Page 29 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
“Aye,” he replied. “That’s true. But even so, I cannae help but believe this is from the King. I daenae ken what kind of plot he an’ the English King are makin’, but I’ll nae let it happen. I’m nae saying I’m right, but I ken that he isnae to be trusted.”
“But if it is a mutual enemy,” Maisie insisted, “Do ye ken our families will put aside these old, and well, new, grudges an’ find who is threatening us?”
“That, lass,” his tone was wry and doubtful, “Is one we can only hope for. Enough, now. We can speak of it later, though I canna imagine there being much to speak about. We need to sleep. What is to be, shall be.”
Maisie felt her heart sink at the notion that their families would pull apart even more. Could she bear that?
Just after dawn, Maisie woke to find Lucas—and his makeshift bed—gone. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and looked around for any hint to where he might have gone. Finding none, she moved from the bed and unraveled the ball of clothing Lucas had given her only to balk at a set of trews and a tunic wrapped up with a towel.
“What in heaven’s name…” she shook her head. “That man is a mystery.”
As she looked over the clothes, she realized that Lucas might have hit up on a clever solution—a dress was beautiful, but it was cumbersome with travel and even worse while riding a horse.
She went to the table where the washing stand was and cleansed her face. And while she wanted to leave the room to search for Lucas, Maisie felt it wise to stay put. He would find her in suitable time.
Just as the thought settled in her mind, a familiar knock sounded on the door, and she went to admit Lucas into the room. His hair was damp, and his clothes were clean. “I hope ye slept well. The innkeeper has the bathing room ready for ye, lass.”
“I did and thank ye,” she said while gathering the bundle of clothes. “I’ll try nay to take much time.”
He led her to a bathhouse that was at the other side of the inn on the main floor over a kitchen. The room had several large holes in the floor where ropes passed through, and buckets were suspended from iron hooks, an innovative invention if she had ever seen one.
There were three large tubs set up against one wall against a flickering fire. Near the hearth, one tub was waiting. It had been filled with cold water in anticipation of her arrival and Lucas plucked a bucket of hot water from the hook before carrying it to the tub and dumping it.
A subtle hiss rose in the air as the hot water mixed with the cold and after three more buckets were added, Maisie tested the water and found it pleasantly warm.
Lucas looked at the pulley system with an appreciative eye. “I wonder if I can convince me masons to build something of the sort back at my castle.”
“It is new, I’ll give you that,” Maisie said. “I’ll be down soon.”
“We willnae be staying for a meal,” Lucas said. “We have food to eat on the way.”
“I understand,” she said as he left the room.
Before she undressed, she set the tunic and trews on a stool near the fire and then she did away with the dress, grimacing at the stiff feel of dirt on it before she sank into the tub with relief. Reaching to a stool near it, she took the soap and smelled the lavender oil in it. Delighted, she used it and a cloth to scrub her body and worked it through her wet hair, her senses filled with the delightful scent.
Before rinsing, she tipped her head back against the tub. The ever-present worry that all this effort was futile, and that their best intention of finding out who was undermining them would end up hurting both clans lingered at the forefront of her mind.
Lucas was proving to be a decent person, and if they had come across each other in different circumstances, if their families had not been so stringent in carrying on the deuced feud, if she had not been conditioned to hate the Barclays, maybe the two of them could have become friends. Perhaps even more.
Maisie could not allow herself to imagine what that more could be, as there was every reason to believe that after this, she would never see him again.
The water was beginning to grow uncomfortably cool, which had her hauling herself up with a heavy sigh and reaching over to the towel draped over the chair.
Just as she wrapped the towel around herself, a knock came and her head darted up. “Aye? Who is it?” She strove to speak with as much authority as possible.
“It is I,” Lucas’s voice rumbled through the door. “May I come in?
If steam had risen from her overheated skin, it would not have come as a surprise. “I’m nay ready yet,” she stammered, looking down at the towel.
“Hurry,” he said. “We’re about ready to go.”
Nodding, she dried off, dried her hair, reached for the trews and tunic, and dressed quickly. Both were deliciously warm, heating her skin, sending ripples of comfort up her arms and down her legs. She did not know where Lucas had purchased the clothes but the tunic hung around her like a sail, billowing when she moved.
“Are ye ready, lass?” Lucas asked.
Despairing that the clothes would fall off her the moment she moved, Maisie said, “Nay, I—” and then Lucas pulled the door and walked in.
The moment he saw her, his lips quirked, and Maisie grew cross. “Stop laughing at me.”
