Her Highness and the Highlander: A Princess Brides Romance (23 page)

“Good,” Sara Cameron declared, and up she sprang to gather cleaning supplies and an
extra set of sheets from the linen press.

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity while the hut was made ready. He
and Dougal departed to tend to the milk cows and other livestock, while the women
finished their tidying before returning to prepare dinner.

At one point, Mercedes had sent him a panicked look when Sara Cameron had thrust a
dust mop into her hands, but she had rallied quite nicely.

So much for being a princess today.

Then night began to fall and with it the day’s activity settled as well.

After an excellent meal of good hearty stew, the kind that reminded him of when he’d
been a lad, he and Mercedes said their good nights and made their way up the path
to the hut.

“So the Camerons believe we’re newlyweds, do they?” he confirmed once they were out
of earshot. All evening he had played along, unable to have a private word with Mercedes
in order to ask for details. “How did that bit of sophistry come to pass?”

“It was Sara. She made a great many assumptions while we were talking and I…did not
correct her.” A silence fell. “Are you very cross that I did not tell her the truth?”

Oddly, he realized he wasn’t. “Nae, lass. ’Twas better to let her assume. We might
be sleeping outside again otherwise.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed and she sent him a little smile. “I remembered the inn
and…” The rest of her words, whatever they might have been, trailed away.

His blood warmed. Yes, he remembered the inn too.

Just as they reached the door to the hut, a small figure emerged out of the darkness
and gave a low bark.

“Robbie!” she cried, and dropped down to embrace the dog.

He barked softly again and wagged his tail as if this were the first time they had
met.

Mercedes gave a quiet laugh that went straight to Daniel’s gut.

“
You
are supposed to be in the barn,” she chided the animal
with false rebuke. “How ever did you manage to escape?”

But Robbie just wagged again, not saying a word.

Mercedes stood and turned to Daniel. “Sara wouldn’t want us to let him inside. She
doesn’t hold with animals in the house.”

“So I ken.”

She sighed. “I suppose you should take him back to the barn.”

“Aye. Then again, how is she to know he’s here if we doona tell her?”

Mercedes brightened instantly, her happy expression visible in the dim glow of the
candlelight coming through the hut’s narrow windows.

In that moment, he wished he had the right to take her in his arms. He wished he was
at complete and total liberty to kiss her and so much more—like a lover, like a husband.

Instead, he reached out and opened the door. Robbie dashed inside. Mercedes entered
at a more leisurely pace.

The hut was small with a single room on the main floor that contained a wide fireplace,
a kitchen table, and a couple of chairs. A narrow staircase ran along the far side,
leading up to a small, single bedchamber.

The dog went immediately to take up a place on the braided rag rug in front of the
hearth where a trio of logs burned quietly to keep out any chill during the night.

Daniel closed the door and latched it securely.

Silence descended.

“Would you…like to sit and have a cup of tea?” Mercedes ventured. “Sara said she left
a fresh tin for us in the cupboard, although I’m still not too sure how to boil the
kettle.”

She paused and walked toward a battered old wooden chest that served as storage for
the kitchen. “There may be a bottle of whiskey as well if you’d like something stronger.
I think I saw one while we were cleaning. Or rather while Sara was cleaning. I’m not
much use at that either.”

“There’s no harm in that. You have other skills.”

She glanced toward him. “Yes. I’ve told you that I’m musical. If only there was a
pianoforte, I could play for you.”

“I wish there were too since I would enjoy listening. However, I don’t believe a pianoforte
would even fit through the door of this hut.”

He watched as her gaze moved there to measure. “No, I don’t think it would.”

“I’ve no need for tea or whiskey,” he said after a pause. “Come, let us retire.”

Her fingers twisted together. “My valise—”

“It’s upstairs. Everything I retrieved from the curricle is waiting.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Peculiar how she was nervous; even more peculiar how he was a bit as well. It was
almost as if the idea of their being newlyweds had taken root, permeating the atmosphere.
It was almost as if this really were their wedding night.

But that was ludicrous and usually, he wasn’t so fanciful. Clearly the close confines
were muddling his brain.

