She hadn’t been particularly happy about the news, but she wasn’t sure, at first, why Sean was so outraged.
Maybe because he’d been trying to ally himself with the Kincaids to fight the Monroes and all the while Kincaid had been trying to ally himself with the Monroes? She felt a distinct sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Things were going from bad to worse.
Not only was Sean never going to believe she wasn’t the Chloe Monroe he thought she was, but now he was even more likely to think she’d had something to do with the attack. He might not let the Monroes ransom her at all, now that he knew they were just going to turn her over to the Kincaids.
Even if he did, how could that help her? She’d had a vague notion that maybe being ransomed wouldn’t be so bad after all. The uncle had said he was close. She’d thought that meant there was a possibility she might convince him to take her to the fairy ring before he headed for the Monroe’s place.
If she could, she might be able to get back home and send that scheming female back where she belonged.
Of course, she was assuming a lot. Maybe the Chloe that had lived in this time hadn’t gone anywhere at all. Maybe something terrible had happened to her after she’d run away….
Why had she run away, Chloe wondered suddenly, realizing that that question could be very important to her. What was wrong with the man her father had picked for her?
Somebody besides Chloe had obviously picked him, she decided. Otherwise, why would Chloe run?
She had a bad feeling about all of this, a really bad feeling.
Turning away from the door, she surveyed the room … the empty room.
It was clean, though, she thought with a sense of satisfaction. At least she didn’t have to worry about catching something if she sat on the floor.
With any luck, she might have drowned the rats. Probably not, but she could always hope.
Now that all the excitement had ebbed, she realized she was tired … and sore from scrubbing. The floor was hard, cold and still damp. She discovered she didn’t have the energy to pace the room, however.
Propping her back against one wall, she looped her arms around her knees and waited … and waited. Finally, realizing nobody was going to come any time soon, she lay down on the cold, hard, damp floor and amazed herself by falling asleep.
The toes of a pair of boots swam into her vision when she opened her eyes. She stared at them for a couple of moments before she looked up. Sean was standing over her, his face pulled into a fierce frown. "An’ what have ya got ta say fer yerself about that?" he growled as if they were continuing a conversation already in progress.
Chloe blinked at him and finally pushed herself upright. "The floor’s cold, hard and damp, but it’s clean," she muttered.
Sean gaped at her. "What’s that yer babblin’ about?"
Chloe gave him a sullen glance and got to her feet with an effort. "You’re in a nasty mood."
"That might be because I’ve just found out that bloody Kincaid was workin’ on an alliance with the Monroe while I was workin’ on an alliance with the Kincaid ta fight the Monroe."
"Sucks, huh? You just can’t trust people anymore … or, I guess, never could."
His eyes narrowed. "Ya’ve nothin’ ta say fer yerself?"
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Give me a break! Look, you’re going to have to be a little bit reasonable or stop calling me crazy! Either we’re enemies, in which case I had no reason to explain a damn thing to you. Or I was telling the truth all along and I didn’t know a damn thing to tell you! Either way, you’ve got no reason to be mad with me because you shouldn’t have been expecting to get information out of me to start with!"
Sean stared at her. "Ya call that bein’ reasonable?"
Chloe thought it over. "Yes."
Sean’s lips thinned, but, to Chloe’s relief, he looked far more thoughtful now than angry. "So … yer sayin’ now that ya run away from the betrothal an’ that’s what ya was doin’ in the wood?"
"I didn’t say that!" she snapped indignantly. It occurred to her, however, that, regardless of the fact that it hadn’t been her, it began to seem very likely she was going to have to face the music. That being the case, she was deeply concerned about the woman from this time running away. "I am curious to know why Chloe did it, though. Is this guy freaky, or something?"
"Yer sayin’ ya dinna know the Kincaid?"
Chloe gave him a look. "Humor me, will you? If you like it better, let’s just pretend I don’t remember anything … You must know the guy, right?"
