Lyall went over to the fireplace and put the wine jug out of reach so that the lass could not hit him over the head with it. He heard the sloshing of water in the bowl, and Giselle’s little gasps as the cold water hit her. He imagined her, naked and pale in the candlelight, and he could not help himself.
He turned his head slowly.
She was leaning over the bowl, naked from the waist up, and sideways to his gaze. She was backlit by the candle beside her, giving her skin a warm glow and turning her curtain of hair to fire, where it hung down. He took in a sharp breath.
Lyall watched as she cupped water in her hands and poured it down her chest and over her face. The silhouette of her breast, perfect and uptilted, like a flower seeking the sun, took his breath away. Water ran down and beaded at the end of one pale, tight nipple, hanging there, like a little pearl. He could reach out his hand now, and fill it with that ripe softness, or, even better, slide his mouth on it, feel it pucker under his tongue, he always loved that. His cock hardened, and he cursed himself for looking.
By God, he was irritated. He had to protect Giselle and yet he was in no fit state to be around a defenceless lass who stirred him, by being innocent, untouched and an eyeful to look at.
Hell’s teeth, she was English to boot. The old hatred for Scotland’s tormentor rose, like bile, in his stomach. She stood for everything he hated - tyranny, arrogance, a spoilt life in the south, loyalty to a weak fool of a King who was indifferent to his own country’s suffering.
Giselle de Villers was under his power, and after what the Scots had suffered at the hands of the English, she was a perfect means of taking something back. But he was not Banan, and he did not make war on helpless women and children.
It was all her fault, for looking at him with those huge eyes, for being soft, for having no idea of what she could do to a man with a look. Women never acknowledged their power, but it was there all the same. God knows, he had not felt the urge to lie with a woman for months, in fact, he was beginning to worry he had lost it altogether. The bitterness of a soldier’s life seemed to have withered his lust on the vine.
Until now.
Torn between desire and decency, Lyall was in a hell of his own making. Giselle de Villers had better stay quiet and out of his way if she knew what was good for her.
With an effort, he turned away. ‘Have you finished, for I am about to turn around.’
‘Almost,’ she squealed.
When Lyall turned, Giselle was standing before him, in the shirt which looked enormous on her, with her hands gripping the top of it, where it gaped. She appeared to have no idea that the candle behind her made the outline of her slim body perfectly visible to him.
He took a deep breath and grinned. ‘That’s better, Lady de Villers,’ he said, going over to the bundle of blankets and extracting a rope from it. ‘Now, let’s to bed.’
When she saw the rope, she backed away. ‘No, I won’t be tied up, you can’t.’
‘It’s for your own safety,’ he said, grabbing hold of her and tying her wrists, ‘in case you try and escape in the night.’
‘I promise I won’t, I swear, just please, don’t tie me up.’
‘Look, Giselle, I have spent weeks sleeping in the open, on hard ground, or damp grass, in the rain and muck. This is the first soft bed I will see for many weeks, most likely, and I want to enjoy it.’
‘Enjoy it?’ Alarm was written all over her face.
‘Aye, enjoy it, so you will be tied up, and we will keep each other warm, and I’ll have no argument.’
He dragged her over to the bed and flung back the blankets. Giselle gave him a look that could kill and before she could say anything else, Lyall pushed her backwards. He got a flash of pale, shapely legs as she fell against the bed and he imagined them wrapped around his back, pulling him close. Lyall cursed himself, and quickly tied her legs together with the other end of the rope. He pulled some blankets over her.
With a last look at his handiwork, Lyall flung himself across Giselle to the other side of the bed and wriggled under the blankets. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled her against him and pressed his body against hers. Her hair smelled of smoke.
‘Let go of me,’ she shrieked. ‘How can I possibly sleep like this?’
‘We’ll be warmer if we snuggle up together,’ he said, spooning into her back.
‘It’s not right,’ she said, trying to pull free of him. ‘I don’t want you near me and…oh, oh what is that, stop it?’
‘I can’t help it. You are bonnie, and it has a mind of its own.’
‘You are disgusting, get away from me.’
‘If you stop wriggling your arse against it, maybe it will go away.’
She flung herself round to face him, pushing at him with her bound hands. ‘You promised you wouldn’t do anything.’
‘If I wanted to do anything, I wouldn’t have tied your legs together, would I?’