Mary awoke the next morning to the sound of someone knocking at her door.

“What is it?” she called, reluctant to leave her warm nest of blankets and the dream she’d been having about Cameron.

Her maid opened the door. “Yer father wishes ye to join him in his solar,” she announced. “Do ye need my help getting dressed?”

Mary groaned and tossed aside the covers. “Nay. Stir the fire, if ye will, before ye go.”

The maid complied and left her to her morning ablutions.

When she arrived at the laird’s solar, her father sat at his desk, pouring over the same list Mary had seen him study many times—the names of the men he had sent in July to fight with Domnhall, Lord of the Isles, against the Earl of Moray’s troops. Moray was the Duke of Albany’s man. The battle between their forces at Red Harlaw, so called for the amount of blood spilled there in one day of fierce fighting, had solved nothing and resulted in many dead Highlanders, including men from Rose. Most of those still alive had returned by now. But even this late in the summer, a few stragglers had shown up at the gate, having wandered from town to village, doing God only knew what, until they decided to return to parents or wives and children. At least a dozen were still unaccounted for, a fact that obsessed her father. Mary thought they were probably buried in the field at Harlaw, but her father held out hope.

“Da, ye sent for me?”

When he set the list aside, Mary’s tension eased. So he had not called her here to dwell on those men again.

“I’m thinking of sending to Domnhall for some warriors. We are undermanned. If we were attacked today and our walls breached, we lack the men to fight the size force any of our neighboring clans could throw at us. Perhaps some of those Irish mercenaries…”

A cold chill skittered down her spine. Their neighboring clans were allies—had he forgotten? As for gallowglass men, she shuddered. “Da, do ye no’ recall what they did when Catherine and Kenneth were here?” Rose had taken in three of their wounded. The three hale warriors with them had assaulted Rose serving wenches and started a brawl in the great hall that had resulted in the lone Irish survivor of the brawl trying to kidnap Catherine. If she hadn’t kept her head, and if Kenneth hadn’t gone after her, she might have been ravaged and killed. But she fought off the attacker and Kenneth finished him. The next day, Rose had his men load the three wounded Irish into a wagon and send them off to Domnhall at Dingwall. “We dare no’ let any of them inside our gates.” How could her father have forgotten that day? His lapses worried her. She’d noticed his confusion before this, but to forget such events seemed more than distraction.

“Hmmmm, aye, I suppose ye are right.”

But his frown told her something else bothered him. “If our manpower worries ye, are ye certain we should leave Rose right now?” she ventured. “Perhaps we should call on Brodie or another ally for men, and delay the visit to Grant until they arrive…”

“Nay! We will leave tomorrow, as I have said.” He stared off into space, then shook his head and returned his gaze to her. “In the meantime, I called ye here about another matter. That crofter on the northernmost plot has failed to pay his rents these last three months. I tire of waiting. Send my arms master to collect what he owes. If he canna pay, I will throw him off the land.”

“Ye mean Eanraig? Da, ye must recall the man’s wife just had another baby. And an older child is sick as well. Their little coin has been given for medicine and for the midwife.”

“So?”

“The harvest is just starting to come in. I already told him he had until after the harvest to settle his account.”

“Ye did what? Ye are no’ his laird. If I say they must meet their obligations, they must do so. Or leave, and I’ll give the land to someone who will work it and make it pay.”

Mary didn’t like the stubborn thrust of her father’s chin, but she had to tread carefully or she’d make things worse for Eanraig and his family. “What good will it do them or Rose to make a family homeless? Eanraig has been a good crofter since he took over the land from his father ten years ago. He’s only fallen on hard times with this last bairn.” Her father appeared unmoved, so she tried a more compelling argument and lowered her voice. “How will it look to our other crofters if ye do this to him and his family? If ye force them from their home to wander the countryside, the new bairn will die. When the rest of our crofters hear how ye treated Eanraig, they will be shocked. Do ye wish to lose them all?” She leaned forward, hands open, pleading. “Give him a chance to make good on his debt.”

Rose leaned back and sighed. “Very well, he has until after the harvest. But ye must ensure he is able to pay his debt then.”

Mary sat back, dismay roiling her belly. How did he expect her to do that? By growing the man’s crops for him? Controlling the weather? How exactly did her father think she could ensure a good outcome? She shook her head, dismissing the foolish idea.

