Bride of Fire

by Glynnis Campbell

  Jenefer.

  His eyes flashed open.

  It was Jenefer’s scent. Sweet. Spicy. Musky.

  He inhaled the fragrant steam, and when he closed his eyes again, he saw her. Her cascading tawny hair. Her glittering emerald eyes. Her soft, rosy, delicious lips.

  Beneath the water, he stirred to life. Since he was alone, he didn’t bother to hide his arousal.

  Instead, he sank further into the water, resting his neck on the padded edge of the tub, and dreamed of an impossible future.

  A future where he could begin again. Forget about the love he’d lost. Move past the memory of his beloved, departed wife.

  Chapter 35

  Jenefer spread out the napkin she’d pilfered from supper on the bedchamber table. Then she fished a cooled piece of charcoal from the hearth. By holding the cloth taut and carefully dragging the sharp edge of the charcoal along the surface, she could draw black lines on the white linen.

  “What are you doing?” Feiyan asked.

  “Making plans.”

  “Plans for what?” Feiyan leaned over her shoulder. “An escape tunnel?”

  “Improvements.”

  She began rendering the curtain wall, moving it out a considerable distance from where it was now.

  “Improvements to what?”

  “To Creagor.”

  “You haven’t even won the keep yet,” Feiyan pointed out.

  “I have a plan for that as well.” Jenefer gave her a cryptic smile.

  Feiyan arched a sardonic brow. “Does it involve eating them out of house and home? Because that’s the only plan you seem to be employing at the moment.”

  Jenefer gave her a simmering glare. “Well, at least I’m not training their soldiers.”

  Feiyan colored.

  Jenefer worked in silence after that.

  Meanwhile, Feiyan salvaged her pride by punching and kicking at the air in the strange fighting style she’d learned from her mother’s servant.

  “So, Feiy,” she said casually, “what do you know about seducing men?”

  Feiyan was so startled by the question, she stumbled in the middle of a lunge and almost kicked herself right off her feet. “Wha-what?” Then she planted indignant fists on her hips. “What makes you think I would know anything about seducing men?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Feiyan’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

  Jenefer shrugged. “I figured you had lots of experience.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Jenefer didn’t know why her cousin was so upset. “’Tis a simple question. Aye or nay? Do you or do you not know how to seduce men?”

  “What kind of a strumpet do you think I am?” Feiyan demanded.

  “So you don’t know?”

  Feiyan answered with a growl, then bit out, “Nay, Jenefer. No doubt you have swived your way through the ranks of your father’s knights. But I…” She halted, narrowed her eyes, and cocked her head. “Wait. Why are you asking me that?”

  Jenefer shrugged. “Just…curious.”

  But Feiyan was as perceptive as a hunting hound when it came to sniffing out answers. “Are you planning to seduce someone?”

  Jenefer didn’t care for Feiyan’s amused tone. “Nay.”

  “You are, aren’t you?” Then she inhaled sharply. “Thor’s ballocks! Don’t tell me you’re going to try to seduce the Highlander?”

  Before Jenefer could deny it, Feiyan erupted into peals of laughter.

  Though Jenefer would never admit it, her cousin’s mirth made her suddenly uncertain of her plan. What if she didn’t have the charm or wit or wiles to seduce Morgan?

  But she couldn’t afford self-doubt. Turning hurt into fury, Jenefer wheeled and gave Feiyan a hard shove.

  Unprepared, Feiyan plopped onto her arse on the floor. Her laughter was cut short, and revenge flared in her eyes.

  “If that’s your idea of seduction,” Feiyan sneered, nodding to the drawing Jenefer had made, “then you might as well toss those plans onto the fire.”

  Jenefer was saved from having to think of a cutting retort. A thin, sad cry leaked through the wall from the nursery.

  Miles.

  She clenched her jaw. If Miles hadn’t been wailing, Jenefer would have stayed to settle things between her caustic cousin and her, once and for all, with her fists.

