Highland Hellcat (2010) (12 page)

“It seems that we disagree again, lass, because I see nothing unholy in enjoying one another when we shall soon be wed.”

The firm belief in his voice agitated her, and she flipped the edges of her cloak open to reveal her gown. She gripped a handful of the undyed fabric and felt her fingers ache because she had tightened her fist so much.

“Look at me, Connor Lindsey. I cannae wed ye.”

He reached down and grasped the two straps at her waist that buttoned toward the back of the overgown to keep the fabric from billowing loose while maintaining a nonflattering shape. He yanked hard enough to pop the buttons off, and she gasped as she heard them scatter onto the floor.

“What I see is a dress that ye do nae need to wear ever again.”

He pulled the loosened gown upward, and her arms were caught up as he stripped the garment completely over her head and away from her body. Connor held the overdress like a trophy, lifting it high in one hand while she crossed her arms over her body. Clad only in her undergown, she felt exposed and on display.

“Taking my clothing changes nothing.”

“Neither will wearing it, for I’ve made my choice, and ye are here.”

He turned and threw her overgown into the hearth. Brina gasped and lunged toward it, but Connor caught her, his arms jerking her to a halt even as the fabric caught fire. Light flickered brightly across the chamber as the gown burned quickly, and then just as fast as it had ignited, it died back down into the glowing bed of embers. Her undyed gown was naught but glowing ash among the logs that still burned.

“Now be finished with yer ideas of serving the church, Brina. Ye will be my wife, not a bride of Christ.” He released her, and she looked up to discover him watching her with an expression that was impossible to read.

“Burning my gown does nae remove the promise I made to my father.”

A muscle along his jaw began to twitch.

“Be very sure that I intend to enjoy having ye, Brina. We shall have a warm marriage. That is my promise to ye, and yer father isna here, so it will be my word that ye must deal with.”

She snarled and cast a quick look about. A small pile of smooth stones near the hearth that were there to catch the heat and prevent it from escaping up the chimney. She bent down and picked one up.

“I won’t be the only one dealing with what is here, Connor Lindsey.”

There were several gasps from behind him, but the man laughed loudly enough to drown everything out. He threw back his head and let his amusement bounce off the ceiling. She was tempted to hit him again, the urge so strong, she must have moved her hand in some small way, because he suddenly jerked his head back down to where he might watch her. There was a challenge flickering in his eyes, one that dared her to try what she would.

Brina felt her teeth grind, and she threw the stone at him with a huff. He caught it, with a sure hand and an arrogant smirk.

“I look forward to our next encounter…
hellcat
.”

Connor turned and left. Brina stared at the longer pleats of his plaid swaying slightly with his stride. His sword was still strapped to his back, and she had to bite back a scathing response. His bonnet was still missing, allowing her an unobstructed view of his hair. He kept it just shoulder length, and a section of it was pulled back in a small plait to keep it from falling into his eyes. It was a sandy-blond color, lighter than her own, and hinted at Norse blood flowing through his veins.

Aye, that made sense sure enough; the man was a Viking, completely without respect for any rules save for what he desired. The fact that he had the strength to do what he pleased only renewed the surge of temper that had seen her fighting with him in front of his men.

Well, she was not sorry. She wasn’t some bride who needed to take her position with grace and good cheer.

Brina turned away from the large hearth and allowed it to warm her back. Without her overgown, she found the night air chilly, but the fire was radiating vast heat that felt good on her meagerly clad body.

She swallowed roughly when she faced the fact that she was not alone. She recalled hearing those women gasp now but had somehow forgotten while Connor was there to agitate her so completely.

She cringed inside but kept her chin steady. Let them see that she was not impressed with their laird. Maybe one of them would show her a secret way out of the castle while the rest considered themselves well rid of a temperamental mistress.

Four women stood near the doorway, all of them watching her silently. Each wore the Lindsey plaid with its yellow and lavender threads. The plaid was worn as an arisaid, with the length of it going down their backs with only one corner visible over their right shoulders. Each woman wore a belt that kept the plaid secure against her waist, and the portion that draped across her back might be raised to shield her head from the rain. A long moment stretched out while they stared at one another.

“Well now. What’s all this standing about for?”

An older woman entered the room and paused for a moment to look between the four women and Brina. Her hair was streaked with gray, and a large ring of keys hung from her belt, announcing the fact that she was a woman of position at Birch Stone.

“The laird burned her church robe,” one of the women answered, but in a soft voice that betrayed just how uncertain she was of her laird’s actions. The other women waited to see what the woman with the keys would make of Connor’s actions.

