What the Scot Hears

by Amy Quinton

  Yes, tenacious could be another candidate for her middle name.

  Now that her room, and more importantly, her bath, was ready, she headed upstairs, barely able to wait a moment more to submerge herself in warm, clean water.

  Mere minutes later, Amelia closed her eyes as she soaked. The warm liquid soothed her aching muscles. Her mind drifted away with the steam, content and at peace for the first time in a very, very long time.

  But of course, all too soon her faithless mind wandered unerringly toward one big, strapping highlander: Alaistair MacLeod.

  Amelia smiled as she imagined his reaction to her note. Would he be furious? Would he finally laugh…perhaps, smile…at her audacity? He’d certainly scratch at his chin, a habit of his she’d picked up on the night before as she watched him watch her in the stuffy taproom of The Quiet Witch Inn. Oddly enough, she wondered about his laugh…would it be hearty and drawn out? Clipped and understated? He’d probably have a deep, rumbling laugh that would reverberate across her skin like the rumble of a large, beating drum, leaving her arms and legs tingling with feeling.

  Without conscious thought, she imagined the two of them meeting in better, happier times. It was a delightful thought, full of awareness and oddly enough, laughter, which always had the effect of leaving her feeling comfortable and content. Being an orphan, she imagined her mother had laughed often when she was a babe, causing her to be attuned to the action in others.

  Refusing to traverse that line of thinking, Amelia opened her eyes and glanced around her room, or what she could see of it, from her corner behind the large, moveable dressing screen. It was still dim, almost dark, the sun just beginning to make its presence known to the inhabitants in this part of the world. The fire danced in its grate, having been started by one of the inn’s maids as part of preparing her room.

  Amelia watched as the flames cast interesting, writhing shadows on the walls and ceiling. She couldn’t resist holding up one arm to catch the light and add her own shadowy puppet to the mix but her intended dog came out looking like a squealing duck, and she gave up trying, content to watch the fabulous light display.

  Suddenly, she noticed one rather large silhouette, which appeared to climb over the screen and darken the nearby wall, probably a shadow created by the tall bureau she recalled stood sentinel next to the bed. It reminded her of a fairly broad man…

  A broad, angry man…

  One particular man, in fact…

  One over-sized, muscular, particular, broad…

  “MacLeod!” Amelia sat bolt upright and shouted his name.

  Right away, she winced and reached around to rub her backside, her still sore buttocks making their presence painfully felt with her sudden jolt. She’d been in the saddle for so long, she was sure her bottom was one giant bruised blister, a complaint she was all too happy to lay at the booted feet of one over-sized highlander, which was clearly why her thoughts kept returning to him.

  Amelia laid back and closed her eyes once more, encouraging her mind to relax. She’d have plenty of time to think about…and face…her Highlander…later.

  She breathed in and out, forcing herself to take a slow, deep breath.

  A sudden knock at the door almost made her jump out of the water in one giant leap, proving that she was not very successful at relaxing. Already, her heart galloped in its place.

  Could it be MacLeod?

  It was certainly possible.

  Amelia was practically squirming as she called out, “W-who is it?”

  A muffled voice called back, “Emily, the maid, miss. I’ve brung ye towels…”

  Amelia swallowed the obvious shift of disappointment that somersaulted in her chest and called out, “Oh, of course, come in.”

  The maid opened the door. A few moments later, she stepped around the bathing screen, a couple of towels folded over her crossed arms. “I’ll set these on the chair, shall I, miss?”

  “That’ll be fine, thank you.”

  A thump against the wall from the neighboring room made them both jump, the maid with her hand to her chest and Amelia setting her bathwater to lapping against the side of the tub once again. It seemed she wasn’t the only person on edge this evening.

  Both women smiled in relief and nearly laughed at their obvious skittishness. The maid stepped back to the edge of the screen. “D-do you require anything else, miss?”