  But the babe’s cries were growing louder. If she didn’t go to the nursery of her own accord, Bethac would come knocking. And she didn’t want the maid to witness her beating Feiyan to a bloody pulp.

  So she threw the piece of charcoal at Feiyan, making her flinch out of the way, and left, slamming the door behind her. With a curt nod to the guard, she stalked down the hallway.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, she swung open the nursery door, expecting to see Bethac pacing in frustration.

  What she saw instead made her freeze in stunned amazement. Before her was the most magnificent embodiment of a warrior she’d ever seen.

  Morgan stood in all his naked glory.

  Wet and dripping from his bath.

  Gleaming from the light of a dozen candles.

  Holding a babe that was squalling loud enough to summon the dead.

  Her gaze involuntarily raced from the top of the man’s freshly washed head, down his perfectly sculpted body, to his sturdy bare feet, and back up again.

  She’d seen plenty of nude men before. Spending as much time as she did in the armory ensured that. But this one took her breath away.

  Before she could make a stammering fool of herself, she turned to secure the door behind her and catch her breath.

  When she turned back, Morgan’s confused expression had grown to complete discomfiture.

  Suddenly, despite her fascination with the Highlander’s godlike contours, she thought the spectacle before her might be the most hilarious and awkward thing she’d seen in a long time.

  Morgan—completely naked, vulnerable, and alone—was holding Miles in his outstretched arms as if the babe were a feral, raging wildcat that he feared might deliver a lethal bite.

  She clapped her hand over her twitching mouth, furrowing her brow and trying not to smile.

  She was unsuccessful.

  “Lass, will ye not…” he started, wincing every time Miles let out a particularly piercing scream. “Can’t ye… What the… Are ye goin’ to just stand there, or…”

  If it weren’t for Miles’ distress, Jenefer would have loved to have just stood there watching Morgan struggle with the infant and squirm in naked discomfort.

  But she had a heart. And the sight of Morgan was doing strange, uncontrollable things to her. So she took mercy on the babe and his incredibly splendid father.

  Sweeping past his oversized tub, she caught a whiff of woodruff—her favorite scent. She smiled in approval. Morgan must have sprinkled it in his bath, just as she always did.

  Advancing, she plucked Miles from Morgan’s hands and settled him against her shoulder.

  To her disappointment, Morgan immediately snatched up a linen square and tied it around his hips. Not so quickly that she didn’t catch a glimpse of his well-muscled buttocks. And not before she stole a last peek at the manly treasure nestled in his crop of dark hair.

  “My thanks,” he mumbled, running an embarrassed hand through his wet locks. “Bethac said he was sleepin’. She said he’d be fine. And then she left and… She said she’d come back, but she hasn’t and…”

  “He is fine.” It was amusing how inept this brave, bold warrior was when it came to his son. She would have thought he’d know more about his own flesh and blood.

  Perhaps he’d taken little interest in the babe since he’d lost Miles’ mother.

  She thoughtfully pursed her lips. If that were so, Jenefer could use that to her advantage in her plans to seduce the Highlander.

  She placed a tender kiss on Miles’ head. “He’s only wailing because he misses his dear Jen, don’t you, lad?”

  Morgan sat on the e
dge of the bed. While she sauntered around the chamber, she felt him studying her, as if he meant to memorize her infant-soothing tactics.

  She rubbed Miles’ back and murmured to him, loud enough for Morgan to hear. “Ah, don’t you fret, Miles. I’m here now. I’ll keep you safe and warm. And I vow I won’t trade you for a beastie.”

  Miles let out a pathetic, shuddering cry.

  “Oh, I know,” Jenefer told him. “I know you lost your ma. How hard it must be for you.” She gave Morgan a brief sidelong glance. “But I can be your ma for a wee while, can’t I? At least until the laird says I have to go.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jenefer saw Morgan open his mouth to say something. But Miles interrupted with a wail.

  “Ah, sweet wee child, I’ll miss you as well. But what are we to do?”

