Page 14 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

“Damn thing,” McTavish muttered. It didn’t really pain him but common sense told him it wasn’t right.

He glanced at the table that held his soap and a towel. There was no water there. So—as he’d been instructed by the laird—he rang the bell on the wall to let staff ken he needed to perform his morning ablutions.

While he waited for warm water to arrive he studied an oil painting above the mantel. It was of Fifths Castle in the wintertime. Snow covered the ground and several crows dotted the sky. To the front of the picture was a stag, its head raised proudly and its eyes glistening.

It reminded him of his family home north of Inverness. It had been a long time since he’d left—the calling deep within him to fight for Scotland’s rightful king had kept him moving and on the road. Not a life he’d planned, but one he’d had to undertake without complaint.

He turned away, suddenly feeling weary with it all. Perhaps it would come to an end soon, this struggle his people faced. And then he could go home and be the laird of his own castle.

With Isla at my side.

That was the vision, his hope for the future. Aye, it had been fast, this new dimension to his dreams. But he wanted her smiling, laughing, talking, wearing his ring and bearing his bairns. She would no longer be a maid, she’d be Lady McTavish and have servants of her own. He’d see to that if it were the last thing he did.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The heavy oak door opened.

He caught his breath. The very woman who’d been dominating his thoughts stood there balancing a bowl of water in the crook of her arm.

“Here, let me.” He rushed to take it from her.

“It’s okay. I have it.”

He ignored her complaint and took the bowl. “Come in, shut the door.”

She did as he’d asked. “Shall I stoke the fire, sir?”

“No, it’s quite warm enough in here.”

“Aye, sir, it is warm.” She scooted to the bed and began to straighten the covers.

He watched her movements. They were fast and efficient. He wondered if she were tired after her late night trip to the forest. If she was, it didn’t show.

When she’d finished she adjusted the drapes then turned to him. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

“Aye, come here.” He picked up a small white washcloth.

She stepped up to him, pressing her lips together and keeping her gaze firmly on his.

He liked that much better than when she hadn’t been able to look at him.

He dipped the cloth into the water, soaped it up, then wrung it out.

She watched him closely, her chest rising and falling prettily beneath her bodice.

“Here.” He held out the cloth. “Wash my back.”

“Sir?” She raised her eyebrows.

“My back. I can’t reach.”

“Er… aye, of course.”

He knew his request had surprised her and smiled as he turned to face the fire. He sensed her hesitating for a moment, then she began to gently smooth the warm wet cloth from his left shoulder to his right.

Chapter Five

---