“Well, I’ll say that’s a fine idea, for ye have no’ the temperament for a nun. I had to brush the mud out of the laird’s bonnet, and ye broke one of the feathers too.” The older woman clicked her tongue and snapped her fingers at the women. They instantly began to move, each of them apparently knowing what she was expected to do. “Ye are nae meek enough to be a bride of Christ at all. We all saw that clear as daylight.”

The girl who had spoken looked toward the older woman. “She threatened the laird with a stone too, threw it at him right in front of us all.”

Brina felt her cheeks heat, and the older woman was quick to notice. She smiled, and wrinkles appeared at the edges of her eyes. She propped her hands on her hips and surveyed Brina from head to toe with a gaze that was keen and sharp.

“I am called Maura, and the laird has set me as the head of the house here. I do hope that I can trust that ye will keep yer temper for the laird, since I’d hate to have to have men in here while ye’re bathing.”

Brina lowered herself without hesitation, bending her knees with one foot tucked in back of the other so that her head dipped in deference. The woman nodded approvingly.

“It seems that ye have good manners to go along with that temper; however, it is I who should be showing respect toward ye, mistress.”

Maura lowered herself, while Brina tried to keep her jaw from dropping open. The other women stopped what they were doing and turned to face her so that they might offer her the same courtesy.

“I am not yer mistress.”

“Well, I heard the laird clear enough, and it is nae in my nature to argue with what he set down as the way it will be. Only a wife might do that—in private, mind ye.”

There was an unmistakable ring of authority in her voice, and it sent sadness through her because Maura sounded very much like Newlyn, her father’s head of house. Brina was suddenly aware of how alone she was, and no amount of preparation through the years might have made the moment easier. Knowing something and feeling it were vastly different. Brina realized that her arms were wrapped around herself in an attempt to find solace, which was childish, and still she couldn’t quite force her hands in front of her.

“A bath will make ye see things with a clear mind.”

“A bath?” Brina heard her voice quiver with anticipation. She hadn’t dared to long for a bath, for many a fortress did not consider bathing a necessity.

“Aye, we’ve a fine bathhouse here, and I find that there are fewer fleas when there is more bathing and washing.”

Brina looked over to see that there were several tubs in the room, but they were all tipped up on their sides and facing the hearth so that the heat would dry them. Each was quite large and made of copper, which made sense because the metal was too soft for making weapons and therefore the least expensive of all metals.

“The air here is moist and filled with salt from the sea. We tip the tubs up to keep them from rusting.”

A pair of the women pushed on the raised side of one tub, and it fell toward the floor. Brina expected a crash, but there only a dull thud because the stone floor was covered with wooden slats that absorbed much of the noise. Only half the floor was covered with wood, and as she looked closer, she could see that it was a sort of mat made from young tree limbs that had all been stripped smooth of their bark.

“A woman from the Prussias told the last laird about doing that to the floor, and I must say that it is a fine improvement.”

“The Prussias?”

Maura nodded while she fitted one of her keys into a locked chest sitting on a table at the far side of the room. The lock clicked before it opened, and she lifted the lid to peer inside.

“Birch Stone gets a good many visitors because we’re so far north that the ships coming around from the frozen waters up there stop here for provisions.”

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” The only ships she had ever seen outside a book were small boats made for traveling on the lakes.

“Ye’ll see it clear enough on the morrow, and hear it too.” Maura lifted several things from the chest and brought them over to a small stool that one of the other women brought toward the tub. She placed a chunk of soap on top of the stool along with a square of linen for washing.

It became clear to Brina that they were intent on treating her like their mistress. All five of them working to prepare her bath as though she deserved such service. She fingered the fabric of her underrobe, unsettled because she had never been waited upon. In fact, she had often assisted her sister and other female relatives at their baths because her future was to be one of service and devotion. She bathed last, after everyone else.

“I will haul water.”

Maura shook her head. “There is no need of that.”

“Yes, there is. I have never been waited upon. I do nae know what else to do except for my share of the work.”

There were several looks shot between the maids, but a click from Maura’s tongue sent their attention back to their tasks. “Aye, well, it will surely be a blessing to have a mistress who knows the duties of running a house from personal experience.”

“But I will nae be running this house.”

The head of house looked at her again, a deep frown marring her face. “I think we should nae be discussing what is a matter for the laird to decide, because he has said ye are the mistress, so ye shall be attended.”

The woman was obviously slightly ill at ease with the fact that Brina had been promised to the church. Two of the other women looked nervous as well, but they all continued to prepare a bath for her without hesitation, because their laird had set her above them with his words.

