Alasdair’s eyes had been cutting in their intensity while he’d questioned her. Now they darkened and strayed to the water of her bath. Despite the flickering dimness of the firelight, maybe he could actually see through the thin white smock that floated over her. She did not want him to see her naked. Did she?

No, indeed.

On the morrow, the whole of Kintalon Castle would likely be wagging their tongues over what their laird had done, barging in on her bath. They might even surmise what had happened yesterday—a quick shocking tryst in his bedchamber.

“Would you be willing to step outside while I dress? The water is turning cold.”

One corner of Alasdair’s lips lifted, and his eyes turned devilish. “I was hoping you’d invite me to join you.”

“No!”

Clearly, he now thought to make free use of her body any time he chose. He no longer respected her, and why should he?

“I’m in need of a bath.” He unfastened his bronze brooch and let the upper portion of his plaid fall behind him. His hand went to his leather belt. She closed her eyes before he unclasped it. A buckle thudded upon the floor. His linen shirt brushed over his skin in a whisper.

Oh, good lord, I’m trapped, naked.

Covering her front as best she could with the sodden smock, she pushed to her feet in the center of the tub. Water sluiced down her body and from her hair. The cool air sent chills and gooseflesh over her skin.

She snatched a brief glimpse of Alasdair standing nude a few feet away. He was built like a pagan deity and displayed a full erection. Though she’d touched him there before, and had his raw power inside her, that didn’t stop her from wishing the room was dark. Now, she didn’t have the fog of arousal to dull her inhibitions.

Trying not to look at him, as well as keep herself covered, she stepped from the tub. Water drained from her smock onto the carpet.

Alasdair moved toward her. She scuttled away and retreated behind a wooden screen.

Please don’t let him follow.

His brief, low chuckle echoed off the stone walls, and water splashed.

He took supreme delight in her discomfiture, didn’t he? I’m the greatest fool.

She peered around the edge of the screen and found him sitting in the tub. While it had almost swallowed her whole, he fit into it perfectly.

“This water isn’t cold,” he said. “I’m thinking you’ve never bathed in Loch Morlich.”

No, indeed. She didn’t bathe in lochs.

She dressed quickly in a clean, dry smock and dressing gown. Both were too thin for her comfort. Determined not to tempt him or fall for his seductive charms again, she also put on her arisaid and belted the bulky, woolen plaid about her waist.

“M’lady, I wonder, would you be willing to help a man with his bath? I cannot reach my back.”

She stiffened her spine and stepped from behind the screen. I’ll be strong. I won’t let him affect me. That was easy to think, but harder to achieve, she realized once her gaze ran over Alasdair’s powerful shoulders and chest above the water. His predatory gaze tracked her movements, and she gave him a wide berth.

“Who usually washes your back?” She could well imagine any number of female servants enjoying the task.

When he didn’t answer, she slid her gaze to him. He reminded her of an amused scoundrel, wicked and dark. “I’ve had no one in my bed, save you, for a good long while, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

Her face flushed and she shrugged, trying to pretend it mattered not. That hadn’t been what she was asking, but the information surprised her, relieved her, though she shouldn’t even care. They had no attachments or bonds between them. Yet she found cutting jealousy edged along her nerves when she imagined him with another woman.

“I won’t bite you, m’lady—” He chuckled. “Well, I would like to, but I promise I will only do so if you ask.”

Heavens! Such outrageous remarks he made—she supposed she deserved it. She had certainly asked for what he’d given her yesterday, and reveled in the wild, thrilling abandon of it. But now, she was not proud of her recklessness.

She should take the key from his sporran, unlock the door and leave, but he’d likely follow. Naked. Another spectacle was the last thing she wanted.

“I have it on good authority that a woman likes a man with a clean body and a dirty mind.”

How ridiculous he was. She bit back a grin. “And who told you that?”

“Lachlan, of course.”

“I wager Lachlan doesn’t know as much about women as he thinks he does.”

“I’m thinking you’re right.” Alasdair smiled. “’Haps even I ken more than he does about women.”

Likely he did. Certainly he appealed to her with his clean, hard-muscled body. As for his mind, she would not call it dirty, though he did know well how to seduce her with his sensual, lascivious words and scorching kisses.

“You don’t wish to help me? Stubborn, aye?” He winked. “’Tis only fitting. You have a fair bit of Scots blood in you.”

Trying to ignore his teasing, she strolled away, searching for something with which to occupy herself. But she slipped secretive glances back at him. Using the soap, he lathered her cloth and stroked it over his powerful chest and sculpted arms. His slow movements were beyond enticing.

She would mend a pair of trews one of the women had given her for Rory. That should take her mind off the tempting man in the tub.

No, it wouldn’t, but she could pretend it did.

With a sloshing sound, Alasdair slid down and dunked his head beneath the water, then sat upright again, water streaming down his face and off his long black hair. He rubbed the chunk of soap over his hair, making a miserable attempt to wash it.

He reminded her of Rory, who couldn’t wash his hair, either. Impatience overcame her. “Here, let me.” She moved in behind Alasdair, then realized she’d have to remove her bulky arisaid to avoid getting it wet. That done, she rolled up the sleeves of her smock and dressing gown and took the mushy soap from him.

“I thank you, m’lady.” His voice was deep and tantalizing.

“You won’t when I’m done with you.” She suppressed a small grin. “Rory always complains when I wash his head.” She lathered Alasdair’s hair and briskly rubbed. She scratched her short, blunt nails against his scalp, careful to avoid the spot where he’d had the injury.

“God’s truth, ’tis the most thorough head-washing I’ve had in all my days.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Nay. Never has anything felt so good.” He released a brief chuckle. “Well, I take that back. One thing does feel better.” He sent her a potent look over his shoulder.

Needing to get away from him, she rose. “There, I think you’re ready to rinse.”

“Would you wash my back first?” He gazed up at her, more innocently this time. “If you please.”

What a manipulating scoundrel he was. “Very well.” She took the soapy cloth and stroked it over his broad back.

Aside from a couple of scars from knife or sword wounds, his back was smooth and sleek, hard with muscle and ribs. He straightened his spine and the muscles rippled. His low back tapered in toward his hips in a most appealing way, drawing her gaze downward.

Wonder struck her again—how could a man be so beautiful? He was a marvel of creation. She found herself recalling all too vividly their encounter yesterday in his room, the dangerous and sensual magic that had drawn her to him against her rational will. She had given herself to him fully. That same magic crept into her bloodstream now, the tingling warmth flowing down toward the V of her thighs. Such delicious sin she craved with him.

She stood abruptly and laid the cloth on his shoulder. “There, it looks clean to me.”

“Many good thanks.” Even his deep murmur threatened to seduce her.

She wiped her hands on her dressing gown and stepped back. Feeling completely bereft, she fought down the treacherous sensations humming through her that urged her to watch him, touch him. Invite him into her bed.