Chapter 15
Nora cleared her throat, averting her gaze before Creighton’s eyes could meet hers. The bathwater was murky, milky-white with heat and soap. If she ducked as far below the surface as she could, surely he wouldn’t see anything.
I’m sure he’s seen it before, she thought grimly. Women must throw themselves at the Laird with a sort of desperation.
That thought, for some reason, made her uncomfortable. She shifted, water sloshing around her.
“Settle down, lassie,” Creighton remarked evenly, kneeling down beside the tub.
Handing her the soap to rinse off after it had slid across the floor, he picked up the heavy pitcher with ease, dipping it into the bathwater.
Nora flinched when his hand skimmed the surface of the water.
He lifted the dripping pitcher over her head.
She closed her eyes, braced for a deluge.
Instead, to her surprise, the water gently cascaded over the crown of her head, warm and gentle, forming rivulets through her hair. His broad hand hovered at her forehead, preventing the water from streaming over her face and into her eyes.
Just one pass wouldn’t be enough, of course, and he dipped the pitcher again, repeating the action.
This time, Nora hesitantly looked up at him.
Focused on his task, his face appeared soft and relaxed.
His eyes were fixed on her hair and the trickling water, not on her.
Noticing her gaze, he looked down at her.
Their eyes met, and Nora quickly looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment.
She hunched her shoulders, hoping he couldn’t see the curve of her breasts beneath the water.
He probably could. If she stopped moving, the water seemed to clear, giving glimpses of her long, white legs, the gentle slope of her hips and stomach, and the tangle of hair between her thighs.
Her legs pressed together at the thought, almost instinctively.
He dipped the pitcher, water dripping from his knuckles.
At some point, he had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing thick, corded forearms. Nora closed her eyes, relaxing into the sensation of warm water trickling across her scalp.
When the gentle, rhythmic motion of water ceased, and he set down the pitcher with a clack, she fought back a moan of disappointment.
Opening her eyes, she saw his hand in front of her face, broad palm open, long fingers inches from her nose.
Swallowing, she dragged her gaze up to his face, peering expectantly down at her.
“I…” she managed.
“Soap,” he prompted. “For yer hair.”
Nora hoped he would think the redness on her face was from the hot water. She silently handed him the soap. He dunked it once in the water and then expertly lathered it between his hands.
“Ye seem to ken how to wash hair,” she managed. Words did not seem any less awkward than the silence, and they did nothing to lessen the pulse of heat in her gut, which coiled down to sit heavily between her thighs.
“Aye, I have a wee bit of it meself,” he responded with a wry smile. “I used to wash Laurie’s hair when she was small. Her nurse does it now, and already she’s fightin’ the woman all the way to and from the bathtub. She wants to wash herself.”
“I understand how she feels. It’s a wee bit awkward, needin’ somebody else to help ye bathe,” Nora mumbled.
“Better than nae bathin’ at all,” he answered, and began to lather up her hair. His movements were firm and confident, but not harsh. Fingers twined through her hair, sliding across her scalp with practiced, circular movements. Once more, Nora let her eyes drift closed.
Previously, she sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms tightly wrapped around them, chin resting on her knees. But now, she tilted her head back, lips slightly parted, allowing the bliss of it all to wash over her.
A low chuckle came from above her, and she could almost feel it reverberating in her throat.
“What?” Nora demanded, too relaxed to keep a twinge of irritation from entering her voice.
“Nothin’, nothin’. How are ye feelin’, lass? Stronger?”
“Aye, and nay,” she admitted. “Me limbs move when I want them to, but I feel as though I could fall asleep again. How is that possible, wantin’ to sleep after sleepin’ for three days?”
“There is a difference between ordinary sleep and sleepin’ off a sickness,” Creighton responded. “Ye will need both if ye are to recover.”
He set the soap on the side of the bathtub once more, briefly dunking his hands in the bathwater to rinse off the soap foam.
The edge of his knuckles brushed the back of Nora’s bare knee.
The touch, feather-light as it was, sent a shiver through Nora’s spine.
She could feel it, burned into her skin, hot in a different way than the warm water around her.
“I’m goin’ to rinse the soap from yer hair,” he explained, picking up the pitcher and dipping it once more. “Keep yer eyes closed, or else it’ll sting.”
She nodded silently. Nora wasn’t entirely sure she could find the words. Waves of heat washed over her. She could feel her heartbeat between her thighs. Her heart racing, faster and faster. She swallowed hard and shifted, trying to compose herself.
He’s only helpin’ me. This means nothin’.
Warm water cascaded over her head once more.
This time, Creighton used his free hand to run his fingers through her hair, gently pressing and tousling, helping the water to rinse away the soap.
She could smell the clean, crisp scent of the soap, faintly tinged with lavender.
The Keep’s servants would make their own soap, of course, scented with rose, lavender, or perhaps mint, mingling with the hot steam to create a richer fragrance.
Strong fingers slid against her scalp, and lower, gently untangling her hair where it rested on her shoulders.
His fingertips brushed her bare shoulders, causing her to flinch despite herself, and she sucked in a breath.
At once, the touch vanished, and the stream of water stopped.
Nora splashed water on her face to rinse off any residual soap and risked opening her eyes. Creighton stared at her, a faint crease between his brows.
“We could have lost ye,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
It seemed like a strange thing to say, and completely unrelated to the haphazard conversation they’d had until now. His gaze burned into hers, expectant. Waiting.
Waitin’ for what?
She swallowed thickly, pinned in place by his unflinching stare.
