"After what ye did, I should." He poured water from the ewer into the bowl and tested the temperature. Only lukewarm, but it was a summer night. He'd survive a cold wash.
"But ye willnae."
He cast her a hard-eyed look. "Dinnae get too cocky, mistress."
Mhairi made a helpless gesture. "Then why have ye brought me up here?"
He wet the flannel and washed his face, rinsing off the sticky remnants of wine. Then he took his time wiping his neck and arms and chest. He noticed the cut on his arm was healing well, and his head no longer pounded from its encounter with the peat bucket. At least her assault with the claret had injured nothing but his pride.
Callum dropped the flannel back in the bowl and released the black velvet ribbon tying back his hair. He picked up the jug and leaned forward. He poured the rest of the water over his hair, rubbing with his other hand to rinse away the last of the wine.
"Mackinnon?" she asked as the silence extended.
With unhurried movements, he picked up a linen towel from the pile on the washstand and dried his skin and hair. When he turned at last to the girl, she watched him with a strange, intent expression. She looked wary but curious. Her immediate fear had receded, he saw.
He ran his hands through his hair to push it back from his face and gestured to her. "Sit down, mistress."
She glanced around the room. He saw her consider sitting on the bed then dismiss the idea. Instead, she retreated to a high-backed tapestry chair near the unlit fire. Only as she lowered herself into it did he realize that she’d accepted a request without argument.
A first time for everything, he thought with a shock.
He left the crumpled linen towel hanging from the stand and crossed to a mahogany press. He opened a drawer to retrieve a clean shirt that he slipped over his head. He didn't bother with a coat or neck cloth.
Callum turned to face his prisoner. She needed to recognize the risks she ran if she continued on this mutinous path. "I brought ye up here like that so my people think I'm teaching you a lesson on how to behave."
Her features tightened. "A lesson in that bed?"
"Aye."
“My reputation will be in shreds."
He shrugged again and crossed to sink into the matching chair on the other side of a carved oak table. "We willnae be the only couple in the glen to anticipate their wedding vows."
She made a sound of disgust, and her expression indicated her disdain for that statement. "I'm no’ some ambitious crofter’s daughter who fancies ye as a husband, Mackinnon. Ye speak lightly of something dark and cruel. I'd rather ye chained me in your dungeons than hold me here in your chamber with all the world convinced that we’re lovers."
A pang of compassion banished the last of his anger. "It's too late, lassie. As far as my people believe, your virginity is gone."
She paled and scowled at him. "My father will hear of this."
"Aye, most likely." Perhaps his strutting downstairs would have some benefit. To restore his daughter’s honor, the old man might agree to the marriage.
"I'd still rather ye locked me in a cell. You keep pretending this is some civilized wooing, yet in reality ye may as well beat and starve me. Everything ye do is to achieve your will."
"I dinnae want to give ye cause to hate me."
She gave a dismissive snort. "Too late for that, my fine laddie."
He ignored that. "Anyway there are nae dungeons at Achnasheen. When I became laird, I turned them into wine cellars."
"What a shame. Dungeons come in so handy when you've got kidnapped maidens to terrify."
"Ye dinnae seem too terrified to me, lassie. It might be better for ye if you were."
"I'm no’ a fool. Of course I'm terrified."
"Ye must ken by now I'm no’ going to harm you." He sent her a sharp look. "Despite provocation."
"No’ physically anyway."