by Tracy Brogan
CHAPTER 15
FIONA SOAKED IN the tub until the water cooled and her skin was wrinkled as a raisin. A maid had come, Ruby was her name, and she’d scrubbed Fiona’s hair, and feet, and even her hands, taking gentle care of her broken finger. She’d bustled around, built up the fire, and finally toweled off Fiona, bundled her in a dry linen sheet, and now worked to comb the snarls from her hair.
“’Tis a pretty color, m’lady. But Lordie me, what knots ye’ve got. We’ll get them out, though, don’t ye worry. I’ve a skilled hand with hair. Now, Lady Vivienne takes no more than a brushing to make her hair shine. I need a few more tricks with Lady Marietta.” Her cheeks flushed. “She’s a fine-looking woman, though. Don’t misunderstand.”
“Most of us are not so blessed as Lady Vivienne.” Fiona nodded. She’d not reprimand the maid for so small a slight against her mother-in-law, especially considering the welcome she’d received.
Ruby smiled, continuing with her monologue, which had begun the moment she’d entered the room and seemed in little danger of ending. No matter was too trivial or obscure, and though Fiona longed for peace and quiet, she knew the information could only help acclimate to her new surroundings. Though the girl’s manner was nothing like her own Bess, somehow it soothed Fiona’s aching heart.
“Robert is serving at court right now. He’s three years younger than Lord Myles. A wicked scamp, that one. Could charm the feathers off a goose with just a wink. Then there’s Alyssa. She’s just turned fourteen.”
“Alyssa?” Fiona asked, her eyes watering from a particularly harsh tug of the comb.
“Aye, she’s the youngest. And a prettier little filly you never did see. Sweet as honey, too. You’ll adore her.”
Siblings? Fiona had never considered the idea that Myles had brothers or sisters. Even the fact that he had a loving mother was difficult enough to fathom, for back at Sinclair Hall, they’d often joked that Campbells were spawn and hatched from eggs. A foolish bit of childish humor, for certain, yet the thought they were a family just like her own gave her pause.
Homesickness washed over her, flooding her with a great longing to see Margaret’s face. Or even John’s. He’d betrayed her at the last, and yet she missed him still.
The maid prattled on, but Fiona drifted back to Sinclair Hall and a warm spring day when some lambs had just been born. Simon had brought one to the yard for her and Marg to pet and giggle over. They’d put the little thing on a lead and walked it round the orchard until their mother discovered them.
She’d scooped it up and took it away. “A lamb needs its momma,” she’d said.
How right she was, for she was dead a week later, leaving her own children to fend for themselves against Hugh Sinclair.
Simon had fared well enough, for he’d been a lad of fifteen and already matched their father boast for boast. He was not bowled over by Hugh’s unpredictable temper. But John had suffered enough for the lot of them. ’Twas not long after when Hugh boxed his ears and damaged his hearing, and forever after treated him more as a stranger than a son.
Tears welled in her eyes at the memory, but she brushed them away.
“Am I pulling too hard, m’lady?”
“No, Ruby. It’s fine. But I’d like to dress and have you finish with my hair after.”
“Yes, m’lady. But I’ll have to go find your things. No one has brought your trunks yet.”
Fiona stood up, pulling the linen towel more tightly around her middle. “I have no trunks. They were left by the wayside when Cedric and his group were attacked. Just give me my old dress. I’ll don that.”
Ruby’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh, no, m’lady. Ye canna wear that. ’Tis nothing but a filthy rag. I’ll borrow ye a dress from Lady Vivienne.”
“I’d just as soon wear my own dress.”
Ruby’s eyes flicked toward the fire.
Fiona looked to the flames and saw a scrap of brown muslin. “You threw my dress in the fire?”
“Lady Vivienne told me to.” Her lips began to tremble.
Fiona’s mind raced. Either Vivienne was kind and would indeed loan her a dress, or she’d just maliciously left her with nothing at all to wear.
“It’s all right, Ruby. But could you go and find me something to put on?”