  Amelia started to answer but stopped when she heard the door click, the sound like the crack of a gun at this early morning hour to a mind already jumpy. A heavy tread marched a slow and steady beat across the floor. The maid peeked back around the screen. Her face lost all its color as she reached for her throat. “S-sir. You cannot be…”

  “Get oot!” growled the disembodied, gruff brogue.

  The maid squeaked and bolted, presumably for the door. It slammed in her wake. Amelia heard it but couldn’t see it happen from her corner of the room, concealed behind the screen.

  After the maid’s loud departure, the ensuing silence was deafening. She heard nothing, now…no one rifling through her things, no one walking across the floor. Only the crack and pop of the fire in the nearby grate. Her heart beat faster with every second that passed as she waited for MacLeod to say something, anything. Or at the very least, to appear around the edge of her screen. She stared ahead in anticipation, her body flushed with emotion, her heart galloping.

  Amelia willed her hands to stop shaking, while her mind flittered from thought to thought as she considered how best to respond to his arrival. Should she pretend to be surprised? Elated? Angry? Expecting?

  Seconds felt like hours.

  Amelia held herself as still as possible. Waiting. Anticipating. Thinking.

  Her bathwater rippled in time with his heavy tread as he finally approached.

  One step. Another. And another. Then, silence...

  She was going to die. Honestly. Her heart couldn’t take this.

  “Who the hell are ye, really, lass?” came a tight brogue from over her shoulder.

  Amelia shivered and, somehow, managed to not leap out of her bath. “Oh, MacLeod!” Instead, she took a deep breath as she sank further into the tub, attempting to appear relaxed, as if she were expecting his arrival. She took a swift glance down, thankful to see that her most intimate parts were hidden from view. For the most part, at least. Her breasts hugged the surface of the water despite her best efforts to submerge them.

  Amelia stared at the far wall ahead of her, somewhat reluctant to face the man who’d so successfully snuck up behind her despite her best attempt to appear as if she’d been confidently awaiting his arrival.

  She swallowed, silently clearing her throat. “It’s about time you got here.” She chastised with a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel. She licked her dry lips. “What took you so long?”

  She heard the floor creak. Once. Twice. Softly, he said, “Och lass…ye ken…precisely…” he inhaled a long, drawn-out breath “…why…I’m late…”

  He released his breath. She felt the warmth of it flit across her neck.

  Oh God, he was so close. She shut her eyes and imagined him leaning over her shoulder, staring down at her; her gaze locked on her breasts. Could he see them in the flickering light of the fire? Could he make out her other womanly parts through the clouded, soapy water? These thoughts tortured her, warmed her. Made her want to reach behind her and grab him, pulling him into the tub with her, her lips locked with his.

  Damn it, this was not acceptable! And where had this shocking, sensual, boldness come from?

  She sensed movement to her left and opened her eyes as MacLeod stalked by, his kilt swishing and teasing about the top of his knees, confidence and strength oozing from his every pore. Her bath water rippled in time with each of his booted steps, lapping at her bobbing breasts, which peaked with awareness.

  She had quite the interesting view from her disadvantaged position in the tub.

  She relaxed, somewhat, as he continued past her and tow
ard the chair which was placed in the corner facing her tub.

  Still, she involuntarily threw her hand to her chest as she followed his movements…six and a half feet of kilted anger in the form of one deliciously broad, ginger highlander was quite something to behold. Her breath caught the tiniest bit at the sight.

  He positioned himself at the end of her tub and took one heated look over her entire form. An interesting line to his kilt caused her to recognize that he was not as unaffected by her nakedness as he might like her to believe. He leaned forward and gripped both sides of her tub, an unmistakable heat burned in his gaze.

  He leaned forward thus for a moment or an hour? Then, he stood and turned abruptly, tossing the towels on the chair to the floor before taking a seat. His large frame overwhelmed the small alcove created by the bathing screen. He laid out his arms, deceptively casual and open, resting them on the arms of the chair. His face looked strange, almost menacing and was a study in contrasts, deep shadows and highlighted planes danced and intertwined across his half-lit face, brought to life by the flames of the nearby fire.

