Highland Heat (10 page)

“Armelle, the lady has come to bathe.”

“My name is Deirdre Chattan, and I am no lady.”

The girl looked unsure and turned her attention to the older woman standing near the large hearth that took up one of the walls. A ring with keys on it hung from her apron, declaring her a woman of importance. Those keys would unlock the more valuable items used in the bathhouse, and she would be held responsible if anything went missing. She had her hair wrapped in strips of cloth to keep every last strand out of her face. There were wrinkles around her eyes marking her years, but her gaze was keen and sharp.

“Well, ye look like a lady to me,” Armelle announced. Her words had instant effect on the women who worked beneath her command. They moved off toward one of the corners and pulled a large cloth off something. Armelle nodded approvingly at them as they lifted a large tub and carried it into the middle of the room. The woman who had greeted her pulled the door closed for privacy.

“I can well imagine ye would be longing for a bath after being on the road.”

The other maids were already filling the tub with water. A wooden spillway ran along one side of the room, and Deirdre realized that water must be running down to it from the trough she’d seen in the yard. A rope hung from the wall, and one of the girls gave it a sharp tug. A moment later, water began to flow from an open slot in the wall.

“We’ve plenty of water here.”

Deirdre couldn’t contain the smile that raised her lips. “I will be grateful for a good washing, but I can see to the chore myself.” She bent down to pick up a bucket, only to have Armelle step into her path.

“Ye’ll ruin all that fine silk. My girls will fill yer tub and see to the chores, lady.”

“Please do no’ call me by such a noble title. I told ye, I’m a Chattan.”

Armelle nodded. “I heard ye full well. Ye be the daughter of a laird and a friend of the queen, else ye would nae be wearing her finery.” The older woman flicked her fingers, and Deirdre felt the delicate touch of two of the girls as they began to lift the silk veil off her head.

“But I am no’ a lady.”

Armelle clicked her tongue, the subtle reprimand making Deirdre close her mouth in deference to the woman’s longer years. Even a noble lady respected a woman who had lived as long as Armelle had, for there was something the older woman was doing correctly. Anyone younger would be wise to listen when in her presence.

“The laird said he was pleased to have ye brought to him, greatly so.” Armelle gestured to the girls once more, and they began to unlace the back of the overrobe. “My laird does nae say things he no’ means.”

The older woman turned and dipped her hand into the tub to test the water temperature. The girl tending the fire watched her, waiting for the bath mistress to indicate if she wanted more hot water from one of the large copper kettles hanging over the fire on iron hooks.

A soft snap of Armelle’s fingers sent the girl reaching for a hook that she used to pull one of those pots out of the hearth. She lifted the pot with the hook and walked toward the waiting tub.

“We’ve fine rosemary soap to make yer hair smell sweet.”

The hot water hissed as it poured over the edge of the pot. The women behind her lifted the overgown up and over her head.

“What is amiss with yer leg?”

Armelle proved her worth as the mistress of the bathhouse when she noticed the dark stain marring the underrobe. Deirdre had believed the woman to be watching the bathtub, but she had her attention fixed on her right thigh.

“Well… I do no’ recall…”

Her memory offered up a hazy recollection of the pain that had assaulted her after Coalan had thrown her to the ground. She’d dismissed it as nothing more than bruising, but the stain went all the way to the floor, proving she had bled quite a bit.

Armelle reached for the overrobe, running her fingers down the side of it until she found a slice. When the garment was hanging down the length of the body, the plush fabric disguised it.

“Someone cut ye with a blade.”

It wasn’t a question, but a firm statement. The women took her underrobe from her, and the girl at the fire gasped. The wound was ugly and larger than Deirdre would ever have thought.

“That should have been stitched,” Armelle declared as she leaned closer to inspect it. “But it is too late now. Ye’ll have a mark from it.”

“I’m nae vain.”

Deirdre lifted her good leg over the rim of the tub and sat down in the water before she truly tested the temperature. Standing nude in front of the other women was wearing on her nerves. But she surged back up out of the water when it touched the wound on her thigh. Pain slashed through her, and her knees buckled, sending her back into the water.

She gasped again, unable to stop tears from flooding her eyes. The pain was excruciating. It robbed her of any thoughts except enduring the agony.

“Breathe, lady. It will help ye work through the pain.”

