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“Ye’re teasing me,” she replied, determined not to look at the flimsy towel barely covering his nether regions. “Ye ken what I mean.”
She cupped a hand to his newly-shaved cheek. “Smooth,” she whispered.
He took her hand and placed it over his heart. Warm, bare skin, a hard male nipple, soft hair, chiseled muscle and the steady thrum of his heart rendered her speechless.
“Do ye feel that, Eala, my swan?”
Unable to resist the seductive pull of his voice, she looked into his eyes and saw the love he bore her. “Aye. I feel it beating.”
He moved her hand to his groin. “Do ye feel that?”
Wanton sensations blossomed in very private places. She felt dizzy and euphoric and wished she was as naked as he. “Aye,” she whispered, awed that he’d invited her to touch the most intimate part of his body. She knew men were made differently but the bulge under her hand felt firmer and warmer and more substantial than anything she’d imagined.
“All that I am belongs to ye, Eala. I pledge my heart and my body to ye. As far as I am concerned, ye are already my wife. I want ye to enjoy my chamber, so the Bruces can fuss as much as they like. I told Mr. Bruce I was appalled by the chamber ye’d been given. Mrs. Bruce agreed with me.”
“She’s just glad to be rid of me as a potential daughter-by-marriage,” she replied.
He chuckled. “Ye may be right, but she has servants busy heating more water and ye can luxuriate in a hot bath while I’m gone. She’ll also see to having yer clothes cleaned.”
She risked moving her hand on him. “Ye are a miracle worker.”
He flared his nostrils. “Nay, ’tis ye who have worked miracles with my heart and my loins.” He removed her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “But we’d best stop now, or Giles will languish longer in prison.”
Friendly Persuasion
As a medical student at the university, Ambrose had been required to attend prisoners in the cells below Edinburgh Castle more than once. He could never venture there without being reminded of his grandfather’s tales of visiting his wife’s uncle, the previous Earl of Glenheath and his men in the large cell reserved for prisoners of war. In the event, Munro Cunningham had escaped the chopping block after the failure of his rising against Oliver Cromwell’s army occupying Scotland so many years ago.
Ambrose wrinkled his nose as he entered the Perth Tolbooth, though he, Bruce and Neville were ushered into a small office far removed from the cells. The landlord from the Black Swan had agreed to accompany them as a character witness for Giles.
Seated on a high stool behind a clerk’s desk, the functionary nigh on fell off his perch when he espied Bruce. Ambrose hoped it augured well that the fellow recognized the town’s Lord Provost. He resolved to join the conversation only if it became necessary.
“We’re here to secure Dr. Giles Raincourt’s release,” Bruce stated flatly.
The guard’s eyes widened as he perused the pages of a giant ledger on his desk. “But…but…I’m nay authorized…”
“What is yer name?”
“Trout, my Lord Provost, but I’m nay…”
“Fetch someone who is,” Bruce demanded.
Trout scurried off, knocking the ledger to the floor where it landed with a thud.
Arms folded, Neville retreated to a corner, looking ill-at-ease.
Bruce toed the open ledger. “Careless fool,” he muttered.
Rehearsing what to say if he was questioned about Giles’ motives, Ambrose studied the thin strands of cobwebs wafting in the air, reminded of the bothy. That frantic episode seemed a lifetime ago. The amusing thought occurred that the gaping Trout did look rather like a fish out of water.
The clerk returned, cowering in the wake of a gaunt individual who towered over them all. Ambrose was taller than most men, but had to crane his neck to look up at this man’s lined face.
“Keyes,” the newcomer said in a deep voice that belied his gaunt stature. “Head warder. What’s yer business?”
Doubt crept up Ambrose’s spine. Clearly, the warder wasn’t intimidated by Bruce. And was Keyes truly the name of a jailer?
“We’re here to secure the release of Dr. Raincourt,” Bruce repeated, though Ambrose noted his tone was less belligerent. He, too, apparently recognized this might be more difficult than expected.
“Raincourt,” Keyes repeated, glaring at the ledger which Trout hastily consulted after hefting it up from the floor.