  Yes, he tried hard to appear relaxed and confident, but she knew better. That man was no more relaxed than a winter hare looking straight into the eyes of a large cat. She reluctantly acknowledged that she liked it. Really liked it.

  He stretched out his legs before crossing them at his ankles, teasing her with a glimpse of strong, hairy thighs in the process.

  She forced herself not to stare down there. “Is this a habit of yours? Breaking into people’s rooms unannounced?” she taunted, knowing that nothing she said would make him leave and wanting to come across as confident in the face of her indignity.

  He uncrossed his legs again and leaned forward, his kilt spread suggestively across his knees like an open invitation. She had to stifle the urge to tilt her head and look.

  “Answer the question. Who are ye?” he growled, a husky note in his tone which was both intriguing and disturbing, but had her pulse taking up a faster rhythm all the same.

  Amelia splashed at some of the soapy bubbles in her water, striving for an appearance of insouciance she definitely didn’t feel. “Ah. I see you are a sore loser, Mr. MacLeod. No worries, darling, better men than you have tried to best me and failed.”

  Not really…only truly evil men.

  She attempted to gather the fading bubbles of her bath, determined to keep her charms hidden from his fiery eyes, even though a large part of her wished to feel his large hands…and his wide mouth… caressing those very same parts…

  She looked up and caught the direction of his gaze. He followed her movements with suggestive interest.

  As he zeroed in on her bobbing breasts, her nipples tightened further and she broke out in a sweat; her body, already frightfully aware of his, flushed with lust.

  MacLeod sat back again and clenched the arms of the chair, his knuckles white with tension. A pronounced twitch appeared in the side of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. His gaze was hot, palpable. It left her feeling edgy. She clenched her thighs together as an echoing surge of heat and desire pooled at the center of her womanly core. Unquestionable longing raced through her veins.

  She refused to allow him to see it. She would not allow it to dictate her behavior.

  Amelia searched for her bathing cloth. It was hiding somewhere in the sudsy water. Once she found it, she began to wash as she tried desperately to hide her shaking hands. There was no point to her sitting there; she’d waited up for this bath for a reason, and she was determined to see to it, audience or no.

  Who was she kidding? It proved a safe and useful distraction from her overheated desire.

  “What are you doing?” he bit out, his tone drawn with an edge that wasn’t present before.

  “Bathing, of course.” she said, smiling as she did, completely aware she’d shocked him to the tips of his booted feet. She risked a quick glance and noticed he’d sat forward again, this time dancing on the very edge of his seat, his knuckles still white with tension.

  Amelia lifted one arm out of the water and ran her cloth down the length, taking her time to clean every inch of her skin. She was fully aware she was putting on a private show for her Highlander, but continued all the same.

  If she kept him distracted and on edge, he couldn’t probe with uncomfortable questions. Right? And he was a thorough gentleman. He wouldn’t do anything she didn’t…want…surely?

  Was there anything she didn’t want?

  She dunked the rag between her legs, causing further ripples in the soapy water. She felt her nipples tighten once more as the water lapped at her breasts. It was an evocative dichotomy: the warm water lulling her nipples to relax, followed by opposing forces…lapping water…his heated gaze…both provoking them to tighten once more.

  MacLeod cleared his throat, yet his tone was gravelly and strained anyway, but softer, almost shaking with an emotion that sounded an awful lot like desire, but was most likely frustration. Or maybe both. “Are you no’ going to answer me, lass?”

  Amelia reached out of the water and pulled a stool closer to the edge of her tub. Upon it rested a small mirror. She began to finger comb her hair, checking to see that it wasn’t plastered to her forehead unattractively.

  It was. But no mind.

  “Do you honestly expect me to?” she countered while continuing with her exhibition.

