My Highland Bride (Highland Hearts #2)

by Maeve Greyson

  “Why not him?” Granny folded her hands primly atop the table. Mischief glinted in her pale blue eyes as she leaned closer. “Have you touched him yet?”

  “What do you mean have I touched him yet?” Kenna knew exactly what Granny meant, but she wasn’t about to let on that touching the man had given her a jolt like sticking her finger in a light socket—a hot, awesome, sexy jolt in a tingly oh-my-God kind of way. Kenna suppressed a shiver at the memory.

  Granny’s smile widened and lit up her entire face. “So…you have touched him.”

  “Why him, Granny? Easy question. Why did I have to toss modern conveniences and my two sisters aside to come back and marry this particular man?”

  Granny shrugged. “Many reasons, but mainly because he’s the one who completes you.” Before Kenna could argue the point, Granny looped her arm through hers, pulled her away from the table, and led her out into the hall. “Come. We’ll discuss Colum later.” Her smile beamed brighter than the torches flickering through the narrow corridor as she nodded in time with her words. “Coira will see to your food and clothes. Once you’ve had time to rest, she’ll bring you down to the hall.”

  “Hall?” Kenna didn’t like the sound of that. For some strange reason, she got the distinct impression she was about to be painted and primped, then put on parade like a prize heifer at the fair.

  “As they say here in the Highlands—dinna fash yerself, lassie.” Granny hugged her close with a happy chortle. “All you need worry about is getting some sleep. Trust me. You’re going to need your rest for what lies ahead.”

  Kenna blew out an uneasy breath. Lovely. She’d almost forgotten how complicated life got when Granny stirred the pot.

  A cheerful humming broken with a string of slightly off-tune lyrics echoed from the stairwell. With a happy, chirruping end to her tune, a slight woman balancing a linen-covered tray between her hands flounced into the hall.

  This had to be Coira. A friendly smile split her freckle-dusted face as she bobbed a quick curtsy to Kenna and tilted her head toward a closed door farther down the hallway. “A proper welcome to ye, mistress. Cook sends ye a fine meal to warm yer belly and send ye to yer dreams. Follow me and we’ll get ye settled. Master Colum’s already seen to the puttin’ of yer bags in yer room.”

  Granny stifled a yawn as she patted Kenna’s arm. “I’ll leave you to Coira’s fine care.” She leaned a bit closer, pecked a quick kiss to Kenna’s cheek, then whispered, “It’s okay, she can be trusted. She knows all about us and our travels.”

  Good to know. Eliza had reminded her over and over about keeping her Sinclair legacy and abilities well hidden in the past. Kenna snorted out a yawn as she watched Granny toddle back down the hallway and disappear into another room. She hadn’t really needed Eliza’s reminder—Granny had drilled that warning into all of them before they were old enough to talk.

  “Mistress? Be ye comin’?”

  Kenna eased her way into the room, closing the heavy oak door softly behind her. Her back against the door, she slowly took in the plushness of the surroundings. Nice…I didn’t expect this. Tapestries saturated with rich, deep blues, greens, and burgundies hung along the widest wall of what looked to be a cozy sitting room. A vibrant scene of a unicorn standing beside a maiden with golden, flowing hair was centered between two smaller weaves depicting various animals: a pair of rabbits, a fox with kits, and what resembled an otter frolicking beside a stream in a flower-filled woodland.

  A newly kindled fire crackled a cheerful welcome from the small hearth. The dark, polished wood of the walls gleamed with the dancing reflection of the golden flames. Coira wrapped her hand in her apron and used a black iron poker to better position the logs. “Come, mistress. Sit ye down and sup.”

  Motioning to a small cushioned bench pulled up to a cloth-covered table, Coira settled the poker beside the hearth and buzzed about the intimate room like a bee pollinating a field of flowers. “Cook sent ye a pitcher of wine, but I brought ye a smokin’ hot bit of tea as well. I didna ken for sure, but I thought the tea might better suit ye. I know Mistress Trulie prefers such.”

  “Hot tea sounds like heaven.” Kenna eased down on the bench and reached for the squat ceramic pot as a curling wisp of steam slowly rose from its spout.

