Page 11 of Taken By the Savage Highlander

“Do ye need any assistance, me Lady?” Tilly asked, her footsteps coming closer.

Panic rising in her chest, she fished out her pendant and shoved it beneath a fur. Her mother had told her to keep it hidden, and now more than ever it felt important. By the time Tilly peeked around the edge of the screen, Margo was in the process of removing the last of her garments.

“I’m nearly finished,” she said, dropping her hands so Tilly could take over the rest of the task.

“Aye, but I can tell ye’re in need of some rest,” Tilly replied easily. Once Margo was completely stripped, Tilly led her toward the water. “Let’s get ye in. I will wash the dirt from ye and get ye into a dressin’ gown.”

Margo did not have the words to respond. The feeling of warm water embracing her body, soothing the aches of the road, was heavenly. It was the carress she hadn’t realized she’d been longing for.

Tilly hummed a happy tune as she grabbed a flannel. She rubbed a fresh bar of lavender soap against the fabric, then brought it to Margo’s body. Thoroughly, and with a touch that reminded Margo of her mother’s softness, Tilly washed away the dirt and grime.

When she finished, she dressed Margo and helped her settle onto the mattress. Softly, Tilly said, “I will brush yer hair, then I will leave ye to rest.”

Margo nodded, too tired to speak. Her eyes closed as Tilly carefully worked the tangles free that had accumulated over the previous rough days. She must have drifted off, because it seemed that as quickly as the pampering had begun, it was finished.

“I’ll leave ye be now,” Tilly said as she moved toward the door. “I will have someone come to get the tub in a few hours. Ye look as though ye could use a long nap.”

“You’re right,” Margo agreed, lying back. “Thank you once again.”

“Ye daenae have to thank me,” Tilly said, her voice much softer now. “It’s a pleasure to help ye, me Lady.”

“Ye can just call me Margo.”

Tilly looked over her shoulder, giving Margo a soft smile. “Aye, Lady Margo.”

Then, she left the room without another word. As soon as she was alone, Margo tried to will herself to sleep; but she could not, not when the reality of her situation rushed back.

She was married now. To a Highland Laird that she did not know. And tonight, he would be in this bed with her.

Cameron marched down the corridor leading to his chambers the same way that he’d walk onto a battlefield. With the Council elders confirming that he must produce a legitimate heir for the MacLeod Clan now that he was married, he knew that he had no other choice. This was merely duty.

Hardening his resolve, he paused a few steps away from the door. There was a strange kind of anticipation in his chest. It felt dangerous; as though every instinct urged him to consume her.

But I willnae. I am much stronger than that.

The hinges creaked as he slowly pushed the door open. When he stepped inside, his eyes were instantly drawn to her. She was standing there, beside the bed, in nothing but a pale shift.

As she turned her head to look at him, her honey curls fell loose around her shoulders. She inhaled sharply; a steadying gesture that nevertheless drew his attention to her rising chest. A soft candlelight danced across her soft features, making her look ethereal.

She looked untouchable.

“Laird MacLeod,” she whispered, her voice carrying through the air.

“Cameron,” he grunted, closing the door behind him and creating a bubble of privacy around them.

She nodded, but said nothing else. He tracked the way her throat worked as she swallowed. Desire struck him; low, immediate, and relentless.

The Highlander in him wanted nothing more than to cross the room. His fingertips itched to strip the delicate fabric from her body. The burning coil of need in his gut was telling him to claim what both law and ritual now said belonged to him.

Margo’s hands were slightly trembling at her sides. Her fear was palpable, infusing the air with a sour and anxious scent. A dark, terrible part of him enjoyed seeing her like this; at his mercy. The knowledge he held power over this feisty little thing tantalized him.

Staying where he was, maintaining the distance between them, he slowly began removing his weapons. Her eyes tracked each movement, her expression unchanging; his eyes never left hers.

When each of his weapons had been set aside, Cameron pulled off his coat and hung it on the rack near the door. His hands reached for his doublet, taking it off slowly. Across the room, Margo stared as he exposed his chest.

As she took in his form, his muscles, her face turned a deep shade of pink. The flush travelled down below her chemise, and reached up to the tips of her ears. Her gaze trailed lower, dipping to the waistband of his kilt.

Lass…