Page 14 of Brigand

“Back to the kitchen.” She frowned at him over her shoulder.“I have work to do.”

“You have work to do here.”

“I beg your pardon?” What did he want her to do now, washhis bottom?

“You’re going to bathe me.”

Her heart stilled at his words, his intent and especiallyhis expression. “Wh-what?”

“Come now, Violet. The laird of the manor can’t be expectedto scrub his own back, can he now? Be a good girl, close the door and come overhere.”

She gaped at him. Gaped. He expected her to remain in a roomwith a naked man? He expected her to touch him?

“Close your mouth. You look like a trout.”

“But…I c-can’t. I can’t b-bathe you.”

“You can. And you will.” His eyes glimmered with somethingother than humor. The unspoken threat hummed in the stony chamber. “You maywant to turn around while I undress, unless you want an early education.” Hebegan to unbutton his shirt.

With an undignified eep, Violet whirled and showed him herback until she heard the splash and his gusty sigh.

“All right, girl. Get to work. Scrub my back.” He gesturedto a chunk of soap and a sponge on a small table.

She picked them up, approached the tub and knelt behind him,trying not to stare at the bunching muscles, the broad expanse of tanned skin.She couldn’t help but notice it was covered with scars. Long and short,crisscrossing over one another. As though he’d been brutally beaten and lashedtime after time after—

“Did you close the door?”

Her bubbling sympathy evaporated in a rush. She stuck hertongue out at him but only because he couldn’t see. Then, with a heavy sigh,she levered herself off the floor and closed the door. Well, slammed it.

His chuckle annoyed her more.

He leaned forward and peeped at her over his shoulder. “Comealong now. My back isn’t going to scrub itself.”

She took her place behind him again, careful not to look athis broad, furry chest as she approached. She wet the soap and sponge andcreated a lather. Being very careful not to touch him, she began to scour hisback.

He winced. “Not so hard.”

His plaintive tone probably shouldn’t have sent a shard ofevil satisfaction through her but it did. This man had been a boor to her fromthe moment he’d found her on the floor in Callum MacAllister’s cottage. She dugdeeper.

He lurched forward. “Ouch!”

“Hold still,” she muttered, making a wide swath across theridged skin. “You’re filthy. I need to scrub.”

“I am not filthy.”

“You are. Stop wriggling.”

Amazingly, he did, though her efforts bordered on abuse. Butmy, it felt good.

When she started on his neck and ears, he caught her wrist.“All right. I think that’s enough.”

“I’m not done.”

“Oh, you’re not done.” He tugged her around to the side ofthe tub so she faced him. She focused on his crooked nose, schooled herattention not to drift lower. “Now it’s time for you to scrub my front.”

She really disliked his tone. There was mischief—andsomething much darker—coiling in there. “Fine.” She dropped to her knees andwet the sponge again, but rather than dunking it, merely skimmed the surface ofthe water.

Fortunately the bath was murky so she couldn’t see anything.But she knew what was down there and she didn’t want to find it by accident.She trained her attention on his chest and her heart lurched.