“He always was thoughtful,” she said softly.
A faint bubble of anger burst inside him and he struggled to tamp it down. Would he ever forget the image of Alana with her hands on Finn’s lap or Finn’s mouth practically touching her skin? He loved Finn as a brother but, by God, the thought of him being in Alana’s affections tore at his gut.
“But I cannae do my hair myself.” Hands going to her hips, she dragged him out of his thoughts. “Ye must have a maid to spare.”
Morgann pinched the bridge of his nose and spun on his heel, forcing Alana to scurry along behind him.
“Well?” she persisted as he pushed open the door to his chamber and ushered her in.
“I’ve no maid to spare. The keep takes time enough to manage.” Thanks to Margot’s negligence, he thought bitterly, the castle was barely running properly. He spent half his days making up for her idleness, ensuring the servants and soldiers knew their duties.
Alana released a grin, a spark of amusement reaching her eyes and his insides near crumpled. What in God’s name had her so amused?
“Ye’ll just have to do it then,” she announced as she sauntered over to the washbowl propped on a tall oak side table and snatched the linen towel that rested beside it.
Eyeing him, she loosened the ribbon barely holding her braid in place. Hair spilled over her shoulders, thick and luxurious in spite of the streaks of stone dust that still marred it. His fingers twitched as his stomach roiled and he blinked.
He let out a light laugh. “Ye cannae want me to do it.”
“I do.”
Throat clogged, he shook his head. Was she attempting to seduce him once more? She had little idea how close she’d been to succeeding when she’d all but offered herself to him the previous night. It would have been so easy to strip her gown from her, to stroke every womanly fragment of her until she begged him to take her. And she would. If she felt as he did, there would be no denying him. But Alana, sweet Alana, deserved so much more than that. He could never treat her like that. Bad enough that he had to take her prisoner.
She flung the towel at him and he fumbled to grab it, brow creasing as she leaned over the bowl, the ends of her hair dangled into the cool water.
“Ach, ye cannae expect me to do women’s work,” he tried in desperation.
Alana tilted her head sideways, gaze latching onto his as streams of hair fell across her face. One eyebrow rose. "I didnae take ye for a coward, Morgann."
Damnation. He sucked a long breath in through his nostrils and stepped sharply forward. He saw the faint flicker of triumph on her face before she turned her head over the bowl. He snatched at the jug resting near the washbowl and pressed his free hand against the exposed skin at the back of her neck. Pale. Fragile. His hand looked too strong, too rough next to her flesh. A sharp awareness of the power he had over her rushed through him, the primal need to conquer and command fresh in his mind. What was it about Alana that made him feel more a warrior than when he spilled blood on the battlefield? And yet, she was the one conquering him. She already had him doing maid's work. It was an odd balance of power they had. While he commanded the physical side, she commanded the emotional one, toying with him with great skill. Grudgingly, he admired it. He wondered if women did not have the upper hand sometimes. Strength only got you so far.
Water trickled over her as he tipped the jug and Alana gasped. The water was cool and it made her shudder. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen her wet and cold, when she'd been tucked against him in the middle of the mountains. Hot, scalding lust assailed him. With a smirk he debated throwing the chilly contents of the jug over his head instead, though he doubted it would have much effect.
Angry with himself for letting lust get the better of him yet again, he thrust his fingers into her hair, massaging the water roughly through her tresses and she yelped.
"Morgann, gentle!"
He shook his head. Was he really doing this? He allowed his touch to soften, scrubbing as he imagined a woman would. Ach, if anyone caught him doing this...
The texture of silky hair under his fingers soon erased his discomfort. Alana's hands clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white. Did she enjoy his hands upon her? Oh, he'd rather have them elsewhere, but he had to admit, there was something soothing about doing such a menial task for a woman. Nay, for Alana. To know he was looking after her provided an odd sort of comfort. Morgann sighed. If anyone deserved looking after, it was Alana. A shame it would never be him, not after the truth was revealed. Her father would never let him near her again.
"T-there's some tonic, I think. A-a maid brought it up yesterday."