She quit the solar still stewing over her father’s irrational order.

Soon after, the healer frowned when Mary repeated the conversation to her. “I dinna like it,” the woman said. “But I dinna ken what to do about it. No’ yet. Yer father will get better—or worse—and that may tell me what he needs.”

“I hate the waiting,” Mary admitted. “If he’s ill, I want do something. If he’s no’ ill, I want to throttle him.” She sighed. “In the meantime, it would be convenient if he forgot about Eanraig. I can do naught to improve his crop so he can pay his debt to the estate.”

“Aye,” the healer said and chuckled. “’Tis too late in the year for a Beltane fire.”

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise at hearing the healer mention the old superstition. The ceremony asked the gods for a bountiful harvest. “Surely ye jest…”

“Of course I do,” the healer scoffed. “Though ye, my good lass, could do with a night by a Beltane fire, I’m thinking. And I ken just who would make a perfect partner for ye.”

Mary felt the heat of a blush warm her cheeks. The rest of the ceremony had to do with bounty of another kind. One that required a virgin and a virile man. She qualified, but who did the healer have in mind to play her horned god? A vision appeared in her mind of Cameron, nearly nude, sitting on the edge of his bed, muscles rippling as he fought to keep the covers over his nether region. Warm tingles radiated from her chest. The healer’s grin told Mary her thoughts were written on her face.

“’Twill no' happen,” Mary warned her. “So dinna think I’ll do anything so foolish.”

* * *

Mary quickly discovered her discussion with her father had set the tone, and this would be another of those days when she felt like one of the servants, always at someone’s beck and call. Though she’d checked on him earlier, even Cameron sent a lass to fetch her. Mary ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it down and ensuring it hadn’t come out of the braid she’d fashioned it into. It wasn’t that she cared how she looked for Cameron; given her position as chatelaine, her father would be put out with her if she appeared disheveled. But she had to admit she’d paid extra attention to her appearance since she’d taken over the care of one handsome, but wounded and ill Sutherland, especially since he’d started getting well enough to flirt with her, and to take her hand and say things like it would not be easy for him to leave her. Still, she couldn’t pin her hopes on him.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly and waited. If he’d gone back to sleep, she wouldn’t disturb him.

“Come.”

His voice sounded stronger, even irritated. That was good. She opened the door and stepped inside. The odor of sweaty male, too long fevered and confined, assaulted her nose.

Cameron sat up and shoved his covers aside, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I want out of this room,” he demanded. “I’ll go daft if I stay in here another hour.”

Mary closed the door and regarded him. His wrinkled shirt twisted around his body, barely covering the top of his thighs and the long, thick outline of what rose between them. His dark hair was tousled and several days growth of beard shadowed his face, making him look disreputable and dangerous. He glared at her with eyes as piercing as the day he’d arrived, and his brow drew down into a frustrated frown.

“Has the healer said ye may…”

“I have no’ seen her today, and dinna care whether I do. I want to dress and go outside again.”

“Ye managed it on yer own once before. What is stopping ye now? Did ye do too much yesterday?”

Cameron shook his head. “Look at me. I’m no’ fit to be seen. And after this last bout of fever, I’m weaker, damn it.”

“Ye do need a bath.” Mary wrinkled her nose, then grinned at Cameron’s affronted expression.

“What do ye expect? Lying here in my own sweat for days, I have. And ye claim to be caring for me.”

“Ah, so ye have enough strength to be in a foul mood again, do ye?” She laid a hand on his forehead. Warm, but not fevered. Just a cranky male. “Very well. I’ll order a tub for ye and we’ll see how ye feel after ye get cleaned up.” She moved back to the door. “In the meantime, ye will stay in that bed. I dinna wish to have to call someone to pick ye up off the floor.”

Cameron snorted, and she slipped out the door, unreservedly pleased with his foul mood.

When she returned, she led a parade of lads carrying a big tub and buckets of hot water. Serving girls brought bath sheets to line the tub, and towels. Mary oversaw the arrangements while Cameron looked on. Then the lasses left, but two lads stayed behind. “These lads will help ye,” Mary told him.

Cameron shook his head. “Nay, they willna. I can bathe myself.”

