The Highlander's Reward (10 page)

Arbella cried out, never having experienced such exquisite pleasure.
Magnus kneaded her breasts with his hands as he laved at her nipple. He groaned back with every one of her moans.

“Ye are so hot, Arbella…”

She loved the sound of her name as it rolled off his tongue, his burr curling the r’s and l’s.

“God, I want
ye in my bed…”

His words brought sensual, erotic images to her mind of him laying her out, baring both of her breasts and kissing her, nuzzling her, licking her tender flesh.

“But we canna join each other yet,” he said, pulling away.

She let out a yelp from the cold air hitting her hot as fire nipple.

Magnus pulled her gown back up into place.

“I need a bath and a shave.” He held her hands up to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “And I would think ye’d be happy for the pleasure of a warm bath, would ye not?”

Arbella swallowed, not sure if she trusted herself enough to speak yet.

Magnus pressed a hot, entirely too quick, kiss to her lips before leaving the room. She could only stand there, trying to explore what had just happened between them.
Trying to understand the sensations whipping through her body, the turmoil in her mind. Magnus made her feel things, showed her things, she didn’t think were possible. He was opening up her eyes to a whole new world. A world of pleasure, desire, and more importantly a world where a man was strong yet sensitive to a woman’s needs. He was showing her by his actions that he was not a barbarian. She smiled a little at this knowledge. As much as he wanted to pretend he was a hardened warrior, no hard-hearted man would caress her the way he did. A barbarian would not care that she had a bath, or that her hands trembled when they entered his courtyard.

Magnus was a big, soft-hearted, man,
even if he tried to hide it. She’d found out his secret.

When her husband returned several minutes later, he was followed by two servants carrying a large wooden tub—large enough for Magnus to fit in, and a half dozen others carrying buckets of steaming water, linens and balls of soap.

They set down the tub, lining it with one of the linen towels, then dumped in the water. They left and returned with more buckets until the tub was half full. Steam curled into the air from its depths. Oh, how she wanted to sink into that tub, to scrub away the dirt from her travels.

She startled as the door shut on the last servant. Her gaze was drawn, with alarm, to Magnus as he started to undress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking a bath.”

“I will come back.” She scurried toward the door.

“I dinna plan on taking my bath alone, Arbella.”

“What?” she gasped.

Her mother had assisted the baron with his bath, would she be expected to do the same? Her heart raced, her palms grew damp.

“Ye dinna want to bathe?”

Her
back was still to him, the door and escape only inches away. From behind, she heard the slosh of water. He was in the tub. If she turned around, she’d see the breadth of his naked shoulders, his chest wet from the water… The visions she created in her own mind had her wayward nipples hardening once more.

She pressed her lips together and then forced herself to speak. “I do want to take a bath, but I had thought to take a bath…alone.”

“Ah. But ’tis more fun to take a bath together.”

She gulped, afraid the sound echoed off the walls.

Magnus chuckled behind her. “Turn around, lass.”

Arbella turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide, her throat constricted.

Even the visions she’d imagined in her mind did no justice to the vision of her very nude husband soaking in the massive tub. He was glorious. Perfection sent from the devil to tempt her into wickedness.

He grinned at her
, roguish and sensual. “Well?”

“I cannot take a bath with you.”

“Suit yourself. Will ye at least wash my back?”

“What?” she whispered. He wanted her to touch him?
To stroke soapy fingers over his taut flesh?

“Come now, dinna be shy with me.”

She stepped forward, curiosity getting the better of her. She wanted to wash his back. To touch him. To breathe in his intoxicating scent.

His smile was inviting and his eyes followed her as she came closer.

Arbella rolled up the sleeves of her gown and knelt behind him.

He handed her the soap and
a small linen square. “Here.” His voice was gravelly, like he was holding back something in his throat.

She dipped the linen in the water and lathered the soap onto it,
then she stroked the cloth over his shoulders. Magnus sighed and sat forward, allowing her greater space to wash him.

“That feels wonderful, lass,” he mumbled.

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. It
did
feel wonderful. She rinsed the cloth then wiped off his lathered flesh with water.

“All finished,” she said, annoyed at the quiver in her voice.

“But ye haven’t done the front.”

The front… The wicked side of her wanted desperately to do the front. The part of her
that wanted to remain chaste and return to England resisted.

“I cannot do the front.
’Twouldn’t be decent.”

“My sweet, we are beyond decent already.”

He was right. Her face burned with the memory of his mouth on her bare flesh. Besides, it was only a bath. It couldn’t hurt to wash his chest… But she would
not
wash
that
part of him.