She did as Armelle directed, unable to think of anything herself. The first breath felt like a lump being forced down her throat, but the second was easier. The pain did begin to subside as she felt someone remove the gold signet from her forehead. But she gasped again as she felt the women begin to wash her.

“I do nae need assistance.”

A snap from Armelle’s fingers drew an irritated look from Deirdre. The older woman sent her a stern look.

“If ye are Laird Chattan’s daughter, ye’ll mind me, for ye would have been taught to respect yer elders.”

And if she had been a lady, she would expect such service, even during her bath. Deirdre ground her teeth but remained silent while the women washed her. They used sea sponges and the rosemary soap Armelle brought from a locked chest. More water was brought to rinse her hair, and the soap was worked through the wet strands before being washed away.

All the while the wound on her leg ached. The hot water irritated it, but Deirdre took a square of linen and rubbed at it to clean it.

Armelle left while the girls finished her hair, and they had her wrapped in a length of linen before the bath mistress returned. She was followed by another older woman and a younger girl carrying a small box.

“Sit down and allow Tully to care for that wound.”

Tully waited until Deirdre had sat down before moving the linen aside. She drew in a stiff breath before gesturing her box closer.

“That’s a right nasty slice. How did it happen?”

Tully was digging through the contents of her box while she asked, but she lifted her head when Deirdre failed to answer. Coalan might be an arrogant brute, but she was not going to turn into a whining noble lady and name him as the culprit. She would take the wound as her earnings for not making a better escape attempt. She was born of Highland stock, after all; she could take a slice as well as any woman in the bathhouse.

“It does nae matter, ’tis no so bad.”

Tully scoffed at her. “Well, I’ll say this. Ye are nae a weakling, else ye’d be happy to name the man who did that to ye.”

She pulled out a small bundle of cloth and removed the tie. It smelled musty, but she sprinkled it over the wound, and Deirdre felt it begin to sting. Tully took another length of fabric and wound it around her thigh to cover the wound.

“Sleep bare and leave the binding off so the air can help keep it from festering.”

There was a giggle from one of the maids, which drew a stern look from Tully. “Mind yer judgmental thinking, girl. When it comes to wounds, ye’ll do as I say or risk a fever. Better sleeping in the skin God gave ye than burning when infection sets in. ’Twould be a shame to cut that hair off her head.”

The room became silent in response. Tully inspected the binding one final time.

“And stay off that mare of yers until it’s sealed.”

“But—”

“A fortnight at least,” Tully insisted. “Heed me, lady, or I’ll be talking to the laird, for I’ll be the one he calls to tend ye when yer skin begins to flush.”

“I’ll mind ye,” Deirdre said quickly. “I’m sure yer laird has important matters to spend his time on. I am no’ a lady and do nae expect others to look after me.”

She stood up to prove her point. “But I thank ye for tending to the wound. I’ve no desire to suffer the fever.”

It was a true thing to fear. Infection killed. Deirdre swallowed her distaste over sleeping nude; she’d worry about that when the sun set.

The women came to dress her, but they were holding more of the queen’s silk and velvet robes. Armelle truly was a keen mistress of her position, for she must have sent the girls off to find the clothing while Deirdre was being washed.

“Please, is no’ there anything else for me to wear? I do nae own those costly garments.”

“The queen gave them to ye, so that makes it right ye should wear them,” Armelle declared with a firm nod.

“But they have no place here.”

The bath mistress grinned and gestured her staff forward. “We’ve a fine woman’s solar that is outfitted well for a lady. The laird bid yer escort to take ye there once ye are ready.”

“My escort?”

A soft underrobe fluttered down her body. Deirdre was glad to be covered again, but she glared at Armelle. The older woman stood firmly in the face of her displeasure.

“Aye. I left them outside and warned them no’ to step foot in this bathhouse. It is nae a place for men.”

The bath mistress walked over to the stained underrobe. “This will need soaking and mending. We’ve some silk thread in the solar that will serve nicely.”

“Is nae the solar for the laird’s wife and sisters?”

“Aye,” Armelle answered. “But his only sister is away serving the lady of Portsmith, and the laird has no wife.” A gleam entered her eyes that set Deirdre’s temper alight once more.

