Chapter Sixteen #2
voice called out on the other side of the barrier. “Shall we bring
it in?”
Veronica was torn. On one hand, she was
sweaty from Kalari and needed a bath. On the other hand, Lachlan’s
mere presence was filling her body with nervous adrenaline. “Yes!”
she shouted back, “Come in.” She couldn’t meet Lachlan’s gaze. “Put
it in front of the hearth,” she ordered.
Four soldiers carried in the tub, careful to
keep their gazes averted. They placed the basin and stepping stairs
where they knew she preferred them. That accomplished, Maisie
shooed the men out. “Do you require aid, milady?” Maisie inquired.
“Should I send in Isla or mayhap Ailsa?”
“No thank you,” Veronica said with all
kindness. “Just please leave me the soap.”
Maisie nodded. “’Tis atop the table,” she
pointed out. “I’ll leave you to it then. I best begin preparing the
nooning meal. Milord,” she said to her laird, bowing before exiting
the room.
After the doors were closed, Veronica stood
there in silence next to her husband. Her husband… that bit of
knowledge still felt surreal. She knew Lachlan wanted her to call
him by that name, but she’d only done it three times so far. The
last time had been two weeks ago when Lachlan had declared Victor
and Catriona affianced. Even then, she’d gritted out husband
as more of a damning epithet than an endearment.
“You best take your bath whilst ‘tis hot,”
Lachlan drawled. “I would not have you catch cold.”
Veronica hesitated, hoping he didn’t hear
her rapid heartbeat or see the blush she was certain enveloped the
whole of her body. Wordlessly, her back now to him, she raised the
nearly see through chemise over her head. She could hear his breath
catch and grow heavy as the piece of fabric fell, an action which
led to her own pangs of arousal.
Picking up the lilac soap from the small
table in their room, she walked over to the deep basin, used the
two-step stool the soldiers had left in front of it, and stepped
into the hot water. She could feel his bold gaze searing her ass,
all but branding it. She lingered for a moment, letting him look
his fill, before sitting down and disappearing up to her shoulders
in water.
“Wet your hair,” Lachlan said thickly from
behind her. She could hear him nearing her. “I would wash it for
you.”
She did as he bade, bobbing her head down
into the depths of the perfectly tempered water. She waited until
her hair was drenched before she popped back up. Lachlan was next
to her now. He was on the outside of the basin bent over her, just
a hairsbreadth away. Veronica knew he could see her from the waist
up, her erect nipples distended for his view. She drew in a deep
breath and slowly exhaled, his nearness intoxicating.
Lachlan gently took the soap from her hand
and, without a word, began working the lilac-scented stuff through
her hair. Handing the soap back to Veronica, he used his hands to
shampoo her head. There was no lathery bubbles in medieval soap,
but she didn’t care for it still got the job done. He stood up and
wordlessly padded over to the chest of drawers he’d purchased her
last week, grabbing the hairbrush she’d forgotten to take with
her.
She was completely aroused now, every stroke
of the hairbrush making her hornier. She had never thought of her
scalp as an erogenous zone, but then she’d never had her hair
brushed by anyone except herself. Lachlan took his time, running
strands of her hair through his fingers, presumedly checking for
tangles. When he was satisfied none remained, he stood up and
returned the brush to its resting place. Veronica watched him walk
back toward her, her breathing labored as her aroused gaze drank in
his warrior’s body. Even clothed she could see his rippling
muscles.
“I would wash the rest of you now,” Lachlan
murmured, bending down to take the soap from her again.
Veronica nodded, but remained silent. Her
body felt like the wick of a candle about to ignite. She groaned
when he touched her, his hands working up and down her body from
waist to neck. He saved her breasts for last, only causing more
desire to engulf her when he finally touched them. She hissed as
his calloused hands trailed against her nipples, a moan escaping
when he began to tweak them. Her breathing was ragged, her emotions
all over the place. She chanced a glance at him, her gaze then
drawn to his heavy-lidded stare.
His right hand went lower, plunging into the
depths of the water. Lachlan found her clit and began rubbing
it.
“Oh my God,” Veronica gasped, opening her
legs wider, giving him better access. “Please don’t stop.”
“What is my name?” he asked, his voice
gravelly and thick. “Say it.”
“Lachlan,” she breathed out, her eyes
closing.
His fingers immediately stopped. She
whimpered, her eyes reopening. She scanned his face, begging him
without words to continue. What did he want her to call him?
Maybe—
“Husband,” she whispered. “You are my
husband.”
The rubbing recommenced. Her head lulled
back on a gasp. Lachlan rubbed her clit briskly, his pace picking
up, the motion driving her over the edge. He rubbed faster and
faster, over and over, again and again and again.
Veronica came on a groan. Blood rushed to
her nipples, distending them further. Blood rushed to her pussy,
forcing her clit to pulsate. Her breathing was ragged, her body on
fire.
Lachlan let go of her clit and used both
hands to cup her face. “I love you, wife,” he told her before
claiming her mouth.
She was happy-sleepy and satiated from
coming, but still matched his passion with her own. She dropped the
soap and reached up to put her arms around his neck. They kissed
long and hard, her fingers running over his cornrows, her tongue
dueling with his. He kissed her like she’d never been kissed
before, arousing her to the point of damn near coming again. Just
as she stood to offer herself to him fully, fevered knocks on the
doors penetrated the erotic haze.
“Laird!” she heard Finn call out. “You must
come downstairs at once!”
Lachlan cursed under his breath as he forced
himself to break the kiss. “What is it?” he roared.