Chapter Ten

Magnus was thoroughly enjoying the game he played with his innocent wife.
Timidly, she walked around the front of the bath and knelt beside him. She met his gaze, her blue eyes dark and fathomless. He could stare at her all day. And he took his time since it was quiet and they’d nowhere to be just yet. He followed the slope of her almond shaped eyes, noting a tiny scar near her temple.

“What happened there?” he asked.

“Oh.” She reached up and touched it, her eyes cast downward for a moment. “I do not remember. ’Twas when I was very young.”

He didn’t know why, but Magnus got the feeling she knew exactly what occurred and didn’t want to tell him. He would let it go though, he was not one to press, and if he had his way, she would tell him in time.

She dipped the cloth in the water and wiped it over his chest, obviously trying to change the course of their conversation—and how manipulative she was to think he would be distracted by—

Little minx.
God’s teeth, but he was distracted.

Arbella
used the cloth gently with one hand, while her other hand boldly stroked soap onto the plains of his torso. Curiosity flared in her eyes as she touched him.

And that wasn’t all that flared.

His cock swelled with need, rising toward the top of the water. He shifted, bending one leg up so his knee was out of the water, and his cock just beneath the surface. But doing that only made her more aware of his middle. Her gaze darted to his knee, then toward his raging erection and she gasped. She dropped the cloth, her hands still pressed to his chest, her eyes fastened on his length.

Magnus
didn’t say anything for several minutes, wanting her to look. He liked that she was looking at him, but he also wanted her to feel comfortable doing so. They were man and wife after all and soon he would be plunging his cock deep inside her womanly sheath. If he could have his way, he’d pull her into the tub now. But his wife needed gentle wooing and his earlier play had been almost more than he would have thought she’d allow.

But she had allowed it.

Perhaps…

“Arbella,” he rasped, not liking the blatant need in his voice.

She jerked her gaze back to his face, but instead of meeting his eyes started at his chin.

“Kiss me, Arbella.”

She shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Please?”

She shook her head again, but even as she denied him, she leaned forward and licked her lips. Her nails lightly scratched his chest before dragging up to his shoulders where she braced herself as she leaned in closer. He watched her close her eyes, her long lashes lying down on her cheeks.

Magnus met her halfway, his lips finding hers in a blood-boiling kiss. He swiped his tongue over the crease of her lips, opening her mouth for his plunder. She boldly kissed him back, whimpering in the back of her throat. God, he liked the sound of her pleasure.

He gripped her hand and pulled it down over his chest and abdomen. Then she resisted. He left her hand there, wanting more than anything to press his cock upward and feel the length of her fingers encircling him, but he knew he had to take his time. Instead he stroked her breasts, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and gently pulling her gown down to expose the turgid flesh. She stroked his belly, dipping her finger in his belly button, and then she grew bolder sliding down over his thigh.

Magnus grew bolder too. With one hand still stroking her breasts he used the other one to stroke over her hip, her belly, then he cupped her sex through her gown. She gasped and stilled, but didn’t stop him. Heat emanated from between her thighs. Magnus’ desire grew tenfold. If he dipped his fingers between her naked thighs he was sure to find her moist and ready for his invasion.

Slowly, Magnus
, he told himself. He’d made a promise not to take her maidenhead, unless she begged for it. He didn’t want to scare her away, but he didn’t want to stop either.

Stroking
her mons through the fabric of her gown, he was pleased when she moved her hips in time with his touch. Her hand started to explore again, back up his thigh. She paused, then her fingers feathered over the length of his shaft. A timid, barely there touch, but it was still a touch.

“I like when ye touch me,” he encouraged between kisses.

“And I…like when you…touch me,” she panted.

Magnus growled as she brazenly gripped his length in her fist and she shuddered at the same time. He increased the pressure and his pace between her thighs, and she instinctively stroked upward over the head of his erection and back down.

However innocent and timid she was, he liked her touching him. He thrust his hips upward, groaning and meeting her pace.

“Oh, God, Arbella, I want ye.”

But those were the wrong words to say. Abruptly she yanked her hand away, and pulled back from his kiss.

“What are we doing?” She looked down at his hand pressed to the juncture of her thighs, to her gown wet over her breasts from his wet hands. “We cannot do this.”

“Aye, we can,” he said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. “We are married.”

She shook her head. “We are supposed to be married in name only. Our marriage is to be annulled, but with the way we are petting you’ll have a babe in my womb before the nooning.”

Magnus laughed a little bitterly. She was still planning on leaving him. “If only…”

She looked at him sharply. “Is that what you want? You married me to save me. I am an inconvenience.”