Brina chewed on her lower lip, forcing herself to remain silent while she watched to see who might be receptive to helping her escape Birch Stone. She should have thought of it before fighting with Connor where all might see. The fox trapped its prey by creeping unseen through the dense portions of the thicket. If it ran through the open, it often ended up caught. She would be wise to recall what Bran had taught her and have patience until the time was right.

She was so deep in thought, a splash of water startled her.

The splashing sound continued, drawing a short gasp from her lips when she looked at the tub. One of the women had fit a trough against what looked to be the back wall of the tower. But there was a thick slab of wood that had been held in place by iron bars set into the stone. The trough fit beneath the iron on another curved piece that supported the trough. The wood was slid upward, and water was now flowing through the hole in the wall. The water traveled along the trough and into the tub, where it splashed down just like a river had been diverted.

Maura chuckled softly at the look of wonder on her face.

“Right clever, isn’t it? And feel how warm it is.”

Brina couldn’t resist the invitation. She could feel every bit of grime clinging to her skin. She crossed the floor and trailed her fingers through the rising water inside the copper tub. Another little sound escaped her lips, only this was one of delight. The water wasn’t hot, but it was not as frigid as the night would have made her expect it to be.

“How can this be?”

She looked toward the wall, impatient to understand how the water system worked. The answer was as clear as the heat hitting her cheeks from the huge hearth. The water must have been stored behind the wall.

“That is genius.”

“And I’m pleased to see that ye have a quick mind.” Maura pointed up. “With the roof being slanted, the men built a second wall alongside the outer one and left a space between them for the water to collect. That hole there is near the bottom, and the weight of the water makes it simple to have it flow out. Even in the winter, the hearth melts the snow so that we have water every day.”

Her skin began to itch. Chattan Castle had no such clever contrivance, but that had not stopped her from bathing often. Even when it meant that she needed to haul snow inside.

“It would have been a shame to cut all this fine hair.”

Brina felt Maura behind her lifting her thick braid and working open the tie that held the ends tight.

“Ye’ll make a bonny sight with it brushed out and shimmering on yer shoulders.”

Would she?

Maura began to work the sections of her hair free from the plait that had kept it out of her way. It was true that if she had made it to the abbey, her hair would have been cut away at her nape by a pair of golden shears that would have been presented to her to kiss first. A custom designed to help a new nun banish all her vanities and embrace a future that did not include looking pretty or gaining attention.

But did that mean Connor might find her hair pleasing?

She frowned because she failed to understand why such a thought came so easily and quickly to her mind. She felt the loneliness wrapping around her again, worse now because it seemed that even her mind was not her own anymore. It wasn’t that she longed for the life of a nun, but she was hungry to know she had a place, and Connor was a stranger. How did she place her trust in a man who had stolen her away from her own kin? The man was hunting for revenge, and it would be foolish of her to forget that fact. It was for certain that he was every inch a Highlander, and they were known for striking back at those they felt had wronged them.

She was but the tool for that vengeance.

There was a sputter as one of the women pulled a large kettle out of the hearth and water trickled from its spout. She grasped the handle with a handful of her skirt to protect her fingers and carried it to the tub. The wood was pushed down to stop the flow of water now, and the trough had been lifted away and set against the wall. It glistened in the candlelight that didn’t quite illuminate all the shadows in the corners. It was amazing how the darkness changed the way a room felt. Brina tried to remind herself that the prickle of sensation moving over her skin was nothing but foolish imagination. She knew there were many who would argue with her about that, for even the church preached of sinister specters that inhabited the night.

Bran had taught her to ignore such prattle as mindless mutterings of soothsayers and storytellers who needed to entertain those who listened to them. That was not to say that Bran didn’t believe in spirits; the old Highlander simply didn’t fear the ghost that walked with the mists after the sunset, and he’d taught her simply to be willing to share the nighttime with restless souls.

“Let’s get this robe off ye now.”

Brina jerked back to the present, shamed by the fact that she kept allowing her mind to wander. The two days without sleep were obviously taking more of a toll on her than she thought.

“I’ll manage myself, thank you…” She stumbled over her last few words.

Maura clicked her tongue in reprimand, but Brina stepped away from the hands that were intent on helping her to remove her last garment.

“I cannae recall the last time anyone was near… or in the room with me… when I was… bare… completely.” Brina turned so that she faced Maura. “I thank ye, all the same.”

The head of house nodded with understanding, but she did not turn to leave the room either.

“If ye had made it to the abbey, ye’d have discovered that there is no privacy for novices.”

“Well… yes, I was told to expect such.”

Maura smiled and reached out to grasp two handfuls of the loose undergown. “So ye’ll just be adjusting, the same as ye would have if the laird had nae brought ye to Birch Stone. There is no difference between this bathhouse and the one at the abbey.”

“There most certainly is a difference.”