“’Tis The Campbell,” Finn shouted. “Euan’s
outside the keep with ten of his warriors.”
*****
Euan’s untimely appearance did naught but
blacken Lachlan’s mood. He had been so close to making Veronica his
wife in everra way afore this ridiculous interruption. She had
erupted from his touch and kissed him with a passion that rivaled
his own. “Dinna I tell you afore, old mon!” he shouted from the
keep’s steps. “My men dinna poison your clan!”
“Half of my people are sick with the
ague!”
“The ague?” he bit out. “You come to me
because your kinfolk have come down with the fever?” It was then he
noticed Victor and Veronica standing side by side. They must have
slipped out the castle’s front doors at some point during this
ludicrous conversation. Veronica, wearing a blue gown of
Catriona’s, her golden curls unbound, walked slowly to stand beside
Lachlan. Victor, wearing one of Finn’s shirts and the Gunn plaid,
came to stand at his other side. “Dinna waste my time again with
tales of the ague!”
The Campbell jabbed a finger in Veronica’s
direction. “’Twas her tub you emptied at the borderlands! You
bedamned well ken ‘tis above my waterway, Lachlan. What was in the
tub, eh?”
Victor’s face blanched, an occurrence that
dinna evade Lachlan’s notice. The Gunn’s eyebrows drew together.
“’Twas water,” he grumbled to Euan. “Naught more.”
“Naught more?”
“And soap!”
“I dinna believe you, Lachlan. It makes no
sense to empty a tub’s basin in the borderlands if ‘twas filled
with naught but soap and water.”
Victor cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should
have a look at your ill clansmen,” he offered. “I may be of
assistance.”
“Me too,” Veronica piped in, causing Lachlan
to frown. “We’ll both come.”
Euan’s face reddened. “Why in blazes would I
have my enemy’s wife—and whoever in the saints the mon is!—come
look at my people?”
“He is my brother,” Veronica said,
straightening her spine. “And perhaps the most brilliant man alive
when it comes to matters such as the one you are dealing with.”
The old laird spat on the ground from atop
his steed. “And how canna ken you will not bring more of the ague
with you?”
“You cannot,” Veronica replied
matter-of-factly. Her stance was regal. “But my brother is your
best shot at getting the fever under control. The choice is
yours.”
“My wife goes nowhere without me and my
warriors,” Lachlan cut in. “If you have a wish for her brother to
tend to your ill then you must issue your invitation to all.” He
had no idea what was going on, but his wife was going nowhere. She
was accustomed to doing things her own way, aye, but in this? He
dinna have a care for it, yet neither would he give her his nay in
front of Euan. He respected her too much to do that. Victor could
go to the Campbells; Veronica would remain within the stronghold’s
walls.
“Fine,” the old man grumbled. “I hereby
issue an invitation to you and your men, Lachlan. As well as to
your lady wife.”
“We ride on the morrow,” Lachlan boomed out.
“Now leave.”
*****
Veronica’s impatience must have been obvious
for both Moira and Catriona remarked on it during the fitting. She
couldn’t exactly tell them she just wanted the wardrobe ordeal over
and done with so she could go argue more with Lachlan. Instead she
smiled and reassured them she was just anxious to give Catriona her
clothing back.
“Dinna worry o’er that, sister,” Catriona
said sweetly. “I’ve gowns and shoes aplenty.”
Lachlan and Victor were upstairs scheming
with Finn and Ramsay. Veronica wanted to be up there with them. She
didn’t care what her husband said—she was going to be a part of
that entourage tomorrow no matter what. She knew all the signs of
the plague—Lachlan and his men did not. From fever to death to
reanimation, she’d witnessed it all.
Apparently her restlessness was a little too
evident for Hero padded over from his place in front of the hearth
and nuzzled her hand until she pet him. She continued to stroke her
canine savior as she made small talk with Moira and Catriona. After
Hero received all the attention he wanted, he licked Veronica’s
hand and walked back to his favorite spot.
Finally, after what felt like three
lifetimes, the seamstresses and cobbler made their way into the
great hall. There was a fitting room just beyond the fireplace
where she knew she’d have to disappear into several times during
this ordeal. Glum and stressed out, she painted on a smile and got
down to business. The quicker the fitting carried on, the faster it
would end. Or so she hoped.
An hour later, the gowns and shoes all
fitting her with precision, Veronica smiled a real smile. All of
this would be over any time now and she could carry on in her
argument with the infuriatingly overbearing Lachlan.
“The nooning meal is ready, milady,” Maisie
announced to Veronica as she waddled over to her. “Will your guests
be eating with you?”
Veronica glanced over to the seamstresses
and cobbler. Damn it, but they looked honored by the idea of eating
lunch here. She inwardly sighed and outwardly beamed. “Yes, of
course,” she replied with as much fake enthusiasm as she could
muster. “Do inform my husband that it’s time to eat.” She felt a
small bit of satisfaction from waylaying whatever conversation
Lachlan was having with Victor and his men. “I wouldn’t want for
him to go hungry.”
Veronica felt like sighing. Hopefully the
midday meal wouldn’t carry on and on as it sometimes did. She
wanted to speak with Lachlan. Her irritating husband would be
getting an earful no matter how long lunch went on. She was going
with him to the Campbells—period. She’d make her own way if she had
to. In a situation where the stakes could be very high, she refused
to back down. If she’d brought the plague with her, she needed to
know it and stamp it out.
“I’ll send Ailsa up the stairs to inform
him, milady,” Maisie said. “Is there aught else you require?”
“No.” Veronica forced a smile to her lips.
“That will be all, thank you.”