“Well, I am nae intended to wed the man, so there is no need to take me to the solar. That’s the place for his betrothed.”

Armelle shrugged. “Well now, the laird has nae got one of those either, no’ since the last one he contracted ran away the night her father told her of the match.” Armelle scanned her up and down before giving a satisfied nod. “Ye look like ye belong in the solar. All that fine clothing is nae fit for the yard; that is for certain.”

“Armelle, ye are a competent mistress here. Surely ye can find me some robes that are more suitable to whose daughter I am.”

The woman’s face became a mask of deep consideration for a long moment. “I’ll wait to hear from the laird if he’s wanting me to do that.”

The bath mistress gestured toward the doors, and Deirdre felt a rush of air as they were opened.

“It was a pleasure serving ye, lady.”

Armelle lowered herself, and every girl working in the bathhouse followed her example. Deirdre turned around and walked toward the door in spite of the fact that one of Coalan’s men stood there.

It would seem she was going to the solar.

“The solar is in the eagle tower.”

Coalan was still too amused by her plight for her comfort, but Deirdre followed him because she simply didn’t have any better idea.

“It’s the tallest one, and ye’ll have a fine view of the land beyond the castle walls.”

“All that much better to torment me with seeing what I cannae touch… is that it, Coalan?”

The Highlander shrugged. “All that much better to surround ye with strength and protection. That’s what women enjoy.”

“No’ this woman. I would have ye turn yer back and let me be.”

“I would no’ do such a thing since me laird has nae told me that ye are no’ the woman he wanted brought to him. Turning me back would dishonor the feathers in me bonnet and no mistake about that.”

Coalan lost his teasing demeanor. Deirdre stiffened, because she knew the look; it was one she’d learned to respect throughout her childhood. She’d offended the man’s sense of honor, and he was a Highlander. She was neatly caught in her own web of deception, without a doubt.

She sighed. “Show me to the solar.”

The man looked disappointed instead. He stood with his fingers curled around the wide leather belt that held his plaid around his waist. “I thought ye claimed to be of Highlander stock.”

“I am, and do nae be thinking I’m crying defeat, man. I just cannae think of anything else to say at this moment, and I was raised to respect men like ye who consider honoring their laird more important than what they think. So lead on, or get yerself off someplace else so I can get on with doing what I need to be about. I understand honor because I have me own, and yer laird is standing in the way of my doing what I should.”

He snorted, but his lips lifted slightly. “I believe ye are Chattan’s daughter; no English princess would have such a solid spine or grasp of the Highland way. It’s possible the laird has the right thinking in keeping ye.”

It was a compliment she wasn’t happy to receive, because she didn’t want to hear any of Quinton’s retainers saying it was good idea for her to remain inside the castle. Her ideas of escape were strangling on the approval she witnessed in Coalan’s eyes.

So she turned and began walking. She heard a sound from the man behind her but didn’t look back to see what expression was on his face.

“This way, lady. It’s in the eagle tower.”

Deirdre fought back the urge to flinch. Eagles nested higher than any other bird of prey. The fact that the solar was placed in a tower with such a name promised her yet another obstacle to overcome before she was free.

She wanted to snarl with frustration. But at least that was better than feeling defeated as she began to cross the yard. She could feel the gazes of the curious again. The eagle tower was on the far side of the castle, the one facing the steepest drop off.

Of course it was. Such was the most protected corner of the fortification. It rose into the air, with the aid of arches and buttresses to reinforce its structure. But it wasn’t merely built with strength in mind. There were decorative touches added above the doorways, stonework with leaves and vines curling around the thick blocks designed to withstand siege weapons such as trebuchets. Inside, the air was still cool from the night, confirming the stone was thick.

The stairs were narrow and wound in a spiral up the sides of the tower. The floor above them hid how many there were. Her leg began to burn before she made it to the first floor. But she continued to climb, suddenly having more pity for the queen. Being imprisoned inside a castle was a grim fate.

Well, there was some good that had come of her actions. Deirdre forced herself to dwell on the fact that Joan Beaufort was no longer locked up. She would believe that the queen was happily with her intended groom, because she didn’t think she could bear knowing all their effort had been for naught.

“It’s a fine solar. The laird had it furnished when he was negotiating for his bride.”

“Then it’s for sure I have no place stepping foot into it.”

