Page 45 of Highlander's Wild Lass
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Anthony’s heart nearly burst from his chest when Celestia bounded into his study. “Good, sweet God! Celestia?” he exclaimed, taking her in. “What are ye doin’ here?”
Celestia was drenched from head to toe. Pieces of her long hair stuck to her face, dripping at the ends. Her bodice was soaked through, and her skirts hung heavy, covered with mud.
It was as if he had fallen into another one of his dreams, but her face held too much fear and sadness for this moment to be a dream. In his dreams, Celestia was always happy.
“I just told ye I’d marry ye,” she told him, her hand still on the door.
“We can discuss what ye said later, Celestia. But what is goin’ on?” Anthony stood and walked around his desk, motioning her forward with a wave of his hand. “Come stand before the fire, or ye’ll catch a chill.”
She moved slowly toward him, burdened by her wet clothes. He guided her by her shoulders closer to the fire. “Stand here. I’ll build it up a bit more.”
Anthony walked to the door to close it before kneeling before the fire. He started to carefully stack another log into the flames along with a fistful of kindling. “Ye will catch a nasty chill if ye stay in those clothes. Yer goin’ to have to take yer skirts off, ye’ll never dry all the way through.”
“My skirts…”
“Aye, Celestia. Ye daenae need to be gettin’ sick again. I cannae bear it.”
“Cannae bear it?”
“Are ye a parrot now, lass?” he said, standing before her. “Ye look more like a drowned animal than a parrot at present.”
“Nay,” she said, a bit of the old defiance creeping into her voice. “But did ye hear me?”
“Aye,” he said, gently taking hold of her head between his hands. “I heard ye well and good. But we need to get ye out of these clothes.”
“Fine,” she murmured, bringing her fingers to the front of her bodice. She pulled the soaked quilted stomacher out and dropped it to the floor. Celestia reached behind her, fumbling for the string to pull her stays loose.
“Can I help?” he asked, placing a hand on her clammy exposed forearm.
She nodded and spun around. Celestia stood very still as he undid the stays, the bodice coming undone and slackening around her shoulders. She took a deep breath and a long slow exhale as she removed the bodice fully and discarded it to the floor. Celestia turned, covering her breasts with her arms.
Anthony could just make out the outline of her breasts beneath the wet linen shift despite her attempt to cover herself.
She kept her gaze on the flames. “My skirts, next.”
He lifted her chin with his forefinger to meet his eye. “Are ye sure, lass?”
She nodded.
Anthony undid the buttons of her overskirt; the thick forest green fabric came loose, but over the petticoats, it stayed in place. “I need to pull this off overhead.”
Celestia nodded again.
Anthony bent over to grab a handful of fabric just before the mud and shimmied it up over her waist. She made it easier for him by raising her arms overhead.
Up over her head the skirt went, and Anthony’s eyes lingered on Celestia’s breasts, nearly exposed if it weren’t for the damp shift. Once the skirt was pulled from her, she hugged her arms around her chest once again.
“The petticoats,” she said, a blush creeping across her entire neck.
Anthony draped the green skirt over the metal grate near the fire and approached Celestia again. “Are ye sure?” he asked again.
She nodded.
He found the ties for the petticoats and quickly undid them, these were a bit drier than her overskirt but still damp to the touch. He pulled up the pair of petticoats and lifted them over her head.
Anthony stepped closer to her, to pull the skirts from her and to distract himself from looking at her. He draped them over the grate and returned to her. “What were ye thinkin’?” he said, brushing a finger across her damp forehead to move the hair stuck to it.