Crossing to the table, he picked up the small lamp with its lit tallow candle and
turned to the stairs. “Coming?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Just let me say good night to Robbie.”

At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head and gazed at her with adoring eyes.

She went and leaned down to pet him. “You be a good boy and stay here. We’ll see you
in the morning.”

Daniel half wished she would talk to him like that; if she did, he could probably
be persuaded to do almost anything.

“He’ll probably just follow us,” he said roughly, “wanting to sleep in the bed.”

She met Daniel’s gaze, a slight dusting of color glowing on her cheeks. “The mattress
is too narrow for more than two.”

He raised an inquiring brow. “I suppose I could roll up in a blanket and sleep on
the rug down here. You could share the bed with Robbie.”

“But you would be uncomfortable and that wouldn’t be fair,” she said, straightening
to her full height. “And I might have a nightmare. I don’t have them when you’re with
me, you know.”

“Ah. So I’m simply a talisman against bad dreams, am I?”

“Among other things.”

She smiled, her lips soft and kissable in a way that was nearly his undoing.

“Come along, then, Your Highness. Let us to bed.” He turned and went up the stairs,
leading the way with the lantern in hand.

He heard her skirts whisper quietly as she followed.

The bedchamber was small but tidy, smelling of freshly scrubbed floors and clean,
sunshine-scented sheets. A homey handmade coverlet was spread neatly over the bed,
the wool dyed a rich shade of blue that brightened the space. A set of white curtains
were drawn across the room’s two windows. The walls were unadorned save for a small,
rather crudely carved wooden cross. There was a small fireplace as well, a few logs
burning inside.

Daniel set the lantern on top of the room’s only other piece of furniture—a double-drawer
pine lowboy that served the dual function of side table and wardrobe. A white china
bowl and matching pitcher filled with fresh water had been placed there along with
a bar of soap and towels. Sara Cameron, ever the consummate housekeeper, had laid
a piece of white linen underneath the basin to catch any accidental spills.

A new silence fell between him and Mercedes as she moved into the room.

Quietly, he closed the door.

She went to her valise and opened it to rummage within. Out came a pair of slippers
that she set on the floor and a nightgown, which she laid on top of the coverlet.

Only then did she gaze uncertainly at him.

“Turn around,” he told her in a low voice. “I’ll help you with your stays since you’ve
no maid available tonight.”

She stared for a long moment. “I c-can manage.”

He brushed that notion aside with a quick shake of his head and strode forward. “Even
if ye could, it would be an unnecessary bother. Just do what’s easy and let me help.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly urged her to turn.

“Daniel—” she breathed, stiffening under his touch.

“We’ve been sharing the same bed for days now,” he chided softly. “Don’t turn missish
on me over a few buttons and a set of laces.”

She held out against him for a few moments more, then gave in and did as he commanded.

His fingers moved to the buttons on the back of her gown, slipping the first one loose
with a deft twist before going on to the next. She trembled when he reached the last
and spread the edges of her gown apart to expose her bare back.

Her skin was a creamy white, flushed with a lush, almost peachy undertone. There wasn’t
a single blemish to mar the smooth expanse of skin along her shoulders and neck, only
the dull gold of her necklace that twined like a slender rope around her throat.

His fingers hovered momentarily, wanting to touch. Instead, he forced himself to attend
to the goal of unlacing her stays.

This was far from the first time he’d performed such a service for a woman, but to
his recollection, he’d never found the task so enthralling or so quietly enjoyable.

In the past, he’d either been in a lust-induced hurry, working to unfasten the laces
as quickly as possible, or else he’d been relaxed in the pleasant aftermath of good
sex but ready to say his good-byes and move on, efficient as he retied the laces and
helped fasten clothes that he’d earlier been so eager to discard.

But with Mercedes, the act was completely different. With Mercedes, each time he slid
a lace free it seemed as if he were doing so for the first time.

And with her, he realized, he was.

At length, her stays hung open to reveal the elegant curve of her back covered only
by her thin cotton shift.

