at once, and he immediately accepted the invitation and deepened the kiss, his hand reaching up to cup the back of her head as his tongue thrust in to fill her.
Claray moaned at the excitement that began to stir to life in her, and slid her arms around his neck as she kissed him back. She did love his kiss. She loved the tingling it started, and the heat it sent through her body, the way it somehow turned excitement and passion into molten lava that pooled low in her belly until it overflowed to leave her wet and aching.
So consumed by his kisses was she that Claray was only vaguely aware of it when Conall clasped her by the waist and turned her toward him. So, when he suddenly broke their kiss, she was somewhat surprised to find herself on her knees between his. She saw amusement flicker across his face as he took in her startled expression, but that died quickly when he untucked the linen wrapped around her chest and it dropped to pool around her knees, leaving her entirely on display. His gaze grew intense then, and hungry, like a starving man presented with a feast.
Claray’s instinct was to cover herself with her hands, but instead she dug her fingers into his shoulders and remained still. She then gasped and stiffened when he lowered his head and leaned forward to latch on to one breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. Even as she cried out and arched into the caress, his hand was laying claim to her other breast and kneading the eager flesh, before switching his mouth to claim that nipple now as his fingers plucked at the first.