Highland Heat

by Mary Wine

  The girl frowned but straightened. “Well, ye certainly look as though ye do.”

  Deirdre lifted her hands and looked down at the velvet she wore. “I was given these robes to wear; they belong to the queen.”

  “Well then, I admit I envy ye the opportunity to feel such things against yer skin.” The girl grinned as though they were friends and shared such little conversations regularly. “I am Maura; Coalan is me brother. Come and eat. Coalan ate like a starving wolf, so I can guess ye are famished as well.”

  “I am.” Deirdre sent one last look toward the open doors but forced herself to be practical. She would not get far on an empty belly. Maura set off and returned with a tray containing a bowl with steam rising from it. She set it on the table nearest where Deirdre stood and left a cup of fresh morning milk as well.

  “There’s plenty, so eat yer fill.”

  Deirdre’s belly rumbled, and Maura laughed before she turned to clear the table where she had set Deirdre’s meal. The Cameron girl left behind a broken round of bread and a small wooden bowl of butter. For how early in spring it was, it was a fine morning meal. The Camerons had clearly not suffered from a poor harvest the year before. The cereal had chunks of autumn apples, and she smiled in spite of her frustration over where she was eating.

  It was still sweet and warm, and only a shrew would have frowned with such a meal set before her.

  Whispers still touched her ears as the women working in the hall cast curious looks at her. Deirdre forced herself to eat slowly, because she didn’t need Maura running to tell her brother that Deirdre looked to be in a hurry.

  Even if she was.

  If Quinton didn’t order his men to keep her inside the castle gates, she doubted they would notice her leaving. Drumdeer was a busy place, and spring a time for hurrying as the fields were turned for planting. She finished her meal and looked at the uneaten bread with longing, but left it on the table. There were too many watching her for her to risk taking it, even if she knew it would be a welcome comfort on the road.

  With or without the bread, she was going. The yard was a bustle of activity. Wagons were being unloaded, and the sound of men shouting to one another echoed between the stone walls. Water was being pulled from the wells, and many of the buckets were dumped into long wooden troughs that flowed toward the kitchens.

  People made way for her, and she frowned because the queen’s clothing made a spectacle of her. In the morning light, the silk velvet looked like it was glowing. The stables were along the far end of the castle, and a young lad ran up to her the moment she appeared in the doorway.

  “What do ye seek, lady?”

  Deirdre swallowed her distaste for the noble title. “My mare, if ye would be so kind.”

  The boy looked confused. “Ye sound like a Scot.”

  “Do nae be running yer mouth with the lady, lad,” an older man barked at the boy, who reached up to tug on the corner of his knit bonnet. “I’ll be back with yer mare quick.”

  In fact, three lads wearing the Cameron yellow, orange, and black plaid brought her mare forward. They had it saddled in a flash because they all dropped what they were doing to attend to her request.

  Guilt chewed on her once more. She didn’t care for others thinking she was above them. But she took the reins when they were offered, because she wanted to be away more than she wished to be completely honest with them.

  “Mount up, lads.”

  Coalan’s voice was deep and brassy. “Yer mistress appears to be ready to take her morning ride.”

  Deirdre turned to discover the Highlander smirking at her, while six retainers went to different stalls to saddle their stallions.

  “What are ye doing?” she asked.

  One of the man’s eyebrows rose. “It’s strange how ye seem to have found yer voice now.”

  Deirdre bristled. “Ye never asked me whose daughter I was.”

  She heard his knuckles pop as he gripped his belt too tightly. “No, I didna, and ’tis a fact I am still no’ asking ye.”

  “I am Robert Chattan’s daughter,” she informed him.

  The retainers returned and looked at her with confusion on their faces. Coalan shrugged.

  “Well now. I didna hear my laird saying anything about yer name making any difference on whether or no’ ye were the one he asked me to bring to him.” There was a glint of heat in his eyes and stubbornness. The man was set on giving her grief, and that was a fact.

  Deirdre set one hand on her hip and faced him. She wasn’t the queen, and she would not be intimidated by his bruised temper. Her own brothers were Highlanders, after all.