Coalan’s voice trailed off, and he frowned. “Maybe that was nae the best way to explain…”

“It was well enough, and I am correct. The solar is for yer laird’s bride, no’ me.”

The Cameron retainer extended his arm and pushed in the door in front of them. He didn’t make any move to enter, as the area was considered a woman’s domain.

“Well, lady, there is no place else suited to yer clothing or that can be secured as well.”

She turned large eyes toward him. “Ye mean to set yer men to guarding me?”

He inclined his head, and she looked past him to see two of the Cameron retainers climbing the stairs behind them. Her throat tightened, but her temper ignited.

“This is taking injured pride too far.”

He stared her straight in the eye as his men reached the landing behind him. “Serving me laird is something I will nae compromise on. He said he was pleased with ye being here, so ye shall be here when he goes looking for ye.”

Damned Highlander.

She wasn’t sure if she was cursing Coalan or Quinton, but it applied to both, in her opinion. Deirdre stepped into her prison. She never heard the door close, because her mind was busy trying to understand what her eyes showed her.

The entire floor was furnished with every possible luxury a woman might desire.

Or she should say… noble lady. The solar would have pleased even Joan Beaufort.

There were true Persian carpets laid out carefully on the floor. They were woven with bright colors and intricate patterns. For the first time, her feet felt good, with the carpets cushioning each step. Someone had opened the shutters, and fresh spring air filled the room. It took more than thirty paces to cross it.

There were benches set beneath the windows, with plump pillows added to their hard tops. The pillows didn’t soften the view from the windows. To any other, the sweeping scene of newly turned fields and green hills would have been bliss. She found it horrible, because it was everything she could not touch.

With a sigh, she returned to looking around the solar. It was outfitted for a bride. A small tapestry loom stood near one window, a large box of colored thread standing ready for a noblewoman to begin weaving intricate pictures with it to be displayed in the main hall.

She passed by it and stopped at another table. This one was wider and longer. Stacked neatly beside it were bundles. Reaching out, she fingered one coarse sackcloth covering. Beneath it was fine fabric, the shade of the summer sky. There were numerous bundles, some thicker than others, and a box with its lid lifted to reveal sewing tools. She couldn’t resist touching one fingertip to the shiny surface of the scissors. They were made of silver and looked razor sharp.

She moved past the sewing area and stopped in front of two musical instruments. There was a five-stringed lyre set into a stand that had obviously been made for it. The bow hung nearby, ready for an accomplished bride to begin showing off the skills she had been studying in order to please her noble husband.

Such was the way of the nobility. Deirdre moved to stand in front of the harp, watching the way the sunlight shone off the strings. Quinton had spared no expense in making sure the solar befitted his bride. There were six Scottish princesses who would need husbands, and it was possible he was negotiating for one of them.

Deirdre frowned once more.

Why did she feel disappointed?

She had no right to be melancholy simply because she could see the proof of the fact that Quinton wanted a blue-blooded wife. The man was an earl, and his family had not earned such a position by marrying for affection.

But he’d kissed her so passionately…

She was a fool to dwell on such things.

She snorted at herself and turned her back on the musical instruments. Indeed, she was acting the fool. She’d had good cause to push the man away. He wanted bed sport from her, sure enough, but that would be all. The best she might hope for was she’d ripen with his bastard, and it would be a boy whom Quinton would recognize. She’d gain some small alliance from him and a place to live.

It wasn’t the worse fate that might befall her.

She chewed on her lip and went to the open window once more. Her future was with the queen. Even if Quinton’s kiss made her long to discover what it was like to lie with the man, she had no right to bring a child into the world who would forever be branded with her sin. Bastard was a harsh title to bear.

As difficult as being a fallen woman.

She sighed and muttered a prayer of gratitude for her safe journey. Quinton’s words rose up from where she had pushed them away while arguing with him. But the man was correct. There were men who would have slit her throat if they had captured her first. The wound on her leg served as a blunt reminder of just how simple it might be to have her flesh cut.

So she would be grateful, but she would also stare at the fine things in the solar and remind herself what yielding to Quinton’s kiss would gain her—nothing but sharing her shame with an innocent child. She refused to do such a thing. She might be a fallen woman, but the stain was hers to bear.