“Cameron, I dinna want ye to fall, or to drown in the tub. Someone must stay with ye.”

“Nay!”

“Cam…”

“If ye insist someone must be here, then I want only ye to aid me.”

Mary crossed her arms. “That’s hardly proper.”

Cameron pointed at his chest and shrugged. “Ye have seen it all before.”

Mary pursed her lips and gestured for the lads to leave. “One of ye, fetch the healer,” she told them. When Cameron started to object, she raised a hand. “I will have her here as well or I will leave.” Then she turned back to the lads. “The other of ye stay nearby, out in the hall, in case I call for help.”

The lads glanced at each other, their expressions stoney, and left. After a moment, she heard a snicker out in the hall.

Mary rolled her eyes. Perhaps her father had a point after all, and she’d become too familiar with this man. “Well, then,” she said and gestured at the tub, steaming before the hearth. “Ye have gotten yer way, at least until the healer arrives. Let’s get ye in.”

Cameron hesitated.

Had the lads’ laughter made him realize how his demand for her presence looked, and made him regret making her stay? Or did he suddenly feel shy?

“Ye may turn yer back, if ye wish,” he offered. “I willna fall down between the bed and the tub.”

Mary shook her head. “I’ve seen it all, is that no’ what ye said? I’m here to keep ye from falling. I’d rather stay close in case ye get dizzy when ye stand.”

Cameron nodded and got to his feet. Spreading his legs, his gaze stayed on the hearth as he took a few deep breaths. Then he nodded. “I’ll no’ fall.”

Mary heard him, but didn’t believe a word. He’d gone a bit pale and shook ever so slightly when he stood. Then he steadied and his color returned. Likely he thought she hadn’t noticed his lapse. Instead of backing away, she moved to him and took his arm. “Come on, let’s get ye in. Lean on me.” She wrapped an arm around his middle. He cooperated, walking with her to the tub. She knew she shouldn’t, but she liked the weight of Cameron’s arm draped over her shoulders, and the feel of his solid torso under her hand, muscles bunching and flexing as he moved.

He stepped into the tub without comment. Before he sat down, she tugged at his shirt. He took the hint and stripped it over his head, leaving him bare…and breathtaking.

Mary had seen him many times, lying in bed while the fever ravaged him, head tossing with delirium while she ran cool cloths over his body. Cameron ill and mostly unaware of her regard was one thing. Standing before her, close enough to touch, a wicked gleam suddenly in his eyes and a growing erection making known the direction of his thoughts, was quite another. His erection rose heavy and thick, his length much more intimidating than when he’d been ill and flaccid. “Sit,” she commanded, fighting to keep her gaze on his face—and losing. Even with the weight he’d lost, he still had an impressive build. His arms and shoulders were generously muscled from training and fighting, his torso trim and solid, with rock-hard bulges and hollows of a well-honed fighting man. She covered her interest by inspecting his scar.

Cameron moved his arm away from his side and allowed her to look at it.

His wound had healed to a jagged pink line along his ribs. As she nodded, her gaze dropped. A dusting of dark hair covered his chest and arrowed down his belly to widen at the juncture of his thighs. She pulled her gaze from there, but not before he noticed and straightened, making what caught her attention even more prominent, thick and long. If she dared, she could wrap her hands around him. She knew he wanted her to, but doing so would change everything between them. Even if she did not expect the healer to arrive at any moment, she was not prepared to take such an irreversible step. Defiant, she continued her perusal. Below his rising manhood, heavily muscled thighs and strong calves completed the picture she would carry in her mind—forever.

“Like what ye see?” His voice rumbled low and gravelly with need.

Her body responded, her core clenching and turning molten, her heart beating faster. She bunched the fabric of her skirt in her fists, determined to fight the desire burning in her blood. “I’ll like it more when it’s clean and less whiff than it is at the moment. Now sit.” Cameron grinned, and she suspected he knew full well what turn her thoughts had taken. He was a beautiful man. Powerful even now. He would be more powerful, more impressive, and harder to resist when he finally regained his health. “I’ll no’ tell ye again, Cameron Sutherland. The lasses brought up cold water, too. I’ll toss a bucket full of that over yer head if ye dinna sit down.”