  “Nay, mistress.” Coira rushed over to the table, a disapproving scowl puckering her face. Wrapping her hand back in her apron, she scooped the handle of the pot out of Kenna’s grasp and smoothly poured a steaming cup of tea. “I’ve honey and cream as well. Both or just the honey? What d’ye fancy?”

  Kenna clasped her hands in her lap to keep from helping herself. In one of their private chats through the fire portal, Trulie had explained that one of the greatest adjustments she’d had to make was being personally tended to from head to toe by the attentive and competent Coira. Kenna was beginning to understand what Trulie meant—being waited on felt strange. “I don’t take anything in my tea, thank you. I just like it smokin’ hot and straight.”

  Coira’s reddish blonde brows arched to the fringe of coppery curls peeping out from beneath the white linen cap neatly tied beneath her chin. “Ye’ve no wish for honey nor cream to soften the bitterness of the brew?”

  Kenna sipped in a taste, clamping her jaws tightly shut to keep from spitting as she lowered the cup to the table. “Wow. That’s some stout tea.” She could almost feel the enamel dissolving off her teeth.

  “Aye.” Coira bobbed her head. “I feared Cook brewed it o’erly long, but she insisted ye needed a hearty batch to ease yer weariness.” Without waiting for Kenna’s reply, Coira poured a healthy dollop of cream into the cup. Then she untied a thick cloth from around the top of a small stone jar and carefully tipped it until a thick stream of amber ooziness swirled down into the hot liquid. “There now. Have ye a wee sip o’ that.”

  Kenna hesitantly eased in another sip, holding the creamy, sweet warmness as long as possible on her tongue. Perfect. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

  Coira bobbed her head with an imperious nod that clearly said Kenna should’ve listened to her in the first place. “Whilst ye tended yer sister, I put yer things in order in yer room.” As she pulled apart what looked like a steaming square biscuit, she tilted her head toward an open doorway across the room. “Ye’ll find yer treasures and yer strange wee bags put away in the trunk at the foot of yer bed.” Coira then smeared a thick layer of what looked like clotted cream across the biscuit and set it on a small pewter plate. Sliding the plate directly in front of Kenna, she finished the treat by drizzling a healthy portion of the honey across the rich, creamy puddle soaking into the bread. “After ye’ve had time for a wee rest, I’ll be back up here to dress ye proper afore ye go down to hall. Here now. Eat yer bannock afore it grows cold.”

  The words “go down to hall” effectively killed her appetite. Kenna nervously tapped a finger along the ridge running around the edge of the plate. “What’s that going to be like?” She pushed the plate a few inches away and looked up at Coira.

  Coira frowned down at the plate, slid it back closer to Kenna, and thumped her finger atop the table. “Ye must eat. Yer already so tiny a good gust of Highland wind will blow yer arse into the sea.”

  “I’ll eat after you fill me in about this ‘hall’ business. Granny said I could trust you. I need to know what to expect…how to act.” Kenna swallowed hard. She needed to know what she was up against before she faced the reality of the thirteenth century. As time runners, they had all visited various epochs of time. Granny had jumped them all over the web not only as part of their education on how to maneuver through time but to broaden their knowledge of history in general.

  She’d always been able to follow Trulie and Granny’s lead when it came to temporarily blending into whatever culture they came across. This time she was on her own. Trulie was understandably indisposed and Granny was busy helping with new baby Chloe. Coira was her only hope for help with thirteenth-century dining and socializing etiquette.

  Co
ira leaned hard against the short-bladed knife slicing through the wedge of cheese. “Dinna fash yerself. Ye’ll be dressed proper and all will know ye as the chieftain’s good sister. Ye’ll be fine, I reckon.”

  “That’s no help.” Kenna pinched off a corner of the bannock and popped it in her mouth. She shook her head against the small chunk of cheese Coira proffered. “No, thank you. The biscuit is plenty.”

  “ ‘Bannock.’ ” Coira pronounced the word slowly, as though Kenna were a child learning how to talk. “Now eat a bit o’ cheese. That corner of bread ye pinched away wouldna properly feed a wee rat.”

  “You’re a nag.” Kenna snatched the cheese out of Coira’s fingers and nibbled at the pungent, waxy chunk.

  Coira’s face lit up with a proud smile. “Aye. I am that.” She cut off another wedge of cheese and put it on the plate beside the bannock. “Now eat while I fold back yer bed. When ye rise from yer wee nap, I’ll brush out yer hair, wash ye good, and dress ye.”