“There,” he said. “All done.”

But he wasn’t done.

Exactly as he’d been wanting to do from the start, he slid a palm over the bare flesh
of her back and along her shoulders. Slowly, gradually, he curved his fingers around
the nape of her neck, taking a moment to trace the supple line of her throat. Her
skin was as soft and luxurious as the finest silk, as fragrant as warmed honey.

She shuddered under his touch, her head tipping forward as if to give him permission
to explore further.

He very nearly accepted.

“I’ll leave you to finish getting ready,” he said on a husky note. “Let me know when
ye’re done.”

Turning, he strode to the door and went out on the landing to wait.

For nearly a minute, Mercedes could not move. Her skin was on fire, her heart hammering
in a crazy tattoo beneath her ribs. The memory of his touch lingered like a brand,
as if she’d been seared by each light graze of his fingertips and trailing sweep of
his hands.

But he was waiting outside the door, expecting her to make ready for bed.

And then what?

Frowning with uncertainty, she hurried out of her clothes and into her nightdress.

Moving to the basin, she washed quickly, taking care to scrub her teeth with the toothbrush
and toothpowder she’d retrieved from her valise. She unpinned and brushed her hair,
then went to the bed and climbed beneath the sheets.

“Major,” she called. “You may enter now.”

The door opened and he came inside, closing it again after.

He cast her an appraising glance in the low candlelight, a slight smile playing at
the edges of his mouth. “Doona ye
think we could dispense with the formalities, Your Highness, all things considered?”
His eyes roved over her again where she lay tucked in the bed. “From now on, ye’re
tae call me Daniel and I’ll call you…Mercedes.”

“Not lass?” she challenged.

His smile widened. “Och, I’ll still call ye that when I’ve a mind to. Now, do ye want
me to put out the light while I make ready for bed? The fireplace hearth should give
me enough light to manage.”

She subdued a little quiver and called herself a coward. But the knowledge did nothing
to change her mind. “Yes, please.”

Seconds later, he blew out the lantern light, casting the room into heavy shadow.
But as he’d said, the hearth provided a surprising amount of light.

Drawing the coverlet up to her chin, she closed her eyes.

But although she could not see, she could still hear, her mind running wild as she
imagined him disrobing. She remembered the way he’d looked the other morning when
she’d lain beside him in bed at the inn.

He’d looked magnificent in the sunlight. Surely he looked just as good in the firelight,
his sleek muscles and powerful frame bathed in a reddish glow rather than a golden
one.

She heard splashing and knew his back must be turned to her. She cracked her eyes
open the faintest slit and had to bite her lip to conceal a gasp of pure female appreciation.

Just as before, he’d stripped down to his drawers. But unlike before, she got a completely
different view.

His wide shoulders and bare back were long and firm with layers of muscle and shadows
of hard bone beneath. His waist and hips were narrow, lean, but it was what was hidden
from view beneath the thin material of his drawers that held her rapt—or what was
nearly hidden since the cloth at the base of his hips sagged down just enough as he
moved to give a highly intriguing glimpse of the top of his tight buttocks beneath.
The rest of the material hugged his blunt, masculine shape and clung to his hard legs,
the material ending at
midthigh. His calves were well shaped and dusted with hair, his feet long and bare.

He twisted at the waist in a move that could only be described as mouthwatering, then
reached for a towel and began to dry himself.

She quivered again, her pulse leaping in jagged strokes that made her chest ache.
Worried he might turn and catch her watching, she squeezed her eyes closed and pretended
to sleep.

Soon after, she heard him pad across the room to the bed and lift the covers. The
mattress dipped as it took his weight.

Then all was still, the night growing quiet around them.

She lay on her back, heart thumping hard.

He lay on his back as well, not speaking, making no move to touch her in any way.

Maybe he wasn’t going to touch her. Maybe all he planned to do was sleep. It would
be for the best. No matter what she might feel for him, or think she felt for him,
nothing could come of their time together. Better not to continue what they’d so foolishly
started. Better to behave as if they were no more than ordinary traveling companions
who had no emotions for each other at all.