He studied her for several moments and finally looked around the room … probably for some place to sit, Chloe thought wryly. His next comment confirmed it. "Where’s the bleedin’ furniture?"
"Still in the yard, I guess."
"Is there nae a single servant in the whole bleedin’ castle that canna get somethin’ done without havin’ ta be told?" he growled rhetorically. Stomping toward the door, he snatched it open. Maggie fell in, sprawling at his feet.
"Ya called, laird?" she asked, striving for dignity as she climbed to her feet and smoothed her dress.
He glared at her. "Ya read minds, do ya?"
"I happened ta be passin’ the door an’ I thought I heard ya call fer a servant, but if ya dinna need me, I’ll be on my way now."
Sean scowled at her. "Find some men an’ have my furniture brought up. I canna have the Monroe thinkin’ we’re nae but savages."
"And a tub and some hot water!" Chloe called.
Sean turned and stared at her. "Is there nae water in the pitcher?"
Chloe stomped her foot. "I’m not mopping off with a damp cloth, damn it! I want a bath. A shower would be better, but I’ll settle for a bath."
Sean’s brows rose. After a moment, however, he turned to Maggie once more. "Ya heard the princess. A bath!"
Maggie glanced from Sean to Chloe and back again, opened her mouth, then shut it and stomped out, muttering under her breath.
"Serves her right for eavesdropping, the nosy thing!" Chloe said with a sniff.
Amusement briefly lit Sean’s eyes, but in the next moment he tamped it. "I’d come ta fetch ya down ta the hall ta eat."
She was almost tempted. She was hungry, there was no doubt about that, but she hated the thought of sitting down to eat in all her grime. "I should stay and make sure they do everything right. Otherwise, they’ll probably just toss it in the door. Anyway, I’d rather have a bath before I eat."
"There’s nae likely ta be anything ta eat."
"That’d be a real tragedy! You’ve got to have the worst cooks in all of Scotland."
He frowned. "It was nae an invitation, lass."
Chloe threw him an irritated glance, but she knew he was capable of tossing her over his shoulder and dragging her downstairs whether she wanted to go or not, and she rather thought she preferred to keep her distance from him at the moment. As chilly as the place was, she’d been working hard, and she knew she must smell like it … which was also one of the main reasons she hadn’t wanted to go downstairs to begin with. "It’s not likely they’ll be able to smell me over the body odor and dog shit anyway," she muttered irritably, pushing away from the wall.
Sean said nothing, but he seemed distracted throughout the meal, studying the dogs running about the hall and occasionally fighting over the food tossed to them, and studying the people and the room around them. He ate mechanically, as if it didn’t matter what he ate so long as he ate enough to sustain the muscle mass he carried around.
Chloe wondered how he could eat at all. The longer she stayed it seemed, the worse the food got. She supposed it could have been because she missed McD’s and the Pizzeria more as time went on. It might also have been that she’d decided it would be best if she avoided the ale … or it might have been that the ‘good’ cook had left. Whatever it was, she’d been converted virtually overnight from someone who loved to eat to someone who only ate to live. It might’ve been a good thing, but she wasn’t inclined t
o think so, particularly when there was no entertainment to be had.
She’d eaten all that she could manage by the time Maggie arrived to tell her that her bath had been prepared. She couldn’t have been more thrilled if the announcement had been that a rock group had arrived to entertain her personally. She’d already scrambled over the bench when Sean caught her arm, stopping her. She glanced at him questioningly.
"Yer not ta leave tha room again this night."
The order set her back up instantly. In point of fact, she’d had no intention of doing anything else. The hall held no attraction for her. The room didn’t either, for that matter, but she figured if she was just going to stare at four walls anyway, she’d rather it was four clean walls. In any case, she figured the servants had probably done no more than pitch Sean’s belongings back into the room and had planned to amuse herself by setting the room to rights.
It was hell that somebody who hated housekeeping as much as she did had sunk to such a pass.
