The MacKinnon’s Bride(92)
Page didn’t hesitate at her task, nor did she linger to explain. She thought it rather an obvious solution, and marveled that no one had ever thought of it before now. Smiling, she cast the animal into a lye-soaped tub, and scrubbed his matted fur until she thought he might go bald from the scouring. The beast never protested, for all that, it merely arched its back like a blessed cat, and luxuriated in the bath. Poor Merry Bells. Likely the dog was so bitten and abused by the horrid little creatures that even Page’s scrubbing was a favor.
When she was done with Merry Bells, she granted Malcom and one of his friends the dubious honor of hunting whatever fleas remained. She showed them how to search, found a few for them, and then set them to work. She left the two snickering, pretending to hunt down “dirty MacLeans hiding within MacKinnon territory.”
That done, she emptied the tub, and then began to refill it with clean water to bathe the Behemoth and his friends. Without a doubt, she knew they wouldn’t like it, but somehow she would need to convince them that it was for their own good.
She didn’t notice the crowd gathered before the wash kettle until it was too late and they were all divested of their clothing. Starting when she turned to spy their bare bottoms and nude bodies congregated about the steaming cauldron, she gasped aloud and slapped a hand over her eyes to hide the shocking view. Sweet Jesu, but these Scotsmen had no shame at all, she decided. Never in her life had she known men so eager to undress—or mayhap she had, but certainly none without some ulterior motive! Peeking between fingers, she spied the last of them dropping tunic and breacan into the wash kettle, and her face heated from more than just the heat of the steam-filled kitchen.
Never mind that she’d thought herself perfectly capable of carrying out this task—she was mortified!
Certainly she’d seen men unclothed. Her father and brothers had had little regard for small courtesies where she had been concerned—and she had fully intended to wash Broc, after all—but sweet Jesu, this was ludicrous! She peered about to find that the other women present were perfectly at ease. While they were—thank God!—somewhat more modest, they seemed to take little heed of the rampant nudity accosting them!
Groaning in dismay, Page snapped her fingers together and contemplated her options. She could go screaming from the room, and look like a fool. Or she could uncover her eyes and finish the task she’d begun. She rubbed at her temples, pretending a headache.
Iain wasn’t certain whether to kiss her senseless, or paddle her delightful derriere.
He’d missed her—missed her like he’d never thought it possible to miss the sight of a bonny face in the few hours since he’d seen her last, lying so cozy within his bed.
He stood in the doorway to the kitchen now, his hands braced upon either side of the frame, and simply stared within.
At his end of the room stood his witless men, chattering idly about a steaming cauldron like a huddle of old women—all of them naked as the day they’d been spewed from their mammies’ wombs! God’s blessed teeth! He certainly didn’t believe in false modesties, and his men had never been overly discreet, but this was ridiculous! Leave her alone with them for five bloody minutes, and he returns to find them undressed every damned time. Damn, but if she didn’t look so bloody abashed by the lot of them, he might have thought it deliberate upon her part, for he couldn’t recall a time when his men had been so eager to strut about unclothed.
It took him a few befuddled minutes to even make out the purpose of this boiler room. His first clue had been a very wet Merry Bells—with his son and young Keith diligently searching her shaggy coat. His next was the stench of lye, and the boiling cauldron of bleeding wool. And lastly, his son’s excited shout of “A flea! A flea! I got one!” as he held out his pinched fingers for Keith’s eager inspection.
“I see no flea!” Keith argued.
Iain didn’t know whether to be proud that she was concerned for the welfare of his kinfolk, or furious that she would so unwisely place herself in a room full of naked, lust-ridden men. Christ, but it was all he could do not to dunk them all into that boiling cauldron along with their clothes!
His gaze remained upon Page as he waited to see what she would do.
Until he happened to spy Broc’s bare arse headed in her direction, and in that moment, any warm thoughts over her charitable gesture fled entirely. With a snarl of displeasure, he shoved away from the doorframe and stalked into the room. Spying him, Broc halted in his step, and the room fell to a hush. Page, however, was unaware of his presence, for her eyes were still dutifully covered, until he snatched her by the arm.