Malcolm jerked, and then stared at Duff. Perhaps they’d not spoken of Duff’s visit. Her traitorous body responded, nipples peaking and pussy flooding. Heat flared her cheeks and ears.
“We’ve been apart ten nights, sleeping on pallets,” murmured Duff. “Do ye miss my tongue on yer clit and my cock in yer pussy?”
“Aye,” she admitted.
Duff made a twirling movement with his hand. “Lead the way to our chamber, Kiera. Ye can bathe us, to start.”
Her arousal vanished. “I am sorry, husband. I was told my chamber is too far to carry hot water, that bathing must be done in the kitchen.”
She’d been startled when she’d gone to the kitchen, furious but resigned, and been refused a screen for privacy. Even her maid was denied her, having been assigned to Silean’s visiting kin. So she’d carried a single bucket of hot water up the stairs every evening to wash herself. With her father away, and Colin unaware, she could do nothing as Silean was now Lady MacKenzie and Bessie, the housekeeper who’d come to Castle Leod with Kiera’s mother, reported to her.
“Is that so?” murmured Malcolm. Another unspoken look passed between her husbands. “I was told a tub and hot water would be brought to our chamber, along with a tray of bread, cheese, and ale.”
His words proved the actions against her were just another way to get revenge. The years she’d spent as Lady Mackenzie after her mother’s death, keeping Castle Leod working well, didn’t seem to matter. She’d behaved badly after she was widowed and even worse since Silean had taken away her father’s company. What they’d done to her in the last ten days was petty and hurtful.
Duff had told her the MacDougals grew up without hot water, thick pallets, or enough food. She would not complain at losing the things they’d never had. Soon it would be over as she’d be far away. Her headache intensified. She rubbed her temples. Perhaps when she had finished bathing Malcolm and then Duff she might have a chance, though the water would be cool and dirty by then.
Malcolm took a step, forcing her to back up. He kept going so she had to tilt her head higher. She was extremely tall for a woman so few could look her in the eye. She’d forgotten how much these two towered above her. It did not frighten her. Their size made her feel small, even delicate, and far from the shrew she’d been called so often. It brought another prickle of tears. She turned her back before they could notice.
Arms caught her shoulders and knees, sweeping her up. She squawked, clutching Malcolm’s neck so he didn’t drop her.
“Hush. I’ve got ye,” he murmured.
His simple caring statement had her curling her face into his chest to hide the tears she could no longer keep back. He smelled of fresh sweat, horse, leather, and something else that was all his own. She exhaled, her breath rattling in her chest. Duff passed them to open her chamber door. He stopped in the doorway.
“Did ye pack it all?”
Catching her on the stairs had made her forget what they’d find in her chamber. Malcolm pushed past Duff. He stopped, and then turned in a circle. One corner held the parts of her dismantled loom, a stool, and her spindles.
“What is this?” he demanded.
She swallowed hard to clear her throat. “I finished weaving the cloth for Duff’s shirt so took the loom apart. I’m allowed to bring it, my spinning wheel, and spindles.”
The arms holding her tightened. “Allowed?” he asked, quiet and intense.
“What of the rest?” asked Duff at the same time. “I see naught but a wee pallet on the floor, a thin one at that, and a stool.”
“I was told all was needed elsewhere, and since I would be gone in a few days I could do without.” She wriggled, her bones still sore from trying to sleep on the hard floor. They’d been gone far longer than a few days, but her father would have been the one to set the pace.
“They couldn’t wait for ye to leave?” Duff’s voice had risen an octave. His eyebrows disappeared into the black hair that flopped over his forehead.
Malcolm’s arms tightened. His heartbeat sped up, pounding against her ear. A sound like a low growl erupted in his chest. Noises down the corridor suggested servants were arriving. She struggled to get down, but Malcolm held her tight. Men bustled into the room, their hands loaded. The first two placed a tub in front of the cold fireplace. The others filled it with hot water. All kept their heads down, silent.
“I have nowhere to set my wife,” said Malcolm coldly. “I canna see a chair, nor a bed. Lady Kiera MacKenzie of Kinrowan, daughter of the Lord of Kintail, is carrying our babe. What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.