***

Quinton looked up. Coalan didn’t flinch beneath the glare he sent toward the man, which restored his humor, but only slightly so.

“Are ye here to argue against the duty I set ye on?”

His man bristled. Quinton pushed himself back from the desk where he was sitting.

“Forgive me, Coalan. Being forced to deal with this endless pile of documents sours my disposition.”

Coalan nodded but there was still a hint of discontentment glittering in his eyes. The man was one of his most trusted captains, and he didn’t take his dedication to duty being questioned lightly. But he shrugged after a moment.

“Are ye sure it isna the lady needling ye, Laird? I hear they can have that effect on men.”

Quinton grunted. “Aye, ye’re right about that.” He pressed his hands flat on the top of his desk. “Where is our lovely lady?”

“In the solar, is that no’ where those tapestry slipper shoes belong?”

“Aye, it is.” Quinton straightened up, fighting the urge to turn and look across the yard at the eagle tower. It wouldn’t do to have his men see him acting like a beardless lad who couldn’t keep his eyes off a fair lass.

“So why are ye here, Coalan?”

“The lady asked for simpler clothing.”

Quinton grinned. “Did she now? What would that accomplish, except to make it a fair bit easier for her to walk out of our gates?”

His man returned his grin, a knowing gleam entering his eyes. Quinton straightened.

“Thank ye for bringing the matter to me. The lady will continue to be robed in clothing that suits her station. I certainly would nae be wanting to offend the queen by doing any less.”

“Nae we would nae want to something like that,” Coalan agreed. “I put a couple of lads outside the door.”

His captain was waiting to see what Quinton thought of his action. For a moment, he contemplated why he liked hearing that Deirdre Chattan was being prevented from leaving his castle.

But he only got as far as admitting that he did enjoy knowing for sure she was secure and protected, something that wouldn’t last long if she was given the opportunity to try to join Joan Beaufort. Deirdre was stubborn and determined, and as much as those qualities annoyed him, they also drew him to her.

He wanted to investigate why.

“Well done. Give her every courtesy, but do nae make the mistake of thinking her fragile. That female is clever and born of Highland stock.”

“As ye say, Laird.”

With a tug on the corner of his knit bonnet, Coalan turned in a swirl of Cameron plaid and left. Quinton barely heard the man’s steps on the stairs, which made him smile with satisfaction.

Coalan was a Highlander, sure enough. Unlike the Douglas, there wasn’t a man wearing the feathers of a captain at Drumdeer who wasn’t the best with a sword, bow, or tracking. Quinton smirked, and unlike the lieutenant general, he had no intention of turning to fat because everyone around the man coddled his ego. Archibald Douglas might have charge of the young King James II, but he would be wise to watch his back, for there were plenty who coveted his position.

Quinton turned and crossed to an open window. He looked at the eagle tower but couldn’t see Deirdre. He smiled anyway, the knowledge that she was in the solar pleasing him.

“Well now, Mistress Chattan. We’ll see which of us outwits the other first. ’Tis a battle I’m looking forward to, and that’s a promise.”

***

The nuns had done her more of a favor in their efforts to overload her with work than Deirdre realized. Having too much to do was far better than having nothing to keep her from thinking about things she was better off not considering.

Like Quinton Cameron.

She walked around the lady’s solar, still unable to touch any of the fine things in it. But she feared she might go mad before the sun was even straight above her, so she walked to the other side of the solar where books were carefully stored against a section of wall that had no windows. There were not even arrow slits that rain might seep in through to damage the costly paper pages. There were volumes on falconry and sonnets, but what drew her attention most were the two books on scripture. She pulled one gently from its place and opened it to the first page.

It was engrossing, but also dangerous. The church didn’t care for any books that argued about matters of faith. She couldn’t help but grin as she returned to reading it. Quinton Cameron was a devil, and no mistake. He’d placed those books there with his own hands, unless she missed her guess. It was a small taste of the fact that he was not a man easily frightened by the warnings of others. He was bold and wanted his bride to know what to expect from him.

His kiss had given her a taste of that as well…

She snorted and returned to reading while the day passed. It was surreal in a way, for she had never been allowed to be lazy in her father’s home.

But her belly quivered as she anticipated spending the night beneath a roof Quinton owned. She found herself listening to every sound the tower made, wondering if it was him appearing to press his desire.