Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Entering the chamber, Selene stoked the fire to bring the remaining embers back to life.
She placed a good-sized log on the flames and plopped into the chair.
She was half dizzy with all that had happened, her fingers and toes were frozen and she held up her hands and raised her feet to capture the warmth.
A smile played on her lips as she recalled the outrageous time she’d spent with Laird Kenneth. She laughed out loud as her thoughts roamed over the blow she had dealt him and his reaction – part amused, part agonized, and part angry.
But then, he’d got his revenge in his wicked teasing with the ghost story he’d related, tongue-in-cheek.
She breathed a quiet sigh, her cheeks flushing with warmth as she recalled their strangely intimate connection.
How pleasant it was to feel his warmth and the strength of his arm as he’d walked her back to her bedchamber.
When the log had burned down to embers and her eyelids began to droop, she made her way to the bed, shrugged off the old blanket wrapping her and wriggled down under the covers, still buzzing with thoughts of the kitchen and Laird Kenneth.
Although she was certain that the tumult of thoughts playing through her mind and the sound of the storm would never allow her to sleep a wink, she fell at once into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, waking in surprise to the grey morning light seeping through the high windows in her chamber.
The wind still howled and rain beat savagely against her window panes so she rolled over, tucked the fur coverlet under her chin, snuggled into the warmth and dozed fitfully.
She was awakened by a knock at her door.
“Enter,” she called, half afraid at who might be there.
The appetizing aroma of baked bread and porridge filled the air as a small maid entered, bearing a tray which she then placed on the table.
Turning to Selene, she curtsied. “Sorry tae disturb yer hurkle-durkle, milady, but Laird Kenneth said I should bring yer breakfast tae ye and spare ye the visit tae the dining hall.”
Selene sat bolt upright in bed, struggling to understand what the girl was saying. Something about breakfast. And Laird Kenneth.
“I’m sorry, I am not altogether used to your Scots language. Whatever is a hurkle-durkle?”
The maid’s cheeks reddened. “Beg pardon, milady. It is sleeping abed after rising time had passed. That is what we Scots call a hurkle-durkle.”
Selene laughed. “My goodness. I shall never get used to these strange words.”
As she stepped out of the bed in her shift and reached for her cloak, the maid hastened to re-light the fire. Once the flames had started up, she turned tail and scuttled out.
Selene dressed hastily and set about consuming her breakfast. It consisted of a bowl of porridge accompanied by buttermilk in a silver jug, a boiled egg and smoked salmon, followed by bannocks lavishly spread with butter and marmalade.
She poured herself some tea from the silver teapot and grudgingly granted that, at least, a civilized breakfast was served in this part of the Scottish Highlands.
Still, she could not help but note that the porridge was not half as delicious as the bowl she’d been served by the laird in the wee hours.
She was brushing her hair when there came another knock at her door.
Maureen swept in without waiting for Selene’s response, her mouth turned down, looking the picture of misery. She took the seat next to Selene’s and managed a smile.
“Here, I’ll brush yer hair and braid it fer ye. It will gi’ me something tae set me mind too.”
Selene handed over the brush, grateful for the attention.
“Whatever is wrong? You look as if the sky is falling.”
Maureen huffed. “The storm is worsening and it will likely blow for days. These storms come all the way across the ocean from the Americas and keep us trapped indoors.” She brushed out a particularly knotted section of Selene’s hair.
“Ow.”
“Sorry. I didnae mean tae tug it so hard.”
“There’ll be nay sailing tae or from Raasay or anywhere else, until the weather turns.”
“Ah.” Selene’s spirits plummeted. “So, I must give up hoping for a letter from my brother-in-law.”
“Aye. I’m afraid there’s naught else for it. And we’ll nae be walking outside while it lasts. We shall have tae find something tae occupy us fer the time being.”
Selene nodded, filled with dismay at the prospect of being confined to the grim castle for days. She was not immune to the irony. While the laird had told her she was free to come and go, the weather had other plans.
After Maureen had braided her hair and caught it in two giant loops which she tied up with velvet ribbons, the two women headed off to the solar.
There they diverted themselves with games of piquet until they were thoroughly tired of it, played the harpsichord and sang until the very sound sent them half mad, dined on little cakes and drank endless cups of tea and even imbibed a glass or two of claret until they could not eat another crumb or drink another drop.
In the course of her conversation with Maureen, Selene learned that Kenneth and Callum were both absent.
They had been called down the coast to a small fishing village that had been half swept away by the surging waves.
Once there they were to assist the villagers to higher ground and find them somewhere dry and safe to wait out the duration of the storm.
Finally, Selene and Maureen retreated to the library where they sat reading in companionable silence for the afternoon.
These were pleasant enough pastimes, but as three long, days crept by, each one as damp and dreary as the last, the time hung heavily and all such diversions lost their appeal.
The storms did not merely buffet Duntulm Castle – they besieged it, howling across the headland as though intent on prizing every stone from its ancient foundations.
Rain lashed the narrow windows in relentless sheets, and thunder rolled so violently over the cliffs that Selene swore she could feel it in her bones.