“Well, ye didnae,” she managed at last. “Just as well, really. I wouldnae want to leave ye without a betrothed, after all.”
He gave a low huff, deep in his throat.
“I daenae think ye ken what ye want, lass,” he whispered, voice barely a rasp.
Before she could respond, he moved forward, leaning over the edge of the tub.
A warm, wet hand snaked across the expanse of her naked shoulders, pausing to cup the back of her neck.
There was a breath, the space of a simple heartbeat, when she knew that he was going to kiss her.
He knew that she knew, and she knew, just as strongly, that she was going to let him.
Their lips met, steam-damp in his case and water-wet in hers.
The kiss started tentatively, just a gentle pressing of lips.
Heat flooded her, rivaled by the warm water swirling around her.
Creighton was the first to deepen the kiss, tilting his chin to find a better angle for them to connect, the tip of his tongue tracing her lower lip.
She reached out to grip his shoulder, then stopped halfway, her hand hovering awkwardly between them.
Creighton chuckled against her lips, leaning back an inch or two.
“Nae like ye to be nervous, lassie.”
“I daenae want to get ye wet,” she blurted out. It felt like a silly excuse. She wanted to touch him, wanted him, wanted to feel the breadth of his shoulders under that shirt, wanted…
She didn’t know what she wanted. He was right about that.
He chuckled again, long fingers wrapping around her damp wrist. Taking her hand, he guided it to his shoulder. At once, a wet handprint soaked into the linen. Leaning closer, Creighton kissed her again.
Nora found herself shifting in the bath, leaning back just a little. Kissing made sense, once a person had done it once, and she found herself kissing him back, her tongue chasing his tentatively.
His free hand, the one not curled around her nape, traced a line down the front of her throat, all the way down to the hollow of her collarbones. She could feel the warmth of his palm pressed over her heart, and it made her breath hitch.
And then, just an inch or two further, his forefinger traced the top curve of her breast. Nora sucked in a breath. He continued, sliding down beneath the water. When the pad of his finger touched the tip of her nipple, almost experimentally, she gasped aloud, jerking back from the kiss.
Creighton watched her, eyes heavy-lidded.
“Clean enough?” he whispered, hunger waiting at the back of his eyes.
Nora shakily drew out her tongue to swipe over her lower lip. His gaze followed the movement.
“Nay,” she whispered.
A slow smile spread over his face. “That’s what I thought.”
He kissed her again, and Nora closed her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her.
His hand returned to her breast, gliding over it almost carelessly over, not touching properly like she wanted.
His hand sank deeper into the water, nearly to the elbow.
A teasing touch traced down the center of her belly, moving forward to curl fingers around her knee bone.
He shifted, getting onto his knees instead of staying on his heels.
Nora’s own heartbeat hammered in her ears.
Creighton’s fingertips trailed tantalizingly slowly down from her bent knee up along her thigh, toward her hip.
He put his whole hand around the curve of her hip, giving the tiniest squeeze.
For some reason, that squeeze made her blood jump.
She couldn’t breathe. The steam crowded in around her, seeming to be searingly hot all of a sudden.
Pulling back from the kiss, Nora gasped.
His hand slid from her hip and cupped, slowly and deliberately, around the junction of her legs.
Pleasure surged through her stomach, so intense it almost hurt.
Her knees unintentionally shifted apart.
The sleeve of his shirt now dragged in the water, wet almost to the shoulder.
Tugging almost roughly against her shoulders, Creighton kissed her again, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth, warm and soft against hers.
Fingers slid against her wet core, and dizzying sensations shot through her, enough to make her gasp aloud.
He swallowed those gasps, pulling her against him, and she steadied herself on his shoulders.
Water from her hands slopped down his back and chest, dampening the fabric, but she didn’t care.
Again and again, he drew a line against her, a languid and almost careless rhythm. It wasn’t enough, and Nora let out another strangled whine, her hips shifting. He chuckled, and she felt the rumble of it all the way down in her chest.
He increased his speed, his fingers sliding against her with more urgency.
One finger slid inside her, a strange sensation that nonetheless set her blood on fire.
Something sparked deep inside her, something connected to the pleasurable ache that had pursued her for entirely too long, and Nora felt oddly as if she were on the brink of falling.
Water slopped around his arm, shifting with the speed of his movements. Nora had to break back from the kiss, struggling to breathe, and he tilted his head, pressing warm, damp lips against the side of her neck. She felt the tiniest pinprick of teeth, a shudder of pleasure following the sensation.
“Come on then, lass,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. “Give it to me.”
Nora’s peak came crashing upon her, a rush of pleasure so intense she squeezed her eyes shut tight, fingers digging into Creighton’s shoulders in a way that should surely have hurt, but he said nothing.
Gradually, the bathwater settled again, and Nora’s ragged breathing slowed. She cracked open her eyes, and it seemed as though the washroom was shifting around her.
Creighton was watching her intently, and it occurred to her, belatedly, that he must have been watching her face the whole time her climax had shaken her.
There was something a little embarrassing about that.
Clearing her throat, Nora withdrew her hands from his shoulders. Her fingers had dug in, and she winced.
“I… I hope I didnae hurt ye,” she managed. Her voice had turned embarrassingly hoarse. She gestured at his shoulders to indicate what she meant.
“Hurt me? Nay,” Creighton responded lightly. His face was pink, but that was probably due to the steam and the exertion. He withdrew his arm from the bathwater, his soaked sleeve sticking to his skin. “I am fine, lass. And I suspect that ye are doin’ a good deal better than before.”