Finally, Cameron complied. Despite the bravado he’d shown so far, his movement as he settled into the tub seemed careful, and a soft grunt caught in his throat. But he sighed as the warm water rose about him, and the wicked gleam returned to his eyes as he leaned back and rested his arms on the sides of the tub.

Determined to ignore whatever sizzled between them, Mary grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the warm water, then dragged it over his neck and shoulders. “Lean forward so I can wash yer back.”

Cameron complied and she picked up a dab of soap in the cloth, then wiped it across the expanse of muscle and down his spine. It left a trail of suds as rivulets of warm water ran down his skin. She continued with his shoulders, then moved around to face him and handed him the cloth. “Wash yer face, and anything else ye can reach,” she ordered, fighting a grin as his lips puckered in disappointment. She nodded at his side. “Be careful around yer scar.”

“It feels better when ye do it.”

“I’ll wash yer hair. That will feel best of all.”

He grinned and glanced down.

Mary followed the direction of his gaze. His erection still stood proudly below the surface, between his bent knees. “Or I could just get that bucket of cold water and pour it over ye right now.”

Cameron dunked the cloth and applied it to his face, scrubbing harder than she would have. She watched, fascinated, as he dragged the rag down his throat and across his chest, then down his belly. When his hand went below the waterline, she turned her back and picked up the dish of soap, determined not to think about what his hand was doing. About how she wanted to touch him there. How she wanted everything that went with such intimacy—with him.

Where was the healer? If she stayed away, still thinking of Cameron as Mary’s horned god, Mary would wring her neck.

After a moment, Mary heard the sound of water splashing as Cameron wrung out the cloth. She sighed and turned back to him. “Now I’ll wash yer hair,” she warned and took the cloth from his unresisting hand. She dunked it again and wrung it out over his head, several times, wetting his hair, turning all its shades of brown darker, black and slick. Then she took a palm full of soap and massaged it into his scalp.

His eyes drifted shut and he groaned as he leaned against the back of the tub. “Ye were right,” he murmured, low and deep. “That does feel good.”

His voice made her bones vibrate. “Then stay still and enjoy it,” she replied, tunneling her fingers into his hair. A glance down his body revealed his erection had not subsided. It looked even larger and more insistent than before. More enticing. She wanted to slide her hands down his chest and across the rippled expanse of his abdomen to reach it. Instead, Mary looked away and concentrated on massaging Cameron’s neck and ears, then ran her fingers across his forehead and back up into his hair. After a few minutes, he seemed nearly asleep, so she placed her hands on his shoulders and urged him forward. “Let me rinse yer head.”

The bucket she’d threatened him with actually held more hot water, warm now that it had been sitting for a while. She poured a thin stream over his crown and watched the soap trail down his back and over his shoulders to his chest, a few small bubbles forming a barrier on the surface between her gaze and what rose beneath the water. When she’d rinsed his hair to her satisfaction, she used a towel to dry it. “’Tis time to stand and dry yerself,” she told him. “Then ye can go back to bed if ye wish.”

He rose from the tub like a god from the sea, water sluicing down his back and drawing her gaze lower than she should allow it to go. The tightly bunched muscles of his arse and the backs of his thighs flexed while she watched, fascinated.

“With ye?” he murmured and turned to face her, his erection again full and proud, straining toward her.

“Nay, Cameron.” She handed him a towel. “Wrap that around yerself—if ye can.”

He grinned and instead used it to dry his face and neck, leaving his body taut and exposed, tempting her.

She shook her head as he moved the towel aside to peer at her. “Step out of the tub, please. Put a hand on my shoulder if ye must. I dinna want ye to fall.”

He lowered the towel and shifted his gaze between her and the bed. “I think ye’ll have to help me,” he teased and lifted one strong leg over the tub’s edge to the floor, then the other. There he stood, feet spread, cock at full attention and sac dangling between his legs while the sight of him held her in thrall.

Mary could barely keep herself from reaching out and cupping him. “I’ll get yer shirt,” she finally managed to say, and turned away to the small chest. What was keeping the healer? She should have been here long before now.

“I have nay more clean shirts,” Cameron told her, his voice a deep rumble that made her breasts ache. “I’ll have to remain as I am, naked. And wanting ye.”

