Page 24 of The Scot is Hers
“Aye, right.” He bowed—of all the idiotic things—and backed out of the bathroom.
What in blazes about the soggy, dirty lass made him feel like such an imbecile? He’d lost his mind. He was certain.
And now he’d have to go back downstairs and be subjected to all of the questions from the larger-than-his-mother-promised crowd. At least he had his friends to chat with once he was amid the hungry females. But first, he needed a few moments alone to change his clothes. His mother would have his head if he showed up in the drawing room with his shirt wrinkled and smeared with Lady Giselle’s muck.
On his way, he informed his butler that the staff was not to say that Giselle was there if anyone came knocking. Additionally, her horse was to be returned to Boddam Castle, riderless and without any message. Perhaps the mystery of her disappearance would keep that household looking for her for a few days, her and allow Giselle a moment of peace before the inevitable hell broke out.
* * *
“What in the world happened?Do no’ leave out a single detail,” Jaime demanded as she took in the mess that was Giselle’s person.
With a hand balanced on the edge of the tub, Giselle glanced down at herself. The once pretty dress was streaked with mud and torn. It looked as if she’d done battle with a mud monster.
A tired sigh escaped her, and she shrugged. “My parents, my betrothed, a storm—the Beast of Errol.”
Jaime frowned. “The Beast of Errol?”
“A little nickname I’ve grown quite fond of.” Giselle laughed at how he’d bristled, though he was not entirely angry. She thought he might like it.
“For Alec?”
“Aye. He is so broody and beastlike. I needed to tease him a bit.”
Jaime laughed. “If ye say so. Tell me, though, what happened? Ye told me ye were headed north, but…”
“Well, ye know what I’ve been dealing with in regard to Sir Joshua.”
“Aye.” Jaime frowned.
“There seemed nothing for it but to run.” She told her friend about all that had occurred up until the moment they’d made their way into Slains.
“Goodness.” Jaime pulled her in for a gentle hug, though taking care not to let her gown touch Giselle’s soiled one. “Ye’ve been through a time of it and deserve the chance for a respite. How long do ye think ye’ve got before they arrive looking for ye?”
“I hope at least the night.”
Several maids swept in then, along with lads carrying steaming buckets of water for the tub. They sprinkled dried flowers and herbs into the hot water, and Giselle was practically trembling with the need to get inside.
“I’ll return shortly with a gown,” Jaime said. “I know the perfect one.”
“Please tell me ’tis no’ yellow or brown. I’ve had quite enough with the combination of colors today.”
Jaime laughed. “Neither. A verra pretty lavender, and I think it will look delightful on ye with your golden hair.”
While Jaime went to fetch the gown, Giselle lifted her arms and ignored the tutting of the maids at her destroyed gown and the streaks of mud that somehow had leached their way through all her layers to languish on her skin.
All of her worries seemed to melt away as she sank into the steaming, fragrant water. The chill to her bones evaporated, and she closed her eyes, allowing the maids to wash the mud from her hair and scrub her skin until it tingled. She was already starting to feel more like herself.
As they worked, her mind drifted to Alec Hay. The way he seemed almost possessive of her when he held her, whisking her up the stairs of his great castle. It was practically romantic. Surprising, really. More surprising was the way her belly fluttered at the thought. In the years she’d spent being paraded in front of potential grooms, none had elicited that kind of response.
Soon, with skin pinkened and pruned by the tub, Giselle was wrapped in a thick robe and set before the hearth as the maids brushed and dried her hair by the fire, trying to make sense of the mangled curls. A soft knock preceded Jaime’s arrival, who came bearing the lovely lavender gown and slippers.
“Sorry, it took me a few minutes. I was...distracted.” Jaime’s cheeks were flushed with color, and she avoided Giselle’s gaze.
“What distracted ye? Was it the horde downstairs who can’t wait to get their claws in me?”
Jaime licked her lips, which looked a wee bit swollen and shook her head.
“Oh, my,” Giselle said, dawning understanding. “Was the distraction your duke?”