  After a few more circles around the nursery, Miles’ cries diminished. His face relaxed, and his eyes drifted shut. Jenefer slowly and carefully lowered him back into his cradle, tucking the sheepskin in around him.

  When she turned to face Morgan, she saw gratitude in his eyes.

  She saw something else as well.

  Attraction. And speculation.

  Perhaps Feiyan was right. Perhaps Jenefer didn’t have the skills to seduce a man. Perhaps she couldn’t tempt the Highlander.

  But she could maneuver him. She could make herself seem indispensible to his son. And she believed she’d just planted that seed.

  “He should sleep well now,” she whispered, “at least until Bethac returns.”

  He nodded.

  She gazed at the oversized tub surrounded by candles. Was that water actually steaming?

  Jenefer rarely got a hot bath. And never one in such an enormous tub. Water took so long to heat, and the tubs at home were pitifully small. Thanks to a good measure of Viking blood, she’d grown accustomed to bathing in the loch most of the year. Still, that warm, fragrant, spacious bath looked inviting indeed.

  She looked away to feast her eyes on the handsome warrior one last time. Then she smiled and swept her arm toward his luxurious, linen-lined tub. “Enjoy the rest of your bath.”

  Chapter 36

  There was no way Morgan was getting back in that tub.

  Not while Jenefer was here.

  Not in his present state.

  While she’d been busy allaying his bairn’s woes, he’d watched her with growing interest and admiration. And to his dismay, that interest had begun to manifest in a conspicuous way beneath his targe of thin linen.

  No matter what his brain told him, at least part of him quite clearly wanted the lass to remain here with him.

  He cleared his throat, deciding, “I’m done bathin’.”

  She cocked her head. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.”

  “You can’t have spent more than a few moments in the tub,” she argued. “’Tis still steaming.”

  Morgan wished she’d leave. “’Twas enough.”

  When she made no immediate move to depart, he stood up, carefully clasping his hands before him to cover his arousal.

  She shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure you’re done with it…”

  “I am.” He turned away to collect his clothing, hoping she’d be headed for the door when he turned back. “Thank ye for comin’ to tend to the bairn.” He scanned the bed, trying to locate his trews and leine. “I hope ’twasn’t too much trouble.” Where the hell was his cotun? “He seems to cry at all hours o’ the…”

  Suddenly he remembered Bethac had taken his clothing, promising to bring him a fresh leine and trews. He had nothing to wear but the scrap of linen tied around his hips.

  “…night.” He grimaced. “Good night then,” he improvised, turning to bid her farewell.

  But the bold lass apparently had her own ideas about that. She’d slipped out of her surcoat and flung it to the floor. Now she was kicking off her boots and wriggling out of her kirtle.

  “What are ye…” he choked out.

  “’Tis a shame to let good hot water go to waste,” she said.

  Before he could take a breath or turn away, she pulled the kirtle over her head and tossed it on top of her discarded surcoat.

  Before he could object, she stepped with brash entitlement into the bath. His bath.

  His mouth went dry as his gaze traveled up her long legs to her soft nest of downy amber curls.

  He couldn’t breathe, letting his eyes trace the womanly contours of her body. The sensuous curve of her hips. The slope of her narrow waist. The perfection of her generous breasts.

  A lusty jolt of lightning struck between his thighs. He pressed down hard against it with his clasped hands, trying to will it away.

  “Ohh,” she sighed in wonder as she sank slowly into the water. “This is heavenly.” The deep tub allowed her to submerge up to her shoulders.

  Heavenly, he thought. Aye, that was one word to describe the lass.

  “’Tis the biggest tub I’ve ever seen,” she said.

  “Is it?” His voice was not his own. The words came out as taut as a drawn bow.

  “Mmmm.” She teased the surface of the water with her fingers. “And woodruff is my favorite.”

  Yesterday, Morgan didn’t know what woodruff was. Now it was his favorite as well. He’d never again be able to smell it without envisioning the tempting lass as she was now. Leaning her head back against the edge of the tub. Sluicing water up over her arms. Sighing with delight.