Refusing to dignify his order with any comment, Chloe glared at him and tried to wrench free.
"I’ll have yer word on it."
Chloe gave him a look. "You haven’t believed a word I’ve told you since I met you. Why would you want my word on anything?"
A flush mounted his cheeks. His blond brows came together. "I’ll have yer word, or I’ll have Maggie lock ya in."
Chloe sniffed. "So? Have at it." Snatching her arm free, she turned and stomped out of the hall, ignoring the nod he gave Maggie.
"Yer uncle brought some of yer things," Maggie told her once they’d reached the room, indicating a fairly sizable blanket wrapped bundle on the bed.
Chloe’s mood immediately lightened. It wasn’t hers, of course, but that hardly mattered when the woman the things belonged to was probably helping herself to her belongings even now.
"Ye’d best have yer bath first," Maggie pointed out when she headed for the bundle. "Unless ya dinna mind cold water."
"Right," Chloe said, turning and heading for the tub that had been set before the hearth and testing the water with her fingers.
"I’ll bid ya good night then," Maggie said, heading for the door.
Chloe waved a distracted hand in the woman’s direction. As soon as Maggie had closed and locked the door, she dragged the borrowed gown off, dropped it onto the floor, and climbed into the tub. The water was barely warm and what was worse, there was an almost constant stream of air into the room around the thing that covered the single, narrow window and even from the chimney, despite the fire. As badly as she’d wanted the bath, the tepid water didn’t encourage her to linger over it.
Shivering, Chloe ducked down far enough to wet her hair and washed that first. When she’d rinsed it the best she could, she quickly scrubbed herself and climbed out again. A piece of cloth had been left near the hearth. It didn’t look like a towel, but she figured that was what it was intended for. Picking it up, she sniffed it. It had the musty smell of something that had been gathering dust for a while in a damp closet, but it didn’t look or smell dirty so she wrapped it around her shivering form.
It wasn’t terribly absorbent either.
After drying off the best she could, she went to the bundle on the bed and untied it. The blanket smelled of horse. Sighing, Chloe wrapped it around herself and climbed up on the bed to examine the contents. There were ‘things’ in the bundle that she had to study before she could figure out their purpose. The comb was another matter. Fishing it out, she parted her hair down the back and spent the next thirty minutes raking the tangles out of her hair.
The girdle looking torture devise held no appeal at all and she set it aside. There was something that looked vaguely like a pair of boxer shorts and she picked them up to study the garment. She thought they were damaged … at first. On closer examination, she realized the pants had been made that way … crotchless. She giggled, covering her mouth self-consciously.
Either the woman was way ahead of her time, or they had some really strange customs.
Shrugging, she got up and pulled them on, tying them at the waist, then sat down again and sifted through the rest of the clothes, finding several articles that looked like slips. Selecting one, she pulled it over her head and adjusted the drawstring at the neck and tied it.
There was some kind of birdcage looking thing, but she set that aside with the girdle, then piled about a half dozen plain white skirts on top of that. Finally, she unearthed the pretty dresses at the bottom. They were wrinkled all to hell and gone, but she liked the colors. One was a deep, almost sapphire blue, the other a deep red. Deciding on the blue one, she picked it up and examined it.
The waist looked impossibly small. Otherwise, she thought she might be able to wear it. Shrugging, she loosened the lacing down the back and struggled into it. It was snug, even with the lacing loosened. She wasn’t the least surprised when she discovered she couldn’t get her fat breasts into the thing, but she was very disappointed, knowing it must look awful the way it squashed her breasts almost flat. Looking down, she saw that a good bit of fabric was puddled on the floor around her feet.
The other Chloe must be taller than her, she decided.
She couldn’t pull the lacing together at the back. She struggled with it a while, but she could still feel about a four to six inch gap. Sighing, she finally just tied it and sat down to study the mound of clothes again.
