Page 59 of Bride of the Merciless Laird
She left the question hanging as he pulled off his belt and his plaid fell to the floor leaving him standing before her in his shirt.
Looking up he grinned. “I’m preparing fer me bed, lass.”
“But ye’ve…” She was about to remonstrate that he was near naked, but he lifted a forbidding finger.
“Ye may have shared me bed on two occasions, me sweet, and on both of those I was fully clad. Likewise, I didnae disrobe when I slept outside yer door at the inn on the first night we met.” He cast her a mischievous grin. “But now we are wed and will be sharing a bed each night, so ye must become used tae me half-clad body.”
Of course, he was right.
“Oh, aye.” She turned her back as he reached to take off his shirt, feeling the rush of heat to her cheeks. But she felt a little wayward desire to peek at him and see his nakedness.
Naye, I cannae. Whatever would he think if he caught me.
“Ye can turn tae me now.” He gave a low chuckle. “I’m clad in me night shift now, as proper as a priest.”
“Then,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady, “I’d be grateful if ye could turn yer back so that I may replace me gown wi’ me night shift.”
Fortunately, the maids had already transferred all her belongings to Ewan’s chamber and her garments were hanging in a neat row in a small cupboard beside the garderobe. She found her shift and robe and took them off the hangers.
He was watching with an amused smile on his face, and she felt the burn in her cheeks intensify under his unrelenting gaze.
“Now. Please turn yer back.”
He obliged, turning toward the fire while she slipped behind the screen in the corner. It took some time for her to unbutton her dress, and even longer to unlace her stays at the back. For a moment she was tempted to request Ewan to assist her, but swiftly decided that would not be a good idea. Finally, the gown and petticoat were off and she slipped on her delicate lace-edged shift and warm robe.
Slipping her feet into her slippers, she gathered up her hair brush and went to sit by the fire.
“What now, lass?” Ewan growled. “Are ye nae yet ready fer bed?”
She shrugged. “Ye’ve nay need tae wait fer me. I’ll nae be ready until I’ve unraveled all these wee braids and brushed out me hair.” After untying the ribbons holding her crown of braids in place she began undoing them one by one.
Ewan gave an impatient huff. “I’ll gi’ ye some help, if it brings ye closer tae bed.”
While she sat quietly, he stood behind her. Taking her hair gently in his hands he began to untwist and undo the myriad braids Isla had so carefully composed.
She leaned back. It was pleasant and strangely intimate to feel his fingers run through her long tresses in much the same way a maid would have done, when she was at home in Scorrybreac.
Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in a rose-scented cloud.
“Why, in the firelight, ‘tis like a waterfall of gold.” Ewan draped the strands so that they fell over her shoulders, smoothing them from her face. “And it carries a scent of spring roses that intoxicates me senses.”
His touch ignited a wildfire that travelled the full length of her, causing her to sigh and moan a little with the movement of his fingers.
“Here.” He passed her the precious pearl necklace which she placed carefully on the table. Then he took his place on a stool and watched as she stroked the brush through her hair before making it into one long braid over her shoulder.
“It seems a shame tae constrain such a waterfall into a single braid.” He laughed softly as she laid the brush on the table. “Now, are ye ready fer sleep?”
Tyra nodded. Sleep? While every part of her was tingling and vibrating, longing for more of those gentle touches of his that felt like loving caresses.
While she divested herself of her robe, Ewan pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. He lay back, hands beneath his head, watching her every move.
She clambered into the big bed and pulled up the coverlets. Then she lay rigidly beside him, acutely conscious of his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his every breath.
He snuffed out the last candle beside the bed, rolled onto his side away from her with a whispered “Goodnight, lady wife.” She turned over in the darkness, trying to steady her breath wishing for a bolster between them as there’d been when he’d slept beside her at the inn.
For what seemed forever, Tyra lay there, stiff, afraid to move in case she accidentally touched Ewan and disturbed him. On the other hand, he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, oblivious to herdiscomfort. At one point he rolled over and flung out an arm which she slowly eased back under the covers while he slept on.
She stifled a giggle. It suddenly seemed ridiculous that she was there on her wedding night, afraid of waking her sleeping groom, when she’d always pictured the reverse.