He would never want her to believe that. “Och! Who said ye were an inconvenience? I shall run him through. I want ye, Arbella. I want ye in my bed. I want ye in Dunrobin. I have to be married to ye to get those things, bless the abbot who saw the deed done.”

She glowered at him. “I want more in a husband than to be his plaything.”
She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “You really are a barbarian, Magnus Sutherland. Now if you please, I would like to enjoy what’s left of the bath, without
you
in it.”

Magnus recognized that he’d
made a muddle of things—he just had not a clue how.

Arbella was brimming with fury. She’d thought all this time that Magnus kissed her because he was starting to feel something
for her—his kisses had certainly stirred her. She’d even gone so far as to think she’d uncovered a big secret of his inner heart. But she was wrong.

Dead wrong.

The man was just as much a heathen as every other Scottish barbarian.

She turned her back on him, pretending to study the landscape as he climbed from the bath, dried off and then left. She stared at the tub.
The place where such sensuality had been achieved moments before. Sensuality that had seemed so sweet and tender, in reality had been something wrong. He’d provoked the wanton side in her, teased her out in the open.

And maybe that was why she was so mad. Because she enjoyed the things he did to her, and she to him.
Because she wanted to do more. Because he’d named what they did as desire, stated that he wanted her—the same want that she too felt.

And yet, she’d been mortified to think she was starting to fall for him.

She could not fall for him.

She just needed to go home.

Arbella yanked off her gown and chemise, her stockings and boots, and unbraided her hair. She stomped naked to the tub and climbed inside, hissing at the chilled water. The damned man had taken all the warmth in the room with him.

She soaped quickly, making sure to scrub her hair well. Who knew when the next time she’d get a bath in this barbaric land
?

When she was done, her arms and legs were covered in gooseflesh, a blue tinged her nails and her teeth chattered.

No fire in the wretched place either.

Fu
riously, she dried herself with the supposedly dry towel, which was damp from Magnus dropping his on top of it.

She wrapped herself up in the linen and shifted from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.
Then she frowned and groaned aloud, rolling her eyes to heaven. She had nothing to wear but the dirty gown she’d taken off.

“Curse you, Magnus!” she hissed.

While in the process of pulling the soiled gown over her head, a tapping sounded at the door. She yanked the gown off her head, threw it on the floor and quickly covered up with the towel.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Lydia, my lady.”

Arbella narrowed her eyes, but was curious with what the woman wanted. She hoped it wasn’t to berate her for being English and marrying the laird. “You may enter.”

An elderly woman came into the room carrying a bundle of cloth. She wore a white shift and over top a plaid pleated from her chest to her feet, attached in the middle with a belt. The colors were similar to Magnus’ but muted.

She clucked her tongue when she saw how cold Arbella was.

“The laird canna start the building of the new keep soon enough. A fire is what a lady needs in her room. His mother looked just as frigid as ye year round.”

Arbella raised a brow in question.
“New keep?”

“Aye, the laird is going to build a new fine keep of stone, hearths in every room.”

“Where is his mother?”

“Och, lass, the lady died when he was a tender boy.”

“Oh,” she whispered. She hadn’t known. She wouldn’t have been so hard on him if she did—he hadn’t been raised with the gentle hand of a lady. But in truth, he was still a brute who’d openly admitted he wanted her only for the bedding. “Lydia, how long have you served the Sutherlands?”

“I’m a Sutherland, my lady, born and raised. We serve each other. The laird provides protection, makes sure we have enough seed for food, sheep for wool. In return we serve his household.”

Arbella nodded and watched as Lydia unrolled her bundle on the bed. There was a cream colored chemise and a matching bliaut that scooped at the neck with long wide sleeves.

“These were the laird’s mother’s things. She was about your size.”

“Magnus mentioned he wanted me to wear his colors.”

Lydia clucked her tongue. “A lady ought to wear a bliaut for courtly attending. Ye can w
ear the
arisaid
when ye’re working.”

“
Arisaid
?”

“’Tis like his lairdship’s kilt, but made for a lady. Like mine, only yours will have brighter colors.”

Arbella nodded, not thinking she would ever like to wear the thing. “What courtly attending am I going to?” She couldn’t fathom Longshanks making a friendly visit to Dunrobin.

“The trial of young Keith.”
The woman shook her head. “Not sure what got into him. He was a good lad. Has a family, two wee ones and a spritely wife.”

As much as the man had scared her, threatened her life, Arbella liked to see the good side in people. She also believed in forgiveness. She couldn’t let this man and his
family suffer because she was English.

“Come now, my lady, let us get ye dressed so ye can join your husband.”

She was about to argue that he was not her husband, but realized it would be pointless. He was her husband and there was nothing she could do about it—save wait until she could get word to her father, if he was still alive.