  Unsatisfied with the results, Amelia leaned her head back to dunk it once more, closing her eyes as she did so. She sat back up and raised both arms, pushing back the excess water from her hair.

  She opened her eyes, startled, when a rough moan emanated from the corner. She jerked her head up and locked eyes with MacLeod. His entire body was wound up as tight as a coil and his eyes glowed with fiery awareness, piercing her through the dim room and diving straight into her soul. She felt his hunger as keenly as if they were connected by a living thread.

  Now it was she who was rendered mute.

  She froze, simply unable to continue her ministrations with him watching her so intently. He unsettled her; there was nothing else to call it, though perhaps even that description was an understatement.

  For the longest time, she could not look away from him; neither of them had that ability as desire, nearly tangible in its potency, arced between them.

  They no longer felt the passage of time. Hours could have passed or mere minutes. Nor did they recall the reason for their presence in this room. The outside world simply ceased to exist.

  “Mary, we need towels for room twenty-eight!” shouted a maid from out in the hall.

  It was enough to snap them out of whatever spell had been cast upon them. Amelia broke eye contact and threw the rag into the water, dunking it a few times before pulling it up to squeeze out the excess. It took her three tries to rehang the cotton from a bar on the stool; her hands were shaking like a leaf in a cold autumn breeze. She nearly threw the rag to the floor in frustration, resenting the fact he’d unsettled her so thoroughly.

  “Amelia…”

  Her gaze flew to his. He gave her a warning glare, clearly thinking he was in control once more.

  Ha! She’d see about that. Now the tension had been broken, she became all too aware of the dangerous line she walked. She could not allow him to continue his earlier line of questioning. She needed a better distraction.

  One guaranteed to make him forget…everything. Amelia pulled upon her womanly strength; this was no time to be bashful.

  After all, she was Amelia Chase: Seductress and Slayer of Men.

  And of course, he was a man and susceptible to her charms. Yes, she knew she was pleasing and attractive to men. She knew it as sure as all capable women knew such things, and that gave her the advantage. So without warning, she grabbed ahold of the edges of the tub…

  …and stood, water sluicing down her naked body revealing everything to his ravenous regard.

  She was confident in her own body if nothing else. His eyes devoured her with one sweeping glance,
supporting the conviction of her self-assurance. Satisfied she’d incapacitated him for the moment and, more importantly, determined not to spill her secrets to this man, no matter how connected to him she felt, Amelia stepped out of the tub with single-minded purpose.

  Unfortunately, she’d only taken a few steps before she slipped on a puddle of pooled water…

  …and straight into the arms of Alaistair MacLeod.

  Chapter Seven

  MacLeod was surely dead.

  And in heaven.

  He scooped Amelia Chase into his arms in one reflexive move, pulling her wet, naked body tight against him; his arms wrapped fully around her back. Oh God, he looked up and beseeched the ceiling a moment before he closed his eyes and tucked his head into her neck, savoring the feel of her body molded to his and the fresh, womanly smell of her clean scent. He could feel her plump breasts where they soaked his shirt and pressed against his chest. Hell, he’d forgone his waistcoat and jacket, wearing only a shirt for this…meeting…and with the dampness from her body, he could feel her pebbled nipples as they teased and taunted him, begging him to dine. He wanted nothing more than to lift her up and suckle both breasts until she cried out his name.

  He lifted his head. He could do it…right now…just a taste. There was nothing in the way, for she was fully naked in his arms. And as aroused as he. He could see it in her wide, dilated eyes and hear it in her labored breathing. Could feel it in her racing pulse.

  God knew he was going to hell for this.

  And prepared to enjoy every minute of the trip.

  And yet, he knew tasting those delectable nipples, the pink centers pulled taught and pointed, were not going to be enough. He could feel all of her, her heat and the water from her bath seeping through his clothes. He wanted more. He wanted to lift her higher and wrap her legs around his waist, burying himself to the hilt in one swift thrust as she clung to him, arching her back as she bowed with pleasure.