Page 39 of The Outlaw's Bride
Her plea for help had failed, but Adaira wasn’t sorry she’d asked him, only that he’d denied her. She knew she’d been trying for the impossible, but she’d had to do it. She’d hoped Lachlann had been nursing a guilty conscience, yet if he had, it wasn’t enough to help her.
Seeing that her comments weren’t going to be responded to, the maid muttered a curse under her breath and headed toward the door. “Dull wit.”
Two burly male servants brought in an iron tub and then filled it with hot water. The maid added scented oils to the bath and left a cake of lye soap, drying cloths, and fresh clothing. Then all of them departed.
Alone in the chamber Adaira stripped off her scratchy tunic and stepped into the tub. She loosed a deep sigh as she sank into the hot water. Despite the dread that dogged every waking thought, she couldn’t deny the bath was a thing of delight.
The scent of rose, a perfume that reminded her of Rhona, wafted up, and she inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes, and for a moment she was back in Dunvegan in her bower being fussed over by her hand-maid, Liosa.
Adaira’s eyes snapped open.
That happy existence belonged to someone else.
Even so, the heat of the water seeped into her chilled bones, and the scent of rose relaxed her. She’d opened the shutters, although she could see little beyond a helmet of grey skies.
In Dunvegan the locals would be getting ready for Samhuinn, in a yearly ritual that never changed. Groups of men would build bonfires on the hills around the keep. Adaira loved the festival, even if it heralded the arrival of winter. She’d always taken her turn at apple bobbing, although she’d never been good at it. Unlike Rhona, who nearly drowned herself while grabbing hold of the apple with her teeth, Adaira hated getting water up her nose. The taste of roasted hazel nuts and salty oaten bannock were Samhuinn to her.
Although from this year, the festival would take on a different reminder.
Adaira loosed another deep sigh and tried to push thoughts of her impending handfasting from her mind. She glanced down at her nakedness. Her skin had turned pink from the hot water. Her breasts bobbed on the surface, their nipples pebbled from the cold air inside the chamber; the lump of peat burning in the hearth barely took the chill off. She’d regained the weight she’d lost during her first days here.
In a day’s time Morgan Fraser would see her naked, would put his hands on her. Would he hurt her?
Adaira squeezed her eyes shut. She must not think of it. She had to remain strong.
She stayed in the tub until the water cooled, making sure to wash her hair and rinse it thoroughly. Then she climbed out, dried herself off, and dressed. The maid had left her a soft cream-colored léine and a deep blue kirtle. Adaira fingered the fine material before lacing up the front of the kirtle. She wondered if these clothes had once belonged to Una before she ran away. She and Una were of a similar stature and build so it was possible.
When the maid re-entered the chamber, flinging open the door without knocking and striding in, she found Adaira seated on her sleeping pallet, combing out her wet hair.
The girl’s mouth thinned, and she halted, her gaze sweeping over Adaira from head to foot. Then her lip curled.
Something in that gaze made Adaira’s temper flare. She welcomed the heat in her belly, for it consumed the dread. How dare this woman look at her as if she was some lowly wretch.
“Do I pass yer inspection?” she asked coldly
The maid’s gaze widened. For a moment she stared at Adaira, before her cheeks flushed. Adaira’s gaze didn’t waver. She stared back until the maid looked away. “At least ye are presentable now,” the girl muttered.
Lachlann was lowering himself onto the bench at the chieftain’s table when an explosion of voices in the hall made him glance up.
His father’s retainers, who were also taking their places at the long tables below the dais, were talking excitedly. Their gazes followed the slight figure who entered the hall, flanked by two male servants.
Dressed in flowing blue, her long brown hair curling in heavy waves over her shoulders, Adaira walked proudly into the Great Hall.
Like the lady she was.
Lachlann’s gaze devoured her, taking in the slight sway of her hips and the way the kirtle hugged her supple body.
She held her head high, looking straight ahead. Only the tension in her neck, in her unsmiling face, gave her away. Her stoic behavior was impressive, especially after the raw desperation he’d witnessed in her eyes last time he’d seen her.
Lachlann had deliberately avoided returning to the tower chamber since that day, and yet the look on her face still haunted him, as did her words.
I thought ye were a good man, an honorable one.
He shouldn’t have spent so long in her company. The wine and the companionship over games of Ard-ri had lowered both their defenses. Still, her plea for help, which he had so harshly denied, had shadowed him ever since. Seeing her now made his chest ache.
Lachlann tore his gaze from Adaira, to where his father sat next to him. Morgan Fraser also watched his betrothed approach.
With each passing day, the chieftain grew stronger. He still couldn't wield a sword, and the healer warned him that he might never be able to, but outwardly at least he appeared as if he would regain his former strength.