  “Great,” Kenna said as she pinched off another bit of bread. Then she snorted out a disgruntled huff. “Just what I need—an honorary, bossy sister.”

  “Hie yerself now and eat yer fill,” Coira called from the other room. “Yer bed’s awaitin’, and I’ll warrant ye’ll sleep for a fortnight from the look o’ those weary smudges ’neath yer eyes.”

  “Lovely.” Kenna emptied her cup and brushed the crumbs from her fingers as she stood. Not only was Coira bossy…she was brutally honest. Kenna yawned and stretched as she headed to the private bedchamber. Maybe life would be a lot less daunting after a “fortnight” of sleep.

  Chapter 9

  “Up wi’ ye, mistress.” Coira ripped aside the heavy tapestry covering the window beside the bed, flooding the cozy room with bright sunlight. “Ye’ve slept a full day and a night and ’tis nearly time for this day’s midday meal. Up wi’ ye now. ’Tis time ye rose from yer bed.”

  Kenna burrowed her face deeper into the feather pillow, squinting against the blinding light. She’d slept a full day and a night and halfway into another? No way. Rolling to put her back to the sun, Kenna rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time did you say it was? What day?”

  Coira yanked the bedclothes down to the foot of the bed, looped a hand through Kenna’s elbow, and tugged. “The sun’s nearly to its highest point. Come now. I’ve brought ye proper clothing but we’ve a bit o’ scrubbing to do first.”

  Kenna eyed the large stoneware bowl and pitcher waiting on the table where she’d had her meal before she’d gone to bed. Lovely. She cringed as she ran her tongue across her teeth and stood. “First things first. I really need to visit the…” What the hell did they call the bathroom in this era? She made her way to the end of the bed, lifted the heavy lid of the great, black chest, and fished out her fanny pack from its depths. Garderobe. That’s it! “I need to visit the garderobe and then I’ve got to brush my teeth. I can’t stand morning funk breath.”

  Coira froze and fixed her with a wide-eyed look as she held the pitcher cocked above the basin. “Mornin’ what?”

  “Morning funk breath. You know—where your teeth feel kind of furry and stale when you first get up in the morning?” Kenna caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. She could tell by the dubious look on Coira’s face that the maid thought she’d lost her mind. Uneasiness settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. I’m really going to have to watch what I say. “Uhm…the garderobe?”

  “ ’Tis quite a ways down the hall to the other side of the tower.” Coira crouched beside the bed and pulled free a gleaming white pot that greatly resembled a stoneware bucket fitted with the handle of a teapot. “Use the chamber pot so we can be about gettin’ ye washed up and refreshed.”

  Kenna stared down at the pot. Seriously? She’d squatted behind the barn back in Kentucky, but she’d never squatted over a pot—indoors—with a total stranger in the room.

  “Go on now. I’ve yer water ready. Strip down and take yer piss, then I’ll wash ye good and proper.” Coira scurried to the other side of the bed, yanking free the bedclothes as she rounded the mattress.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Kenna nudged the pot between her bare feet and duckwalked it to the other side of the nightstand up against the wall; she just couldn’t stand the thought of touching it with her hands. Beside the table and with her back to the wall, she stood a better chance at tricking herself into thinking she had a little bit of privacy. She stole one last glance at Coira bustling about the room, then peeled off her soft white tank top and shed her favorite pair of silky white bikinis. She squatted down over the pot and waited. Nothing happened. Come on. Her shy, overfull bladder refused. Running water. Running water. Tinkle. Tinkle. Tinkle. She concentrated on running water and lovely white toilets—with seats. Finally. Success.

  Crossing one arm over her bare breasts and keeping the other hand shielding her crotch, Kenna skipped across the room and backed up to the hearth. “I guess I’ll brush my teeth after I wash so I’ll have a place to spit.” Why the hell was she telling that to Coira? Because I’m not used to standing naked and having someone I barely know wash me.

  Coira bobbed her head in agreement. “Aye, mistress. That’s what yer sister usually does.” She soused a cloth in the water, then wrung it out. She smiled and nodded as she spread the cloth across one hand. “Stretch out yer arms.”

