Page 22 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
She pursed her lips. “Nay. I think this is enough. And… again. Thank ye.”
“Ye’re welcome.”
Isolde fumbled with the ties on her breeches. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she tried to untie them. She gritted her teeth and tried again to untie them—and failed again.
“Bleedin’ hell,” she muttered.
“What is it?”
She looked up to see Struan standing in the doorway, looking at her with concern on his face. She heaved a sigh and shrugged.
“I’m havin’ trouble with these ties,” she grumbled.
“Dae ye need me help?”
She opened her mouth to object, feeling like that might be far too intimate and inappropriate. But as she stared at the still-tied laces on her breeches and then at her fingers, which suddenly seemed clumsy and thicker than sausages, she heaved another sigh, desperate to slip into the warm, fragranced water.
“Please,” she said grudgingly.
Chuckling to himself, Struan walked back into the room and stood before her. Their gazes met and Isolde drew in a sharp breath. The air between them grew immediately charged and warmth blossomed in her belly. As he reached down, the tips of his fingers brushed her skin and that heat in her stomach descended into lower parts of her anatomy. He never took his eyes off hers as he untied her laces, slowly and with an almost sensual flair. The moment felt so intense, Isolde felt as if she was holding her breath the entire time.
“There ye go,” he said.
She glanced down and saw the laces of her breeches hanging loose and untied. Her cheeks bloomed with heat at her inability to navigate something as simple as that.
“Thank ye,” she said.
“Ye’re welcome,” he replied. “Now, I’ll go and let ye enjoy yerself.”
He closed the door behind him, leaving her in peace. She fumbled with her clothes but managed to get them off and then slipped into the water. A soft moan passed her lips as she leaned back, sinking into it up to her chin. The fragrance of the herbs was delightful and the heat from the water seeping into her bones was heavenly. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly and after a while she already started to feel better, the two drinks she had had wearing off.
As her mind and body began to relax and loosen up, her thoughts turned to Struan and their journey so far. And as she did, she felt a stab of guilt. By not telling him where Finlay was being kept, she was in essence, keeping his brother hostage every bit as her father was. He had been nothing but kind and thoughtful to her.
And that is how I am repaying him.
As guilty as she felt though, she couldn’t tell him. Not until they were safely away from Moy Castle and she was well outside her father’s reach. Even more than that though, she was anxious to be away from Laird Dougal MacPherson, her father’s ally and the man he’d intended to marry her to.
She couldn’t risk being caught, going back to that life of servitude. A life of chains. She had no doubt if she was caught and forced to wed Laird MacPherson, both her father and her new husband would make her suffer for what she’d done. So, although she felt guilty, Isolde couldn’t—and wouldn’t—reveal what she knew until Struan had kept up his end of their deal.
CHAPTER TEN
Struan oversaw the serving girls drain the tub then helped them remove it from the room once Isolde was done with it. Afterward, he returned to the room to find Isolde standing at the small table in the corner of the room stirring something into a cup of warm wine, making him wonder what she was up to.
“What are ye makin’? he asked.
“A tonic fer ye.”
“Fer me?”
She offered him a small smile. “Aye. Tae help ye sleep taenight.”
Struan stepped over to the table and inhaled deeply. The aroma drifting from the cup was strong and very earthy and it brought a frown to his lips.
“That smells… awful,” he said.
She laughed softly. “I’m nae done with it yet.”
She picked up a pot of herbs and crushed them in small mortar and pestle he’d seen in her pack. Once it had been ground, she dumped it into the wine and he winced at the sharp, musky smell that filled the space between them.
