Page 30 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Then, Colin MacKenzie walked in. He stopped only because a slipper struck the door beside his head.

“Get out!”

Colin looked at the slipper, then at her.

Elspeth sank so swiftly that water slapped against the sides of the tub. “Get out, ye great unmannered ox!”

His gaze moved over the room, the tub, the steam, then returned to her face with a composure she found deeply offensive.

“This is me chamber.”

“It is presently me bath.”

“Aye. I see that.”

Another slipper flew. He caught this one. Elspeth gasped, which was unfortunate, as it lifted her higher in the water. She dropped again at once, with her arms crossed over herself beneath the surface, and her cheeks burning so hot the bath seemed cool by comparison.

“Dinnae look at me.”

“I am trying tae understand how many slippers ye possess.”

“Enough tae kill ye if Providence is kind.”

His mouth moved. She hated that almost most of all.

He closed the door behind him. Elspeth sat bolt upright, then remembered herself and plunged down again.

“Did ye nae understand the part where I ordered ye out?”

“I understood it.”

“Then obey it.”

“I rarely obey orders given by women attempting murder with footwear.”

She seized the nearest object, which happened to be a small cake of soap, and hurled it with all the force available to a wet and furious bather. Colin stepped aside. The soap struck the wall and slid down with a sad little sound.

“That was French soap,” she snapped. “Leave.”

He did not leave. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the door as though they were discussing weather, tenants, or anyordinary matter that did not involve his wife naked in a bath with steam curling around her throat.

His wife.

The thought struck her with a shock almost as sharp as his entrance. She was his wife. The priest had said so. The Crown had witnessed it. This was his castle, his chamber, and by every law that had failed her, he had some right to stand where he stood.

Her arms tightened over her breasts beneath the water. Colin’s eyes noticed the movement. They were dark, steady, and far too careful. He did not leer. That somehow made it worse. Colin looked at her as if he saw too much and chose, with effort, not to take more. Heat rose under her skin for reasons that had nothing to do with the bath.

“Ye have nay right,” she said, though the words sounded less certain than she wished.

His gaze returned to her face. “Ye saw me naked by the loch.”

“That was an assault upon me peace, nae an invitation.”

“One might call this fairness.”

“One might, if one had been raised by wolves.”

This time his mouth most certainly curved. Elspeth hated the warmth that moved through her at the sight. She was aware of every inch of herself beneath the water: knees drawn up, hair pinned badly, damp curls clinging to her neck, the surface shifting with each unsteady breath. She was aware, too, of his size near the door, the breadth of his shoulders, the memory of his bare chest in firelight and morning sun, and the way his attention seemed to touch what his hands did not.