  “Ye know I am nae the woman he sent ye after. So be gone. I am no’ the woman yer laird sought. I am no’ even a noble who might be of some use to him because someone would pay a ransom for me. For certain ye have more important things to attend to than a common Highlander girl.”

  There was a flash of surprise in his eyes and then a slight curving of his lips that showed he was impressed with her ability to stand up to his growling.

  “Well now. I don’t know how it is on Chattan land, but we Cameron do nae think what our laird sets us to doing is less important than anything else. Do we, lads?”

  There were several mutters of agreement from the men making ready to ride with her. A few of them were smirking, obviously thinking it very fitting that she wasn’t gaining what she wished.

  “Yer laird sent ye after Joan Beaufort. I am no’ her. Perhaps ye should go and find her if ye are so concerned with pleasing yer laird.”

  The damned man refused to do anything but grin at her rising frustration. His companions all followed his example and stood firmly in place to accompany her.

  “Enough of this nonsense. I will be on my way.”

  “And we shall give ye good escort,” Coalan announced. A stable lad brought him his stallion while the brute smiled at her.

  Deirdre glared at Coalan and the amusement he was failing to hide. “I do nae require escort, as I just told ye I am no one of importance at all. Yer laird would nae be wanting one of his captains wasting time on one such as me.”

  She lifted her foot and fit it into the stirrup. She gasped when Coalan lifted her up and sat her on the back of the mare.

  “I do nae need assistance.”

  Coalan mounted, and his stallion danced sideways as it took his weight. He leaned down to rub the animal’s neck to soothe it.

  “Well now, lady. I’m bound to serve my laird.”

  “It is no different on Chattan land,” she insisted. “That has naught to do with this ridiculous notion that I require an escort.”

  Coalan cocked his head to the side. “She sounds like a noble lady to me, lads.”

  They chuckled and nodded, irritating her beyond belief.

  “I do nae want ye riding with me,” she stated loud enough to have the grooms looking around their stalls at her.

  “Then ye will nae be riding… lady,” Coalan announced. “That’s yer choice sure enough, because me laird told me he was pleased with the woman I brought him. So ye will nae be riding out of the gate without me and my men. That’s a promise.”

  Firm and hard, his voice left no doubt in her mind. Deirdre looked at the faces of the other retainers and felt a noose tightening around her neck. She ground her teeth, but there would be no riding out of the gate while these men were determined to hound her. She slid off the mare and walked from the stable while chewing on the words she wanted to fling at them.

  Coalan was not her true target. It was Quinton Cameron, and she had something to say to the arrogant man for sure.

  But she was afraid to do so.

  That was a shame that darkened her cheeks as she walked with no true destination. She hated admitting she was afraid of anything, but being alone with Quinton terrified her. The man unleashed a weakness inside her that she couldn’t seem to control. Maybe she was right to fear him and his effect on her. Wasn’t that the way of life? You conformed and obeyed because y
ou feared the consequences.

  Indeed, she feared the way she melted beneath the man’s touch. It was a deep shame, one she detested, but she had to be honest and admit it to herself. If she weren’t, she’d be in his bed before the week passed.

  Never again…

  The words she promised herself rose from the memory of the pain Melor had inflicted upon her. She refused to feel so strongly about any man, even if it was only lust. Quinton wouldn’t have that power over her; she would make sure he didn’t have the opportunity to touch her.

  She stopped and looked about. Her steps had carried her far from the stables, but a look over her shoulder showed her Coalan pointing at her from the walkways at the top of the curtain wall. The men standing on duty there lifted their hands to shield their eyes so they might see her more clearly.

  That tight feeling about her throat returned.

  But at least it distracted her from her fear. She’d rather be irritated than afraid.

  “Were ye looking for the bathhouse, lady?”

  Deirdre turned to see a woman looking at her from the bottom of a stairway.

  “It is down here.”

  The woman extended her hand toward a doorway set behind her. The stairs were made of stone, and as she descended them, they grew colder because the sunlight had yet to warm them. The thin slippers allowing her to feel the deepening chill. The sound of water grew stronger when she reached the bottom and stood in the doorway.

  “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 w
hile 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.”