But how glorious it would be to surrender her body to a powerful, magnificent Highlander for one decadent night.
Cautious. Controlled. Reserved. The words simply did not apply to MacMasters. Johanna suspected the brash Scot was as bold in his personal endeavors—most especially, in his bed—as he was when he acted the protector. The image of his large, muscular body, chiseled with a sculptor’s precision, strolled into her thoughts, sly and seductive as he’d been in his bedchamber. Even without so much as a stitch to cover him, the man exuded temptation, the likes of which she’d never known. He was a wicked one, with that cheeky smile and that delectable mouth.
Heat washed over her, rising from her neck to her cheeks. She struggled to banish the image in her mind’s eye, but the Connor of her thoughts met her gaze and winked, turning to reveal a strong, carved bum. Good heavens, she’d gone entirely wanton. Since Timothy had severed their betrothal on the eve of their wedding with an oh-so-civil farewell, she’d never been fanciful in her personal affairs. And this was certainly not the time to consider indulging her decidedly imprudent fantasies. Thank heavens her rational mind had asserted itself the night before.
A soft tapping against the door pulled her from her decadent thoughts. “It’s Mrs. Bailey,” the housekeeper called through the wooden panel. “I’ve come with a dress for ye.”
Still bracing herself against the stubborn memory of the night before, Johanna tugged the belt of the dressing gown tight around her. “Please, come in.”
The stout panel squealed on its hinges. Mrs. Bailey marched in, her manner direct. “Lady Kathleen asked me t’find a dress for ye, something more appropriate than the trousers Maggie provided ye last night. Sometimes, I dinnae ken what the lass is thinking.”
“I had no complaint with the ensemble. I found the pants quite comfortable.”
Mrs. Bailey gave a reproachful shake of her head. “’Tis kind of ye t’be so accepting, but we are proper, even here in the Highlands. Maggie marches t’her own piper, of that ye can be sure.” The housekeeper held out a gown. “I believe ye will like this.”
“Thank you.” Johanna’s gaze skimmed over the dress from hem to collar and back again. Deep blue silk, soft and smooth, trimmed with creamy lace around the demure high collar and sleeves. Pearl buttons adorned the darted bodice. Quite lovely, indeed.
“Is it to yer likin’?”
“It’s wonderful.”
Mrs. Bailey nodded. “Miss Maggie and ye are close to the same size. The lass’s wardrobe is overfull as it is. Since she’s developed her fondness for trousers, anything with skirts is sorely neglected. She’s happy to pass this onto you.”
“I will return it, once my traveling case is recovered.”
The housekeeper crooked a brow. “Ye left it behind in Inverness?”
“Unfortunately, there was no time to collect it.”
“There seldom is.” Mrs. Bailey’s sliver of a smile faded as her attention dropped to the rug. She shifted on her feet, ever so slightly. Did the housekeeper feel she’d said too much?
Somber notes filled the chamber, surrounded them. The piper had grown quieter, yet the sounds seemed closer. Mrs. Bailey’s gaze shot toward the door, and her eyes crinkled with amusement.
“That fool is at it again.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “’Tis bad enough he’s up with those pipes of his before the cock crows, but now he’s traveling about with his performance.”
Edging closer to the open door, Johanna allowed the sad yet beautiful tones to wash over her. “Who is playing?”
“Ah, that’s Archie…Lord Archibald, he’s calling himself now. Laird MacMasters’s uncle. The man’s at least eighty, yet he strolls these halls every morn, fit as a rooster, rousing everyone from their sleep.” Mrs. Bailey peeped from the room, quickly surveying the hall. “One can only hope…”
“One can only hope…what…Mrs. Bailey?” Johanna could not restrain herself from asking the question.
“One can only hope he hasn’t gone for his air bath.” The housekeeper turned to her. “Well, that gave me quite a fright. Thankfully, Lord Archibald donned his kilt this time.”
“This time?”
Mrs. Bailey’s nod was solemn, but the twinkle in her eyes spoke of mischief. “There’s been many a time he roamed these halls with those pipes of his, bare as the day he came into this world. Says he’s bathing in the air. The old man claims ’tis the secret to youth.”
“Good heavens.”
“He says it was an American who gave him the idea. Archie discovered that brilliant man from the colonies—Benjamin Franklin, I believe it was—liked to walk around without any clothes, bathing in the air. After that, ye could never be sure when Archie would decide to strut about without a stitch t’cover him.”