“Aye, m’lady. Perhaps you want to eat while you wait?” Ruby gestured to the tray Darby had brought soon after she’d gotten into the tub. It was laden high with delectable food. At least they did not intend to starve her.
Blissful silence fell after Ruby departed, but Fiona soon realized the chatter had been a helpful distraction. Left on her own, her thoughts raced hither and yon. She plucked some almonds from the tray and wandered about the room, picking up objects and peering out the window. She could see the inner ward from this chamber, but there was little activity there at the moment, for the hour had grown late.
Between the chairs and the fireplace was a small door. She opened it to find a storage room full of personal items. She stepped inside to look more closely. Cloaks of wool and velvet, embroidered jerkins, a doublet of brocade and ermine, and boots of various styles. But these were men’s clothes! She turned, this way and that, looking around. Everything in the room suddenly took on certain masculinity. The maps lying on the table, the portrait hanging over the fireplace, and the massive size of the bed. Good Lord. This was Myles’s chamber. But of course it was. Where else would she sleep?
The linen wrap she clutched around her suddenly felt transparent. But what was she to do? She had no clothes. She ran to the fireplace, hoping against hope she might pull that rag from the flames, but she was far too late. She sat down on the chair, deflated. Frustrated, she plucked a biscuit from the tray and looked around—for what, she was not sure.
The biscuit was good, and so she had another. Her stomach responded eagerly, and soon she was eating her meal.
And waiting.
’Twas a different affair altogether, waiting in this room, than it had been waiting at the inn. She wasn’t bound to a lumpy mattress. She was fresh and clean and full. And sleepy. She finished her wine and looked to the satin-covered bed.
Night was full upon the castle now, and she heard voices rising and falling as Campbells strolled past her chamber door. Or rather, Myles’s chamber door. And still, no Myles. No sign of or word from her husband. No clothes to wear either, for Ruby had not returned. Perhaps she was to languish here for all eternity. Perhaps that was the punishment befitting whatever crime that prisoner had accused her of. At least he’d served his own punishment, for he was dead the morning they left Inverness. She knew, for she’d seen Tavish dump his body in Loch Ness.
She could not be sorry for him, though. He’d murdered her Bess and six of the Campbells. She cared nothing for their souls, of course. But still, any such carnage saddened her, regardless of the target.
She drank another cup of wine, and drowsiness overtook her senses. The bed beckoned, but she’d not slide under those covers naked as a newborn. Instead, she went into the little room and hesitantly selected a shirt. It was soft, clean, and enormous, falling halfway down her shins. But it was superior to wearing nothing save a drying cloth. Then she took the top coverlet off the bed, wrapped it round herself, and lay down. Surely, Ruby would be back any moment with something more suitable.
Cedric’s condition worsened. He thrashed about until they bound him to the bed for fear he’d do himself more harm. He mumbled and shouted and opened his eyes. But they were glassy with fever, and he knew none of them by name. Myles sat by his side, with his mother and Tavish. The priest was there, and the surgeon too. Eventually, Vivienne joined them, sitting next to Myles’s mother and holding her hand. Through the night, they waited and prayed.
By dawn, his father was little better, sleeping in fits and starts, but at least the agitated mumbling of his dreams had stopped.
As sunlight brightened the room, Myles’s mother turned weary eyes to him. “You should get some rest, darling. I’ll sen
d for you if anything changes.”
“I’m fine, Mother. ’Tis you who needs to rest. I can stay a bit longer.” He squeezed her shoulder.
But he was in sorry need of freshening up. At her further insistence, he relented and made his way to his chamber and some clean clothes. Wiping a hand across his tired eyes, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Then he rubbed his eyes once more, for the sight upon his bed stopped him in his tracks.
Fiona, half wrapped in a coverlet, her head resting in a puddle of red curls, lay sound asleep upon his mattress. Why hadn’t someone put her in a chamber of her own? His teeth ground together. ’Twas Vivi’s ploy, no doubt. She was forever playing silly tricks. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing his aunt silently. He stepped lightly toward the bed. Lord Almighty, his wife was a sight, though, enough to stir a eunuch, with one slender leg stretched out from under the covers. If only she were truly as innocent and soft as she appeared. He wondered briefly why she’d not slipped under the bedcovers, but then again, everything about the troublesome wench was a mystery to him.
