Too modest, or too wary, to bathe in front of him, she had kept on her shift. Unlacing the garment to the waist, she had managed to soap every inch of covered flesh without his catching even a glimpse of what lay beneath. Each time she raised her arm it pulled the fabric of the garment taut, outlining the curve of her buttocks. The tantalizing distraction was a true test of his self-control. In fact, being confined to the bed and the room with her was proving to be both a heaven and a hell. The roiling need twisting in his gut each time she came near proved almost painful. The only thing that held it in check was the trust he was attempting to build between them. A sigh of half pain-half relief, escaped him as she donned her kirtle. “How does your leg fair, Alexander?” she asked as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. “‘Twould ease if I could rise and walk about a wee bit, lass.” She emptied the washbasin then set it a side. “Mayhap ‘twould not harm you to walk about the room,”