Mary turned back to him and looked him up and down, an act more brazen than she’d ever done in her life, but he’d asked for it. “While I enjoy looking at ye as much as any lass might, I dinna wish ye to catch a chill, so here.” She picked up a dry bath sheet and tossed it to him. “Wrap yerself in that and sit by the fire. I’ll send for a clean shirt and a change of bedding.”

She didn’t know how she managed not to betray how much she wanted him. She felt molten and tight, her thighs tense and her breasts aching. But she forced herself to go to the door, and after a glance back to ensure he’d obeyed her and covered himself. She opened it and gave her orders to the lad still waiting there. Then she closed it again and leaned her heated forehead against the cool wood. Cameron Sutherland tempted her too much. By far.

* * *

“My back is cold. It must still be damp. Could ye dry it for me, please?” Cameron leaned forward in the chair and beckoned Mary closer. He didn’t like her being across the room, by the door. He’d been wrong about her. She might not be the type for a quick tumble, but she wanted him. The musky scent of her arousal had filled his nose as she studied his body. And he couldn’t hide how much he wanted her. He wanted her in his arms. In his lap, riding him, preferably. He wanted her to satisfy his raging need—for her. Only her. Surely she could see how she affected him by the way the bath sheet tented in his lap. He laid his hands over it. Perhaps if he played meek and ill, he’d arouse her nurturing instincts. He only needed her to come close enough for him to pull her into his embrace.

Mary cocked her head, then sighed and approached, picking up a dry towel from the stack the serving girl had left. “Ye are better. Yer body doesna lie. A lass will return in a few minutes, so forget what ye are thinking about. ’Twill no’ happen.”

“It could, if ye wished it to.” He knew she’d never agree, but he couldn’t help teasing her.

“Well, I dinna, so settle down.” She scrubbed at his back dry. He was certain it must be reddened from the rough toweling. But she’d taken care and softened her touch when she moved the towel near the new scar on his side.

She had studied his body from head to foot when he stood in the tub, including every long and thick inch of him currently trapped beneath his hands. She couldn’t hide that she’d liked what she’d seen. Her heightened color and fast, shallow breathing told him she wanted him, too. She’d clenched her hands rather than reach for him. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

But this was Mary, his angel of mercy. Suddenly guilt overwhelmed him. He’d forced her to stay while he bathed, and his actions went well beyond teasing, even beyond seduction. She would think him crude and unworthy of the care she’d already given him, much less what he wanted from her now he felt stronger. She deserved more than a tumble before he left for Sutherland. As she stepped away from his back, he sighed, weary again.

A knock at the door drew Mary even farther from him. The serving girl bustled in and handed Mary a shirt, then stripped his bed and remade it with fresh linens. He couldn’t believe how inviting the bed suddenly looked. The serving girl, not at all. He shivered at that. Usually the sight of any comely lass’s rounded backside bent over a bed or a table would rivet his gaze to her. But not now. Not since Mary Elizabeth Rose came into this life.

Mary brought him the shirt and he slipped it on over his head, careful to keep the sheet over his lap until the serving lass left the room. Then he stood.

Instead of moving away, Mary surprised him by stepping into his arms. He dropped the sheet, counting on the shirt to cover him. He wanted his hands free to touch her.

“Ye should feel better.” She sniffed his neck. “Ye certainly smell better. Do ye still wish to go out or are ye tired again?”

“With ye in my arms? I could fight a dragon right now.”

“Perhaps a small one.” She studied him. “Ye are still too pale. Rest for a while, aye? I’ll walk with ye this afternoon.”

Cameron nodded. “That gives me something to look forward to. No’ what I most desire, but it will have to do for now.”

Mary snorted a laugh and stepped out of his arms. “A lass always kens where she stands with ye, Cameron Sutherland, aye?”

He grinned and shrugged, relieved that she seemed to have taken no offense. “If that lass is ye, then aye. Why would I be anything but honest with ye, Mary? I’ve nothing to hide.” He paused, then shook his head. “I owe ye an apology. I shouldna…”

Mary blushed prettily. “Dinna say it,” she objected, holding up a hand. “We’ll just forget this happened,” she added and bolted for the door. “I’m going to find the healer and throttle her.”

He let his soft laughter follow her out. Once the door closed behind her, he sank to the bed and rested his head in his hands, glad the healer had failed to arrive. This time with Mary had been illuminating. Teasing her was easy. Winning her would be much, much harder.