she couldn’t say if she took his hand in hers or he put it there, but both of them raised his hand to her mouth. So caught in his nearness, the soft touch of his finger to her lips startled her. She tried to step back, but he held her steady, his gruff words sluicing over her like a caress.
“Succor it well, will ya?”
Lord help her, she did; pulled it into her mouth and laved the heat from it, even as the heat rose in her.
“That’s my lass.” She was too confused to argue the point, for right now she was his lass.
“Come, follow me.” And he reached down for the steaming pot without a care for the heat.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked.
“Shhh, don’t want to wake up the lad,” he warned, so she put her hand to his back, as the night was dark, and followed him with all her trust and not a little bit of curiosity.
“Did you really injure yourself?”
“Aye, a wee bit.” But he didn’t seem to notice the water that splashed from the kettle to his leg.
“Where are we going with this?” But the land dipped suddenly and Padraig made a sharp turn to the right. “I know, you’re heading to the river.”
“Was,” he corrected. “We’re here now.”
“Are you planning on warming the frigid river with a kettle full of boiling water?”
Instead of answering, he put the kettle down and turned to her. “Every morning you wish for a hot bath instead of a cold stream.”
“One kettle…” He didn’t let her finish.
“Oh, lassie, do you think I’d be that daft, to offer you a piddlin’ kettle of hot water?”
The urge to run swept through her. Fear, that he’d really done it, done something so special for her that she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She swallowed back foolish apprehension.
Of course he hadn’t. There were no baths to be found in the highland and they only had one small kettle. “You’re teasing me for whinin’.”
“Never.” He cupped her jaw, ran his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’m giving you a dream.” Before she could run, before words spurred by fear could spoil the moment, his lips touched hers, soft but firm, a caressing touch. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. “Now just wait.”
He pivoted, reached for the kettle and stepped away. She couldn’t see clearly, the moon was on its last edge, but she heard the splash of water along with the rumbling tones of the river.
She sighed. Of course he had no bath to offer. In fact, he wasted all the warmth when, at the least, she could have put some in a bowl and washed with a cloth.
But she’d not say anything. He tried to please her, and that was enough.
“Come.” He reached out, she took his hand. “Take your shoes off.”
She bent down, did as he said.
“You’ll have to trust me not to look, but you’ll want to take off your tunic and trews.”
She shot up, disappointed. “Now?” She’d made a promise to him, but thought he’d try, even a wee bit, to coerce her.
“Aye. And if you don’t mind not peeking, I’ll do the same.”
“For a cold dunkin’?” She couldn’t hold the sarcasm back. He’d led her out of her shell, but that armor was not so far away.
“Ah, my lassie, would I bring you down her for a cold bath?”
“Och, Padraig—” not so unfeeling, just foolish, “—you can’t warm a river with one kettle of water.”
“With dozens, lass. I’ve been at this all night.”
She put her hands on either side of his face, “You’re a sweet man, Padraig, but all that hot water does is run down the river.”
“Come here,” He tugged her over to the small pool, pleased as a young lad with a bouquet of weeds. “Feel.”
She wouldn’t be so cruel as to not play along, “Fine.”
She crouched down, her hand to the water. She swished her fingers about. “Oh!” Then she reached deeper. “It’s warm, you’ve warmed the river!” She pulled her hand back, as if it touched a lie.
“Will it suit?”
“Oh, aye,” She wanted to ask him how he did it,
“Succor it well, will ya?”
Lord help her, she did; pulled it into her mouth and laved the heat from it, even as the heat rose in her.
“That’s my lass.” She was too confused to argue the point, for right now she was his lass.
“Come, follow me.” And he reached down for the steaming pot without a care for the heat.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked.
“Shhh, don’t want to wake up the lad,” he warned, so she put her hand to his back, as the night was dark, and followed him with all her trust and not a little bit of curiosity.
“Did you really injure yourself?”
“Aye, a wee bit.” But he didn’t seem to notice the water that splashed from the kettle to his leg.
“Where are we going with this?” But the land dipped suddenly and Padraig made a sharp turn to the right. “I know, you’re heading to the river.”
“Was,” he corrected. “We’re here now.”
“Are you planning on warming the frigid river with a kettle full of boiling water?”
Instead of answering, he put the kettle down and turned to her. “Every morning you wish for a hot bath instead of a cold stream.”
“One kettle…” He didn’t let her finish.
“Oh, lassie, do you think I’d be that daft, to offer you a piddlin’ kettle of hot water?”
The urge to run swept through her. Fear, that he’d really done it, done something so special for her that she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She swallowed back foolish apprehension.
Of course he hadn’t. There were no baths to be found in the highland and they only had one small kettle. “You’re teasing me for whinin’.”
“Never.” He cupped her jaw, ran his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’m giving you a dream.” Before she could run, before words spurred by fear could spoil the moment, his lips touched hers, soft but firm, a caressing touch. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. “Now just wait.”
He pivoted, reached for the kettle and stepped away. She couldn’t see clearly, the moon was on its last edge, but she heard the splash of water along with the rumbling tones of the river.
She sighed. Of course he had no bath to offer. In fact, he wasted all the warmth when, at the least, she could have put some in a bowl and washed with a cloth.
But she’d not say anything. He tried to please her, and that was enough.
“Come.” He reached out, she took his hand. “Take your shoes off.”
She bent down, did as he said.
“You’ll have to trust me not to look, but you’ll want to take off your tunic and trews.”
She shot up, disappointed. “Now?” She’d made a promise to him, but thought he’d try, even a wee bit, to coerce her.
“Aye. And if you don’t mind not peeking, I’ll do the same.”
“For a cold dunkin’?” She couldn’t hold the sarcasm back. He’d led her out of her shell, but that armor was not so far away.
“Ah, my lassie, would I bring you down her for a cold bath?”
“Och, Padraig—” not so unfeeling, just foolish, “—you can’t warm a river with one kettle of water.”
“With dozens, lass. I’ve been at this all night.”
She put her hands on either side of his face, “You’re a sweet man, Padraig, but all that hot water does is run down the river.”
“Come here,” He tugged her over to the small pool, pleased as a young lad with a bouquet of weeds. “Feel.”
She wouldn’t be so cruel as to not play along, “Fine.”
She crouched down, her hand to the water. She swished her fingers about. “Oh!” Then she reached deeper. “It’s warm, you’ve warmed the river!” She pulled her hand back, as if it touched a lie.
“Will it suit?”
“Oh, aye,” She wanted to ask him how he did it,
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