“I am a bit sore,” she admitted, accepting that another conversation about her infernal leg couldn’t be avoided. “But not unbearably so.”
A line formed across his brow. “You’re certain—”
“I’m quite fine, I assure you. A hot bath would have helped, but a decent night’s sleep will no doubt be sufficient.”
He nodded and reached for the leather tie holding his hair. “You’ll want dinner first.”
If it hadn’t been for the mention of food, Evie was certain she would have sighed at the sight of McAlistair’s thick hair falling forward to brush his shoulders, then sighed again when he swept it back and retied it. But even her peculiar fascination with McAlistair’s locks couldn’t compete with the promise of a real meal.
“Oh, yes, please,” she breathed. “I know it’s early, but—”
“I’ll see to it.”
Though she could have comfortably fallen asleep fully dressed right there on the floor, she gathered the energy to bend over and begin untying her boots. “Thank you.”
“When I knock, stand behind the screen.”
She straightened back up. “Behind the screen? Whatever for?”
“They have to bring in the tray.”
“This is absurd—”
“The screen or the cape. Your choice.”
She was too tired and too hungry to argue. “I’ll take the screen.”
Though she felt a fool, Evie moved to hide behind the wooden screen when the knock sounded at the door twenty minutes later. She debated for a moment as to whether a response was required, then shrugged and called for the group to enter.
A moderate commotion followed—furniture scraped, plates rattled. She heard something actually clang—which confused her—and someone muttered a mild oath. There had to be nearly half a dozen pairs of feet shuffling about, Evie realized, barely resisting the urge to peek. Why the devil would it take half a dozen people to haul up a dinner tray?
“Shall we put it behind the screen, sir?” someone asked in a strained voice.
“No. In front of the fire.”
“And the screen, sir?” someone else asked. “Shall I move it?”
As she couldn’t see properly, she could only assume McAlistair shook his head at the man. And why wouldn’t he? Who ate behind a screen in a private room? She heard the distinct jingling of coins, the retreating shuffle of feet, and then the creak of the door before it closed.
“You can come out.”
“It was hardly necessary for me to hide to begin with. What in the world was that—” She broke off as she stepped around the screen and saw a very small tub set before the fire. It was already filled almost half full of water hot enough to let off steam. A small stack of drying cloths and a fresh bar of soap sat beside it.
“A hot bath,” she breathed, and turned to find McAlistair sitting at the small table now piled high with platters of food. “And a hot dinner.”
He stood and moved to fold the screen and place it in front of the tub. “Better if it were one at a time, but this limited intrusions. Which do you want first?”
“First?” She looked from the tub to the table to the tub again. She felt almost lightheaded with anticipation. “I don’t know.”
“The bath, then,” he suggested. “Before it grows cold.”
“Yes…of course…um…” She eyed the food, unable to recall a time she’d felt so torn. “Perhaps…” A wonderful idea occurred to her. She lifted a lid off one of the platters to discover thick slices of lamb. Stabbing one piece onto the end of a fork, she lifted it to her mouth for a bite. “Both.”
“Both? You want to eat in the tub?”
“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Despite the fact that it was, she took her slice of lamb with her behind the screen. It took some doing, undressing with only one hand, but she succeeded after a time and soon slid into the warm water. The tub was small, and the lamb something less than skillfully prepared, but the combination after two days of hard riding was nothing short of wonderful. She groaned in pleasure.
She ought to feel uncomfortable, she mused, sitting naked in a tub not four feet from McAlistair with only a thin screen between them, but she just couldn’t rouse the energy for it.
“This was a marvelous idea, McAlistair.” She spoke around a mouthful of food. “And most thoughtful of you. Thank you very much.”
There was a long pause before he answered. “You’re welcome.”
McAlistair stared at the screen. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. He couldn’t stop his imagination from dwelling on what was behind that thin barrier of wood—
Evie. Naked, and wet.
Through a tremendous act of will, he’d managed not to think of her undressing, concentrating instead on washing with the soap and basin of hot water he’d procured for himself. And he’d succeeded in ignoring that first soft splash of water when she’d slipped into the tub, studiously turning his attention to his meal.
But then she’d groaned—that low, soft sound of pleasure—and his mind had been wiped clean of everything but Evie.
Naked and wet.