She turned then, rolling to her back, and he smiled. She was wearing his shirt, the sleepy temptress, and beneath the fine linen, her breasts, pink-tipped and impudent, taunted him like a prize. His body stirred. Christ, even in her sleep, she roused him.
He’d avoided her well enough while traveling those last two days, the task made easier by simply keeping the wench behind him. And thinking of his father. But here she was, snuggled in his bed. There’d be no avoiding her now. He shook his head, trying to dispel the vision of his wife’s breasts and failing. He strode silently into his storeroom to gather fresh clothes. He’d not wake her up by bathing in here. Lord knew the last thing he needed was to strip naked while she reclined in his bed. In his bed! He’d not considered sharing a chamber. Lord, she’d be ever underfoot, touching his things, leaving her fragrance upon his pillows. Troublesome girl.
He grabbed at a shirt and doublet, and a few other items to complete his dressing, and moved back through his chamber toward the door. He did not spare her a glance, for all his thoughts were circling toward desire and she’d not welcome him, filthy as he was.
Stepping into the corridor, he nearly collided with Ruby.
“Oh, good morning, m’lord. I was just going to check on your wife.”
Myles felt his face flush, as if the maid could see the lusty images he’d conjured in his mind. He looked back into the room to see Fiona still dozing, that slender ankle sticking out from the covers. He should pull her from his bed at once and send her to a room of her own, before she settled in further, like a tick under his skin. But the sunlight caught her red-gold hair, burnishing it like molten copper.
“Let her sleep, Ruby. Come back later and see to her needs then.”
Ruby dropped low in a curtsy, a mistakenly knowing glint in her eye. She thought he’d exhausted his bride with good loving. Hah, hardly.
“Of course, m’lord. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Set up a bath for me in Lord Robert’s room.”
“Very good, m’lord.” She bobbed her head and turned away, humming as she went.
He looked at Fiona once more. Still asleep, lounging like a cat in a shaft of sunlight. He pulled the door closed.
Later.
Later, he’d remind her of her vow to love and obey him.
CHAPTER 16
FIONA AWOKE AND stretched, head foggy from so deep a slumber. The sun streamed in through the mullioned window, casting beams across the bed as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. The coverlet was twisted round, and she flushed to realize Myles’s shirt was tangled up betwixt her legs. She pulled at it and looked around as if someone might see. And there was Ruby, chubby-cheeked and smiling.
“Good morning, m’lady. I thought ye’d never wake. I’ve been sitting here nigh on an hour.”
Fiona pushed a tangle of curls away from her face and pulled herself into sitting. “Good morning, Ruby. What time is it?”
“Nearing midday. Are ye hungry?”
Fiona’s stomach rumbled, but more from nerves than hunger, for lunch could well mean dining with her enemy in-laws. Meeting Myles’s mother face-to-face was a frightful thought. The woman despised her. That much was obvious from yesterday. But Fiona had faced Cedric with her chin high. She’d do the same with this woman. But not while dressed in naught but her husband’s shirt.
“Did you find me a gown?” She pushed out of the bed, about to put her feet on the wool rug.
Ruby sprang up. “Oh, wait, m’lady. Let me stoke the fire and warm the room.”
What lavish treatment she’d received thus far. She must enjoy it while it lasted, for there was sure to be a reckoning soon, once Myles shared the story of their travels from Sinclair Hall to here.
“Thank you, Ruby. And about the dress?”
Ruby’s cheeks went pink, and her eyes seemed to land on everything except Fiona.
“Yes, m’lady. About that. Well, ye see, Lord Cedric has taken a dip in his health. Seems he has a powerful fever raging, and my cousin—she works in the kitchen—she heard tell that Lady Marietta ordered him tied to the bed on account of all his thrashing about. So I can’t ask Lady Vivienne, since she is with her sister, sitting vigil at the earl’s bedside.” Ruby made a hasty sign of the cross and bowed her head a moment before adding, “Likely that’s where your husband was getting off to in such a rush too.”
