A SERVING GIRL of twelve or so arri

A SERVING GIRL of twelve or so arrived with a tray bearing roast pork, bread, cheese, and wine. Myles let his wife fill her plate, then took his own and tore into the food without ceremony. No king’s banquet had ever tasted so fine. Before they finished, the lass was back with two wooden buckets filled to the brim with steaming water, and with them, washing cloths and soap.
His wife eyed the water with unabashed longing, her gaze so full of want Myles could not help but think he’d like that look to come his way one day.
The servant set the buckets down and made her exit, while Fiona continued to stare.
“Would you like to bathe?” He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the huskiness.
Eyes wide, she paused with bread nearly touching her lips and nodded reverently.
For that moment, she looked so innocent and eager he could think of nothing but brushing aside that bread and plundering her lips with his own, fool that he was. It seemed distrusting her had no bearing on his want of her.
The room was little bigger than a stable stall, with a narrow bed against one wall and a tiny fireplace on another. No table or chairs adorned the place, and so they ate their feast while sitting on the bed. How easy it would be to simply push her back against the pillows and pull that scrap of dress from her body. Her hair was ragged, tied back with a simple cord, and dirt smudged her temple. But even so, she was tempting as a juicy plum. He took a drink of wine.
“Kiss me,” he said.
“What?” Her spine straightened as her eyes met his.
“Kiss me, and you shall have the bathing water.”
Damn him and his devil’s bargains. “I’d sooner kiss your horse’s arse.”
“My horse can find his own kisses. It’s me that’s between you and that bucket.”
Her happily full stomach quaked. She’d never kiss him willingly, for it went against every promise she had made to herself. But the steam beckoned, and her skin itched for want of soap. “What if I refuse?”
He shook his head, dipping it in a show of false sadness. “Then you shall have no bath, m’lady.” His posture was relaxed, as if he had not a care in this world. But his eyes were direct, like he thought to devour her as he’d devoured this meal. With messy abandon.
“I’m no whore to sell my kisses.”
He chuckled. “Whores aren’t interested in baths. But you are. Look at that steam. You could even wash your hair.”
Her breath drew in, sharp as an arrow’s tip. Touching her head, she felt bits of mud clinging to the strands. Disheveled as she was, how he could even want to kiss her was a mystery. But men were base. Far be it for him to let a little thing like cleanliness interfere with his desires. And far be it for her to let his want of a simple kiss stop her from bathing.
“One kiss?”
“Aye. But a real one. A kiss meant for a husband.”
She quivered inside, not entirely certain what he meant. But she had her suspicions.
“One real kiss and then you leave me alone to bathe in private.”
His brows furrowed. “One real kiss and I help you wash that filthy hair. Then I shall leave you alone to...finish with the rest of you.”
Is this what marriage to Myles Campbell was to be like? Full of persuasion and persistence?
“I can wash my hair by myself.”
“You’ll make a mess and use up all the water. I’d like one of those hot buckets for myself, you know. And the longer you argue, the cooler that water gets. So, come on, now. Yea or nay?”
Oh! This man was infuriating. “Yea! Yea. Fine.”
One eyebrow rose. “Really?”
“Yes.” It wouldn’t be that bad. One simple kiss, be it real or not. She’d been through worse. She tossed the last bit of her bread onto the tray and plunked the tray upon the floor. “Where do you want to do it?”
His smile went wide. “Well, I was planning on the lips, but if there’re options...”
“You’re a dirty swine.”
“And you’re my very dirty little wife.” He smiled at his victory. “Now, hush up and be still. Let me savor this moment.”
Her arms crossed in pointless self-protection as he moved toward her. She leaned back, bumping up against the wall, and still closer he came. Shallow breath fluttered in her breast, flickering like candlelight.
His smile faded as his eyes went sleepy and dark in a gaze that stirred her somehow, somewhere deep within. She could not look into his eyes and keep her bearings. She glanced away instead and saw the water buckets tantalizing her in much the same way. With promises. Washing her hair would be pure joy, worth any price. But his hands, working the soap through her curls, caressing her scalp, would be too much. She tingled at the thought and slammed her eyes shut against it. She’d made a mistake. She should tell him to stop. Kissing was a dangerous game. Yet no words came forth. With eyes closed, she felt the heat of his face near hers. Felt his breath and knew his lips hovered near her own.
And she waited.
His hand cupped her jaw, the calluses of his palm at odds with the soft caress.
A tiny gasp escaped her, and her eyes went wide once more. She halted his wrist. “I never agreed to touching.”
But his hand stayed. “Touching is part of a real kiss.”
She sighed, frustrated and edgy. She should have gotten more details before she made this trade. Her heart thumped, knocking hard against her ribs.
Myles’s gaze floated toward her mouth. She felt a puff of his breath, and his lids shuttered closed.
And still he did not kiss her.
Instead, he grazed his cheek along hers, running his thumb across her bottom lip, and her own eyes fluttered shut as if too heavy to hold open. Sweet Mother Mary, he needed to kiss her and be done with it. This anticipation was too sweet a torment. She tried to remember all the reasons why she should push him away and could think of none.
He lingered, poised so close a raindrop could not find its way between them, teasing her with the scrape of his whiskers and his hands upon her face, until at last she betrayed herself and turned to meet his lips of her own volition. He growled low in his throat and deepened the kiss with the pressure of his mouth, the welcomed invitation of his tongue, until they both gasped with the pleasure of it.
’Twas he who pulled away, blowing out a lungful of air as if the kiss had shocked him.
She pressed fingertips to her heated lips and waited for the shame to flood her senses.
It didn’t. She wanted him to kiss her again, but he stood up and quickly turned away. He scooped up one bucket without looking back at her.
“I’ll have the serving girl assist you with your hair. I know nothing of such things. I’ll be staying with my father, but you have men on guard outside your door, in case you should need anything. Good night, Fiona.”
And then he was gone.