The birdcage looking thing must be supposed to go under the dress, she finally decided. After studying it for some time, she got up, hiked the skirt of the dress up and stepped into it. Pulling it up, she tied it around her waist and dropped the skirts. She saw then that the cage spread the skirts wide enough the hem didn’t drag the floor as much as it had. Turning, she studied the mound of ‘skirts’ again and decided they were also supposed to go under the dress.
Picking them up one by one, she dropped each one over her head, then fished the skirt of the dress out and tied the underskirts around her waist. By the time she’d finished, she felt like she was standing in the middle of an island of fabric. Chuckling, she walked around the room, watching the skirt sway.
It was when she tired of walking around the room and decided to sit down that she began to have an inkling of why the underpants had an open crotch. Lord help her if she needed to use the toilet in a hurry. She’d never find her … self … under all these things.
It was actually kind of cool, but the outfit altogether was probably the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever worn. Dragging the skirt up, she began untying the cage and the numerous underskirts, dropping them to the floor. Stepping out of them, she began folding them again until she had everything neatly stacked, then looked around for a place to put them.
There was no closet and no chest of drawers.
There was a chest, however.
Moving to it, she lifted the lid, shoved Sean’s belongings into a corner and then took the stack of clothing from the bed, set them in the space she’d made and closed the lid.
Tired of entertaining herself with ‘dress up’, she sat down on the lid of the trunk and studied the room. Despite her expectations, the servants had set the bed up and put the mattress back in place. There wasn’t a lot of other things to arrange. The small table that looked more like a rickety stool was back in the corner, with the hated pitcher and bowl on top. The trunk was at the foot of the bed.
The distant sound of laughter from the hall below reminded her that she’d been locked in … again.
Not that she wanted to go down. They were probably all drunk by now and the only thing she hated worse than a drunk when she was sober, was a sober person when she was drunk.
She hadn’t put a lot of thought into what she was going to do. She was inclined to avoid problems as long as she possibly could in the hope that they’d work themselves out, but she knew very well that this wasn’t going to be one of those occasions. Instead of untangling itself, ‘the problem’ seemed to be reaching a stage of monstrous proportions.
> Sean wasn’t going to take her back to the fairy ring so that she could even try to go back home.
The Monroes might pay the ransom Sean was demanding, but it didn’t seem all that likely that she’d be able to talk her ‘uncle’ into taking her to the fairy ring either.
And, what was worse, she might find herself married to some horrible, hairy, smelly Scottish savage.
There was only one solution as far as she could see. She was going to have to stop hoping something would happen to fix things, and do something to make it happen.
She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to go about it, though. The disguise thing might have worked if she hadn’t run smack into Sean’s brother. She somehow doubted that another attempt would go any better. They’d seen the disguise. They were bound to recognize a repeat performance.
They’d taken to locking her in at night since the attempt.
She frowned, wondering how they’d locked her in. Everything was so crude and primitive, she felt sure it couldn’t be a complicated lock. On the plus side, Sean wasn’t worried because he knew she was locked in. He wouldn’t be expecting her to try anything. Also on the plus side, everyone was downstairs getting drunk.
On the minus side, everyone was downstairs getting drunk and she hadn’t seen another way in or out of the damned castle. Assuming she could get the door open, she’d have to slip past them.
There was the window, of course, but no way to climb down and it was too far to jump.
Getting off the trunk, she pushed it over to the window anyway, climbed on top and pulled the covering loose so she could look out.
It was dark outside. There were a few torches flickering here and there, but not enough light to really see anything well.
Not that it mattered. She’d looked out the window enough times by now to know just how high the drop was. Leaning out, she looked for a ledge, another window. There was no ledge and the next closest window was probably ten to twelve feet from this one.
Securing the window cover again, she climbed down and went to the door. On the inside there was a simple latch mechanism. Putting her eye to the crack, she peered along the edge of the door and finally discovered that there was a board braced across it.
The Fairy Ring Page 9