But the constant roar of the storm set her nerves on edge, and before long she could hardly sit still.
When she was not in company with Maureen, she tried walking the corridors, but the castle was a draughty labyrinth of shadowed passageways, every one of them echoing with the sighs and groans of the wind.
She tried peering out the arrow-slit windows, but each time she did so, she was rewarded with nothing but a cold salty spray and a view of nothing save the grey and forbidding expanse of the pounding waves of the Little Minch.
By the third evening, Selene was almost pulling her hair out with frustration. She was not made for idleness. The castle felt as though it were swallowing her whole inch by inch. And the lack of certainty about her fate only served to make things worse.
When will this come to an end?
By the time the storm finally broke, she was ready to fling herself into the sea merely for a change of scenery.
The morning of the fourth day dawned pale and cold, but gloriously dry.
Selene wasted no time leaving her chamber.
She wrapped her cloak tight and hurried down the corridor toward the great hall, her steps echoing hopefully.
The faint scent of oatcakes drifted to her from the kitchens – and she was suddenly ravenous.
But she halted at the entrance to the hall. Kenneth and Callum stood near the main doors, cloaked and booted; their hair still damp from the morning’s lingering mist. A small knot of armed men waited behind them, all looking grim and purposeful.
A grim-faced Kenneth glanced up as she passed, and afforded her a nod. He turned from the men and caught up with her, striding beside her into the hall.
“Are ye well, Lady Selene? I regret I have had nae chance of late tae ensure yer wellbeing. It was late when we returned last night, and today I must again leave the castle.”
Selene took her seat on the bench at the high table. Kenneth joined her while Callum slipped into the seat opposite, next to Maureen.
“Where, pray, are you all going? Some secret excursion?” She offered the faintest hint of a grin. “Or have you decided to abandon me to the ghosts I’m told dwell in this place?”
Kenneth turned, a slight grin breaking through his usual unyielding expression. “I didnae think our activities would be of any concern tae ye, milady.”
She lifted her chin. “Everything is my concern when I am held here against my will.”
Callum’s mouth twitched, as though he were valiantly suppressing a laugh. Kenneth scowled at him and then back at her.
“I regret the storm has forbidden yer freedom. We’ve been busy fer days helping the villagers.
” His tone became clipped. “We’ve been moving fishermen’s boats up the strand tae keep them from being washed away and finding shelter fer the villagers.
” He shook his head. “And now word has come that the heavy rains have flooded the low pastures. Cattle need moving tae higher ground before they’re swept away. ”
Selene blinked. “You are going to help with cattle? The Laird?”
Kenneth arched a brow. “Aye. Duntulm is me responsibility. I willnae sit in the hall and wait fer others to aid those who need it or mend what’s broken.” He gave a low chuckle. “And I’m used tae cattle, lass, these are all on me estate.”
The blunt sincerity of that stirred something unexpectedly warm in her chest. She swallowed it down at once. “Then I shall like to go with you.”
A chorus of masculine surprise rippled across the two men. Kenneth’s brows shot up. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “I am hardly made of glass, despite what you seem to think. Besides, there were tenant farmers on our estate in Hertfordshire, so I, too, am familiar with livestock.”
He muttered something under his breath in that language she couldn’t understand. She guessed he was calling on the heavens to rid him of such an annoying female.
“The ground will be treacherous. Ye dinnae ken the terrain, and ye cannae ride astride. I’ve nae desire tae scrape ye out of the mud like a half-drowned hen.”
She glared at him. “How chivalrous of you.”
Callum coughed, clearly enjoying their exchange.
Kenneth huffed sharply, looking her over. “Why, ye look like ye’ve had nay sleep fer a week and ye’re tapping yer foot wi’ impatience. Ye’re in nay state tae be making decisions that could put yer safety at risk.”
“Nonsense,” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. “It is not up to you to make decisions about my safety.”
He studied her without speaking for several long minutes. At last, he said through gritted teeth, “All right. If ye must come, ye’ll ride wi’ me. I’ll nae have ye breaking yer neck.”
Selene felt a rush of elation. She’d won. But before she could properly gloat, what he was saying hit her. “Ride with you?”
“Aye,” he said, getting to his feet. “Otherwise, ye will remain at the castle.” He was already striding toward the doors.
Her pride warred with her desperation to escape the castle walls. Pride took a beating. “Very well,” she said tightly. “I shall ride with you. But first I must change my clothing.”
Kenneth gave a short nod. “Dinnae delay, our horses are being saddled as we speak. I shall see ye in the courtyard.”
With a feeling of triumph, Selene hastened to her chamber to hurriedly change into her riding clothes: a white linen shirt and waistcoat, a fitted woolen skirt and jacket.
She pulled on her boots and laced them, and then, seizing her hat and gloves as she left the chamber, she hurtled along the passageway and down the stairs.
As she stepped out into the crisp morning air, the weight of the storm lifted from her shoulders – replaced, of course, by the infuriating presence of the laird. But it was freedom nonetheless, and for the moment, that was enough.