In Scot Water - Caroline Lee Page 0,18
only keeps the bairn off the muddy ground, but also allows ye to sooth him with a swing.”
“Aye. Sometimes, when he’s fussing and doesnae want to sleep, I’ll sit there”—she pointed at the chair he’d been sitting in earlier—“and nudge the basket a few times. It continues to swing.”
“Like a pendulum,” he murmured.
She nodded. “I thought ‘twould also be nice out in the garden, if the rains ever clear. I could hang the basket from a tree branch.”
His lips twitched. “And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”
“Aye!” She couldn’t help her growing excitement; not just because of this man’s intoxicating nearness, but because it’d been so long since she’d had someone to discuss her ideas with. “But I’d have to watch for branch integrity and high winds, because if the bough breaks, the basket will fall.”
“And the cradle would come down, bairn and all!” he finished with a little nod.
She grinned. “We think alike.”
“We do,” he murmured, his gaze holding hers.
She wasn’t sure if he was keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the bairns, or if he knew the power his voice had over her, the way it made her knees weak and her heart pound.
“I ken ‘tis no’ an engineering marvel. Neither is the ramp up to the loft. I had to use the auld planks Robert used to patch the back wall last summer. And I am no carpenter, as my hammering can attest—”
When he stepped toward her, she bit off whatever silliness she was spouting. All she knew was, he was close enough to touch.
“I think ye’re a remarkable woman, Evelinde, and I’d like to do something for ye.”
She swallowed down her desperation. “What?” she whispered.
For a moment he looked as if he knew what he wanted to say, but then he shook his head and glanced away, his eyes landing on the pot of hot water.
“Ye havenae bathed.”
Confused, it took her a moment to understand. “Nay, I warmed that water for ye. I’m sorry I cannae offer ye more warmth until yer kilt and shirt dry, but…”
She trailed off when he stepped around her, scooped up the pot of water, and grabbed the soap and one of the rags she’d used to wash the boys. He set all of it on the table and held out the soap.
“If ye want to warm me, ye can start with this.”
There was challenge in his tone, aye, but something deeper, something compelling. She wanted this man.
And he wanted her.
She could hear it now.
Swallowing, she stepped up beside him, and without taking her eyes from his, dipped the cloth in the hot water and lathered the soap. When she dragged the rag down one of his arms, she swore she felt sparks between their skin.
And he moaned.
But he didn’t close his eyes.
Nay, instead, he watched her wash him. Watched the way she watched her own hands as they skimmed and caressed and fondled. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, and with each heartbeat, the need grew more unbearable.
And then she reached his waist, where he’d tied the blanket closed. She could see the evidence of his arousal there, tenting the material, and her hands shook with desire as she reached for the knot.
His hand atop hers stopped her, and her gaze flashed up to his.
There was yearning in those beautiful eyes, aye, but hesitation too.
“Are ye certain, Evelinde?” he whispered, hoarsely.
“Do ye no’ want me to touch ye?”
“Och, lass…more than ye can ken.”
She pulled her hand from under his and dropped the wet rag on the table beside the pot of water. Then she took his hand in hers and lifted it, placing his palm against her cheek. “I want ye to touch me too, Malcolm.”
With a groan, he pulled her to him, slamming his mouth down atop hers.
Blessed Mother, aye! Aye!
His kiss was so hard, so desperate, she barely had time to taste him, before his lips had moved to her jaw, then her neck. She mewled, frantic for his touch, as his hands dragged down her sides to her waist.
Then he was lifting her, turning them, and she felt the table under her arse. Despite the skirts in her way, she shimmied back, until she could wrap her legs around him, pulling him closer.
His hardness pressed against the junction of her legs, hot and long and oh-so-perfect. Even confined by that damn blanket, even with the wool of her skirts and her linen chemise between them, Evelinde could feel