The Mackintosh Bride. Debra Lee Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ her where he could keep an eye on her.

      What was she, a prisoner?

      The room was beautiful. She ran a hand over the brightly colored stitches of a hanging tapestry. A fire blazed in the hearth and a large wooden tub sat before it, presumably for her bath. ’Twas a luxury afforded to few, and she had to admit ’twas preferable to a frigid dunk in the stable yard water trough. Even now, Hetty, the young woman she’d seen on the steps talking to Will, was in the kitchen seeing to the hot water.

      A large window looked out over the stable yard where Duncan inspected the hooves of the mounts they had just ridden in on. Two stable lads, and another man who looked a younger version of Duncan, wiped down the lathered coats of the three horses. Duncan stood back and barked instructions. ’Twas as she’d suspected. Duncan was the stablemaster.

      How on earth did he know her name?

      The door to her chamber opened, forcing her thoughts to the task at hand. Hetty directed two men with steaming buckets toward the tub. Behind them marched an old woman, a Mackintosh plaid draped over her hunched shoulders. She stood with hands on hips, eyeing the men as they poured the water into the vessel, making sure, it seemed, they didn’t spill a drop.

      When they’d finished, the men left the chamber and Hetty unrolled the heavy deerskin window covering to keep out the breeze and ensure their privacy.

      She supposed she should be friendly, though the old woman did not seem overly warm. She risked a smile. “My name is Alena.”

      “Aye, Lady, so I’ve been told. I’m Edwina. Now strip off and get into this tub before the water goes cold.” She opened a leather pouch and emptied it into the steaming water. A burst of fragrance filled the air.

      Hetty slipped behind her and, with expert fingers, released her laces. “’Tis a lovely gown, Lady.”

      All this formality made her uncomfortable. “Please, won’t you both call me Alena.”

      Edwina arched a brow. Hetty pulled the bedraggled gown over Alena’s head. The old woman inspected it with more than casual interest. “It’s a wreck,” she decreed. “What were ye doin’ in it, sloppin’ pigs?”

      She recalled with revulsion Reynold Grant’s hands splayed across the fine yellow silk. “Something like that.”

      “Weel, ye’ll need some new clothes. This is past savin’.” Edwina tossed the gown to the floor.

      “Oh, nay!” she cried as she struggled out of her shift. “It’s very dear to me.”

      Hetty retrieved it from the floor. “I’ll make it right for ye, Lady.”

      “My thanks, Hetty.”

      Edwina led her to the steaming tub. Alena stepped into it and was instantly bathed in its aromatic warmth. She sank into the deliciously hot water and closed her eyes.

      Oh, ’twas heavenly. Two days hard travel and a night in the rough had taken its toll on her. Edwina stooped and began to lather her hair with soap. The scent of heather and rosemary permeated her senses. She succumbed to the old woman’s practiced ministrations and let her head go heavy in her hands.

      But relaxation did not come. A score of unanswered questions whirled in her mind, and she knew she could not rest until some of them were answered. She decided to start with something innocuous. “What position have you in the household, Edwina?”

      “I am—I was—maid and kinswoman to Lady Ellen Mackintosh.”

      “Iain’s mother.”

      “Aye.”

      “You said was. Do you no longer serve her?”

      “Nay. She’s dead. Now dunk.” Edwina pushed firmly on her head.

      Alena held her breath and slipped below the surface to rinse the soap from her hair. She came up sputtering. Edwina scooted around to the side of the tub and began to scrub her arms.

      “I’m sorry. When did it happen?”

      “At Beltane.”

      Barely a month ago. No wonder Iain seemed so irritable. She would remember to treat him more kindly.

      She was curious about what had happened after the Mackintoshes fled their own lands. “Lady Mackintosh—she lived here with Iain?”

      “Aye, and the other two lads, as well. We came to Braedûn Lodge right after the—” Edwina met her questioning gaze with a hard look. “Lady Ellen was born here,” she said flatly.

      “Oh, I see.”

      Edwina scooted to end of the tub and started on her legs.

      She decided to be bold. “And what of Findhorn Castle?”

      “Held by the Grants these eleven years. Not a one lives there, but Grant soldiers surround the demesne, foulin’ the lands and waters with their filth. May they be damned to hell.”

      Edwina was scrubbing the skin off her! Alena tucked her legs under her. “Och, sorry, my lady,” Edwina said, and continued with a more gentle hand. “I forgot myself, thinkin’ on those vermin.”

      Vermin. So this is how it was. She’d been right to conceal her identity, after all.

      “And how stands Iain?” She knew the answer, but voiced her question all the same. “Grant is his enemy?”

      “That’s puttin’ it mildly. Reynold Grant killed his father. ’Twas a nasty piece o’ work, that.”

      She had shared Iain’s anguish that chill, gray morning so very long ago. “Aye, it was,” she whispered.

      “Eh?”

      “Oh, I—” She’d best change the subject. “I understand this is the home of Iain’s uncle. Alistair, I think he said his name was.”

      “Aye, Alistair Davidson is laird here. And a finer man ye’ll ne’er meet.” Edwina held out a large towel.

      Alena stepped from the tub and into it. “I didn’t see him when we arrived.”

      “Nay. He and Lady Margaret are away on business. They’re no’ expected back for a fortnight.”

      Edwina completed her vigorous rubbing, and Alena stepped from the towel, her skin pink and glowing in the firelight. Hetty held out a clean shift and helped it over her head.

      The girl indicated a small stool by the hearth. “Come sit by the fire, Lady, and I’ll comb out your hair.”

      Edwina hurried toward the door. “Supper’s in an hour. I’ll send up a gown for ye to wear.”

      “My thanks, Edwina.” Alena turned to smile at her, but the old woman had already gone.

      Hetty seemed intent on staying, despite Alena’s protests that she needed no help with her hair. Finally she relented, and sat on the stool as instructed. Hetty’s gentle strokes coupled with the warmth of the fire СКАЧАТЬ