“My husband? When did you see him?”
“When he left yer room, m’lady. Just a few hours ago.”
“He was here?” She clutched the coverlet up to her breasts, as if that might undo whatever he’d seen. He’d been there and made no attempt to awaken her. His persistence in pretending she did not exist pricked her pride. Not that she wanted his attentions, for surely she was better off when he left her alone. A sigh passed through her lips.
“What shall I do, Ruby? I cannot prance about Dempsey in some old shirt of my husband’s.”
A soft knock sounded on the door, and Ruby went to answer while Fiona tried to smooth her hair and cover herself. Never had she been less prepared for a visitor.
“Is she awake yet, Ruby? I’ve been waiting ever so long.” The voice was soft and sweet, as was the visage that came with it. This must be Myles’s sister—Fiona knew at once. The girl stepped inside with a tentative smile. Her light-brown hair was styled with intricate braids, and a white pleated cap sat atop her head. Her gown was bright yellow and made of the same quality satin as Marietta’s and Vivienne’s. The sleeves folded back with wide cuffs of turquoise, embroidered with gold thread. And in her arms she held another garment. This one of deep blue and lavender.
“Good morning. I’m Alyssa. Did you sleep well?”
Fiona was befuddled once more. Kindness at every turn. “Um, yes, I did. Thank you. But I’ve only just awoken. I must look a fright.”
“You look fine. I’m sorry to burst in before you’re ready to receive. But I must return to my father, and Vivi asked me to bring you this.” She held out the gown, and Ruby quickly took it with a curtsy.
“Thank you, Lady Alyssa. We were just speaking of what to wear,” the maid said, relief evident in her voice.
Alyssa walked closer to Fiona and held out both hands.
Uncertain, Fiona lifted her own hands slowly, until Myles’s sister grasped them gently.
“I’m so glad you’ve come to live with us. I do hope you’ll be happy here. We’re sisters, now, you and I.” She leaned over, kissing Fiona softly, first on one cheek and then the other. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I’m off to sit with my father. Ruby, let us know when Lady Fiona is dressed. Mother wants to meet her.”
And with a flip of yellow satin, she was gone.
Mother wants to meet her. The words clanged like warning bells inside Fiona’s mind.
Even if the prisoner had said nothing damning at all, her own actions condemned her, for she’d run away like a coward and put them all at risk. Surely, Lady M
arietta would be aware of this and treat her accordingly.
Fiona straightened her shoulders and pushed up from the bed, pushing those fears away as well. She’d not tremble in front of her, even if she was Myles’s mother. If anything, she should mock her for being married to such a man as Cedric Campbell, despoiler of women and lackey to the king. These past few days had worn Fiona down, softening her resolve, but now she was fed and rested and reminded that her purpose was to show them the strength born of every Sinclair. She was a warrior and they her enemy.
“Are ye feeling unwell, m’lady?” Ruby asked, shaking out the gown and frowning at Fiona’s face.
“Yes, Ruby. Let’s get me dressed quickly.”
Fiona made fast work of her ablutions, and though she had not the luxury of a chemise or stockings, she let Ruby style her hair and secure the gown around her. Her feminine side called out to appreciate the silken beauty of it, for she’d never owned so fine a garment. The colors were rich, with tiny pearls and rubies sewn along the neckline in silver thread. It hugged tight to her body, for her figure was curvier than Vivienne’s, and the skirt swished against her legs like a breeze.
She should spurn a dress bought with Campbell wealth. Her loyalties could not be swayed by petty things like a gorgeous dress. But she peered into the looking glass Ruby had pulled from the garderobe, and the reflection startled her. She’d never looked so lovely, with hair done up in the front with twists and tiny braids and the back cascading down in red-gold ringlets. And the gown! Oh, the gown. It was the height of fashion, and for the first time in her life, Fiona felt herself a woman grown, and not a reckless scamp of a girl. Curse their wealth and where it came from, yes. But she could not fault the garment.