  Morgan couldn’t tear his eyes away. No matter how unwise it was to hunger after a sweetmeat he couldn’t have, it didn’t stop him from doing it.

  When she held her breath and immersed her head, his breath caught as well until she emerged again. Her golden hair was now dark amber and dripping. Her face was bedewed with droplets that caught the light of the candles.

  She cast about for a moment in the water and then looked up at him. “Do you have a rag for washing?”

  He gulped. He did. He was wearing it.

  But certainly he could find something else. There was a stack of rags on the table beside his son.

  Wary of both waking the bairn and exposing his arousal, he cautiously made his way to retrieve a rag for her. The wise thing would have been to wad it up and throw it to her. But that would have been discourteous. Besides, as weak as he was feeling, he would be lucky to clear the bed.

  So he bit the inside of his cheek and conveyed the rag into her hand with a stiff bow.

  He tried, and failed, to overlook what lay beneath the surface of the water. Rose-tipped breasts, lapped by the warm waves. Impossibly long, lean, and shapely legs. Gently wafting curls at the juncture of those legs.

  Closing his eyes against temptation, he swung around and tried to find something, anything, to distract him from the beauty bathing before him.

  From the moment Jenefer melted into the fragrant water, she thought she’d never felt such warmth. The waves seemed to permeate her skin, filling her with heat that eased her muscles and penetrated her bones.

  Gone were her cares. Gone were her defenses.

  But then Morgan brought her the rag, and she glimpsed the naked lust in his eyes.

  Instantly, her blood surged like molten iron through her veins. Tongues of flame lapped at her womanly core. The drops of water clinging to her face felt like beads of sweat.

  When he turned away, her gaze followed him, drifting down the captivating wet locks of his hair, the beautiful hollow of his back, locking on his lean, firm buttocks, defined by the linen drawn tightly across them.

  She swallowed hard.

  He wanted her.

  And she wanted him.

  “Morgan,” she breathed.

  He didn’t turn around. “Aye?”

  She cast about in her mind for an excuse to bring him close. “I can’t…reach my back.”

  She saw his shoulders rise and fall, as if he prepared for battle. At last, with a grim countenance and clenched fists, he came to the tub to oblige her.

  Her heart
thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings when she handed him the wet rag. She leaned forward to clasp her knees and grant him access to her back.

  At first, his motions were minimal and pragmatic.

  Kneeling beside the tub, he moved her hair to one side.

  Then he scrubbed lightly at the place between her shoulder blades, working his way gradually down her spine to the middle of her back. Moving a few inches to the left, he repeated his movements.

  But when he shifted again, his circles with the cloth slowed, and Jenefer could feel his hot breath on her shoulder.

  His breath kindled something inside her. Something that made her blood flow hot. Something that made her bones as liquid as honey.

  She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on her knees.

  He lowered the rag into the water again, then pressed it against the blade of her shoulder, letting the water drizzle down her spine.

  The only sounds in the chamber were the soft plashing of the bath, the quiet crackle of the fire, and her sigh of passion.

  Slowly, gently, he swept the sopping rag across her skin, awakening every inch. Then he delved beneath the water, letting the rag trespass across her lower back and farther, along the curve of her buttocks.

  She hardly dared to breathe. She bit her lip as an intense twinge sparked between her thighs, heating her entire body like a glowing coal.

  The sensation of his breath on the back of her neck made every hair stand on end. And when he placed a tender kiss there, her sigh was almost a moan.

  Releasing the rag, he tangled his hand gently in her hair and pulled her head back until she turned her face up to his. The smoldering need she saw in his eyes reflected her own.

  She licked her lips, waiting for him to extinguish the fire there.

  Chapter 37

  Morgan knew he was walking straight into the fires of Hell.

  The lass was his captive, not his consort.

  What if she was a virgin?

  If he did anything to compromise her virtue, there would be no forgiveness from her clan.