  Kenna bit her lip and closed her eyes as Coira vigorously scrubbed her from head to toe with the icy water. When she’d nearly decided that Coira was determined to remove at least two layers of skin, the scrubbing finally stopped. She opened her eyes just as Coira came at her with a drying cloth.

  “Now then. All clean. Do ye no’ feel refreshed?” Coira’s voice shook as she patted Kenna down with quick, efficient strokes of the cloth.

  “Absolutely.” Kenna finally twisted free of Coira’s ministrations. “I’m good.” Scampering across the room, she scooped up a pale linen dress from the back of a chair and slid it over her head. At least now she could brush her teeth without feeling so…on display. Her mood lightened considerably once her mouth was minty fresh. She looked to Coira. “Now what?”

  “Now yer overdress, stockings, and shoes. Then I’ll braid yer hair.” Coira slipped a deep green dress over Kenna’s head and tugged it down into place. “There now. I knew this color would suit ye fine.” She wrapped a long leather belt, fringed on the ends, below Kenna’s waist and fastened it at the front so it rested across the top of her hips, accentuating the long smooth lines of the gown. Bending down, she deftly tugged first one stocking and then the other up to Kenna’s thighs, tugged the ribbons tight, and tied them. A velvety soft pair of doeskin shoes came last.

  Kenna wiggled her toes and tugged the bell-shaped sleeves of the overdress straighter across the linen sleeves of her shift. Smoothing her hands down the nubby weave of the dress, she padded across the room and took a seat beside the hearth. The snug ties of her stockings cut into her thighs and the seams bunched beneath her toes. She forced herself to sit still as Coira combed back her hair. This was going to take some getting used to. Thirteenth-century apparel and style were a far cry from jeans, T-shirts, and ponytails.

  “Ouch!” Kenna flinched and leaned forward. “Give me the comb. I’ll do it.” If Coira kept yanking so hard, she’d end up bald.

  “Och now, dinna fret so. Ye’ve got a bit of a rat’s nest that needs combin’ free.” Coira firmly pulled her back into place and set to combing and tugging with hard quick strokes. “Lore a’mighty, I’ve ne’er seen such a headful of curls.” Coira swept Kenna’s hair up off her neck, then paused and leaned around to look her in the eye. “And no lady of this keep has e’er combed her own hair, so get that thought right out of yer head.”

  “To keep my mind off the fact that you’re scalping me”—Kenna flinched again at a particularly painful yank—“why don’t you tell me what’s expected of me when I go downstairs.” Maybe if she kept Coira talking, the maid would go a bit easier on her hai
r.

  “A banquet’s been set for all the visitors who’ve come to celebrate the comin’ of the wee bairn.” Coira dropped the comb to the table beside them and set to braiding Kenna’s hair. “Yer an honored guest, so ye’ll be seated at the chieftain’s table.” She yanked and wove, then yanked some more before knotting and twisting the resulting long braid into a bun at the back of Kenna’s neck. “Enjoy yer food and drink.” She patted Kenna on the shoulders, then came around to face her. “All will welcome ye. Yer the chieftain’s good sister.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” Kenna slowly rose, frowning back at her softly blurred reflection in the polished metal disk Coira held in front of her. “But I guess there’s no avoiding it.”

  “Ye’ll be fine, mistress.” Coira fussed with a stubborn curl at Kenna’s temple, then beamed an encouraging smile. “Ye look lovely, and ye’ll be just fine.”

  Chapter 10

  Finally. He’d begun to wonder if the lady would e’er descend from her rooms. Colum worked his way across the crowded hall, hurrying to the archway leading to the chieftain’s private tower. Lady Kenna stood in the center of the doorway. Her gaze darted nervously about the bustling room as she twisted the fringed ends of her belt between her hands. Poor lass. She looks as though ready to bolt back up the stairs.

  “Lady Kenna, allow me t’lead ye to yer seat at the chieftain’s table.” Colum held out his arm and prayed the woman would take it this time without hesitation. The memory of the intoxicating sting triggered by her earlier touch awakened an ache for more. He yearned for the feel of her, longed for her closeness, even if it was merely the soft weight of her hand upon his arm.

  Kenna glanced about the noisy hall one more time, then quickly looped her hand up into the crook of his elbow. “Stay close, would you? I didn’t realize so many people were going to be down here.” She nervously yanked at her belted dress and patted the dark braid neatly coiffed at the back of her head.