Free A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) by Amy Jarecki Page A

have to bathe him too.
    “Very well.” Duncan shifted, sounding unflappable. “Douse a cloth in the bowl. That’ll fix me right up.”
    Meg exhaled. When he’d moved, she feared he might turn around, mayhap call for a bath. Oh, God in heaven, what if she saw him from the front? She’d die. Heat pooled in the crux of her legs while her knees turned to wobbly mush.
    “You want me to fetch it?” His gruff voice took on an air of impatience.
    She crossed to the bowl. “Sorry. I’ll do it.” She poured some water from the ewer and dunked the cloth.
    “Are you nervous, lass?”
    She nearly dropped the cloth. “No . . . yes. ’Tis just your injury isn’t in the most genteel location.”
    “Apologies. If I could transfer it to my elbow to appeal to your sensibilities, I’d do so in an instant.”
    “How you can jest at a time like this, I cannot fathom.”
    She stole a glance at the well-formed male specimen across the room. Honestly, she shouldn’t gawk. The poor man was in pain. He merely needed her to tend his vicious wound—and the sooner she did so, the sooner he’d cover up his backside, and her ridiculous desire to stare at it would go away.
    Meg held the claw in front of her nose and frowned. Remember? No man wants a woman with such a grotesque deformity .
    She wrung out the cloth and boldly strode to him. As soon as she bent down, her hand started shaking again. She clutched the cloth tighter. “Just a few quick swipes.”
    Duncan hissed. “Bloody oath, are you washing me with sackcloth?”
    “’Tis linen.” Meg tossed the cloth on the table and reached for the stoneware pot. One of the leeches dropped to the floor. She quickly glopped the ointment on two fingers and spread it over the gash. Two more leeches dropped and writhed.
    Duncan looked back. “I’ll fetch them in a moment.”
    Meg looked at her handiwork. “You could use a few stitches.”
    “Do you have a needle and thread?”
    “Nay.”
    He shifted his weight. “Feels better already.”
    Meg held the pot of salve to her nose and sniffed—leek for certain, combined with something that made her eyes water. “What’s in it?”
    After the fourth leech dropped, Duncan pulled up his braies and bent down for his chausses. “Gypsy magic. They may be an odd lot, but they have potent medicine.”
    She stoppered the pot and rested it on the table. “I hope it helps. I can hardly believe you can sit a horse. Half your bum is bruised.”
    He faced her, his grin halfcocked. “Wheesht. I cannot believe a delicate lassie is speaking about my arse with such recklessness.”
    “I . . .” Meg clapped her hands over her burning cheeks. He was right. She should not speak of a man’s backside. Not ever. “Forgive me.”
    His white teeth flashed with his grin. “Aye, lassie. With four older sisters and the Earl of Angus for a brother, I’d think you’d ken when someone is teasing you.”
    Meg clenched her claw and covered it with her good hand. Goodness gracious , Sir Duncan had a way of making her self-conscious like no one she’d ever met. He sauntered toward her and placed his hands on Meg’s shoulders. His dark chestnut eyes bored into hers, as if he’d never gazed upon a woman before.
    His tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. “Thank you, m’lady.”
    She swallowed, her heart thumping out of rhythm. “I . . .” Goodness, his mouth was ever so close to hers. She gasped. His gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips. Was he . . . ?
    Without thinking, Meg lifted her chin, her skin alive with tingling. The scent of spice and male filled her senses. Duncan’s lips met hers ever so softly. Such a rugged man, yet his lips were softer than silk. He slid his hands down her back, and Meg’s insides swirled in a fluttering torrent. Closing her eyes, she could stand there and kiss him until the sun rose anew.
    Duncan pulled her closer, his tongue brushing her lips. Meg startled, but his hand caressed up the back of her neck.